by Eve Calder
“Don’t have to ask me twice,” Gabe said happily, stepping back to let Claire go first.
“Kitchen’s too stuffy,” Amos said. “Could do with a nip of fresh air.”
Twenty minutes and several drop-in visitors later, the porch resembled a cocktail party. Guests mixed and mingled, snacking on imported cheese, chipped ham, crackers, and yeast rolls. Kate put out a couple of plates of cookies, too, in case anyone had a sweet tooth.
“So how many people did you actually invite?” Kate asked Maxi as they retreated to the kitchen to mix up another batch of lemonade.
“You, me, Peter, and Bridget,” she said, grinning. “Welcome to small-town life. No big secrets. No small parties.”
“He’s coming!” Peter called over the shop door. “They’re pulling up now!”
Kate grabbed the pitcher, and they hustled out the front door. Oliver, who’d been napping on one of the benches, sat up at attention.
Ben’s car pulled up to the curb and stopped. Then, nothing. No doors opened.
“That’s weird,” Maxi said softly to Kate.
Ben and Sam appeared to be talking. Sam wiped his face with his sleeve. Then Kate saw Ben take off his Ray-Bans and hand them to the baker.
A minute later, Ben got out, lurched around to the passenger’s side, and opened the front door. Sam, decked out in sunglasses, a sea-green Hawaiian shirt, and jeans, climbed out of the car. He said something to Ben, who grinned. The detective pointed to the house.
Sam gave a little wave.
Everyone on the porch broke into loud, long applause.
Sam looked at Ben, who nodded. The baker shook his head, squared his shoulders, and marched up the walkway, Ben at his side.
At the bottom of the steps, the crowd gave way and Peter jogged forward, handing Sam a glass of lemonade.
“Everybody just wanted to say ‘welcome back,’” Peter said.
Up close Kate realized how much healthier Sam looked. He’d filled out. Gone was the gaunt, haunted look. Even his cheeks were pink. Or maybe he was blushing.
“Place looks different,” the baker said, looking around. “Better.”
“So do you!” one of the teenagers shouted from the back of the porch. “Dope shades!”
Sam raised his glass. He took a sip and cleared his throat. And wiped his cheek.
“Not one for fancy words,” the baker said haltingly. “Thank you. All of you. Took something pretty bad to realize I have it pretty good. Won’t forget again.”
“To Sam,” Peter said, raising his glass in return. “Welcome back!”
“Welcome back!” the crowd repeated.
“Now come on,” Peter said, pulling the baker up the steps. “We’ve got all kinds of food.”
“Yeah,” Maxi said, “you must be starving.”
Sam nodded, smiling slightly. “I could eat.”
Chapter 69
When Kate tripped down the stairs at 4:15 the next morning, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the paper.
“Morning,” he said, raising his mug. “Fresh pot.”
“I could use some of that.”
“Heard about your offer,” Sam said as he turned a page and folded the paper. “One of the resorts?”
“Yeah, they finally tried some of my stuff,” Kate said, filling a cup. “They want to put me on the special events team.”
“Imagine that’s good money,” he said.
“Not bad. And they’re promising raises and bonuses, if they like my work. Lot of hours, though. So you guys won’t see me around town as much.”
Sam nodded.
“I made something I wanted to show you,” Kate said. “A gift. To say ‘thank you.’”
She walked over to the counter, carefully lifted the cardboard box, revealing the gingerbread house.
Sam stared at it, transfixed. He walked toward it. A foot from the counter, he bent over—tilting his head as if he was searching for something. Slowly, he reached out an index finger and gently touched a window. The window with the red ginger flower.
His face lit up in a smile. “Wonderful.”
“Cookies make people happy,” Kate said. “They make me happy when I bake them. And when I see other people enjoy them. People need that. People in Coral Cay need that.”
“Saw Maxi’s chart,” Sam admitted.
“This isn’t about the chart. Or profits and losses. People want to celebrate the good moments. Sometimes that’s sharing chocolate cookies on the beach with your little ones. Sometimes it’s singing around a birthday cake. Or a birthday cookie. Which, believe it or not, are bizarrely popular.”
Sam smiled and held up his hands. “Sold.”
“Really?”
“Time to think recently,” he said, studying the house. “Realized some things. Love this place. Love baking. But can’t spend all my days here.”
He stopped and looked down at the floor.
“Need a business partner,” he started. “Junior partner. New ideas. But no crazy notions. Someone with a good head. Can’t offer much. You’ve seen the books.”
“So basically, you’re asking me to give up a generous salary and benefits in exchange for fifty percent of a failing business?” Kate summarized.
“Forty percent.”
“Forty-nine percent,” she countered. “Plus, I get the room upstairs and you help me hide Oliver when the health inspector comes.”
“Deal,” he said.
The baker looked longingly at the house. “Put this in the shop? For advertising?”
“We could,” Kate said tentatively. “Or we could eat it.”
Sam shook his head. “Lot of work there. That gingerbread?”
“Your favorite.”
“Just a small taste,” he said. “Mailbox looks good.”
“Break off a big piece,” Kate said happily. “They’re cookies. We can bake lots more.”
Acknowledgments
A heartfelt thank you to the wonderful team at St. Martin’s Press.
Especially my editor, Alexandra Sehulster, who has championed this book and the Cookie House from the very start. For you, a tall glass of cold lemonade, a batch of warm cookies, and a very grateful “thank you!”
Also a big thank you to editorial assistant Mara Delgado Sánchez, for her endless patience and kindness.
Many thanks to eagle-eyed copy editor, Barbara Wild, for keeping the plot grounded in reality. And for keeping Maxi in the right car!
A big bouquet to Kayla Janas and Holly Rice in the St. Martin’s publicity department. You guys are champs!
And huge thanks to Lesley Worrell, who designed the cover, and Mary Ann Lasher, who did the terrific cover illustration. It’s great to see Oliver running around and causing a little mischief!
Last—and definitely not least—thank you to the world’s best agent, Erin Niumata of Folio Literary Agency: You’ve been my friend and sounding board every step of the way.
Read on for a sample from the next exciting Cookie House mystery, Sugar & Vice— out soon from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
As schooner-sized white clouds sailed high across the turquoise South Florida sky, Kate McGuire tugged at her green gardening gloves. Despite what the label proclaimed, one size definitely did not fit all.
“So what happens if I ditch the gloves?” she asked, pausing as her best friend rhythmically shoveled wet sand.
“Nothing super horrible,” replied Maxi Más-Buchanan, sinking her shovel into the soft ground with a “thunk.” “Just keep ’em away from Mr. Oliver. Thanks to him, my last three pairs are buried all over Coral Cay. One at a time. The least that puppy could do is bury them in pairs. That way, if anyone ever finds them, they can maybe use them.”
Kate had to admit, the two of them had accomplished a lot in one afternoon. Two of the three raised beds were prepped and ready to go. One more and they could call it a day.
Oliver, in his wisdom, already had. Passed out under a shady tree, she could hear his soft
snuffling sounds above the bird calls on the breeze.
Maxi looked over her shoulder and grinned. “Some work ethic,” the florist said. “Our best digger has up and quit. On the bright side, you get a promotion.”
“Aye aye, captain,” Kate said, giving a mock salute. “So what’s going into this one?
“Oh, it’s gonna be tasty. I’m putting in those juicy, old-fashioned tomatoes and little baby lettuces. And we’re gonna surround the whole thing with hot peppers. Muy picante. ’Cause they keep the bugs away. That one over there,” she said pointing at a completed bed, “will be herbs. Basil, dill, oregano and chives to start. And peppermint—oooh, it’ll smell so good. And that other one’s gonna be filled with edible flowers. Not too shabby, huh? If these do well, I’ll sell what I grow. Like a side business. Maxi’s Kitchen Garden. All organic. I’ve talked to a couple of your chef buddies at the resorts, and they’re super excited.”
“I can see why,” Kate said, tucking a stray lock of caramel-colored hair under her navy ball cap. “An organic, small-batch garden? Nobody’s doing anything like that anywhere near Coral Cay. You’ll clean up.”
“But first, we dig up the yard and get super dirty. Poor Oliver’s going to need another bath,” she said, brushing a smudge of wet sand off her cheek. “Me too, for that matter.”
“How about we take a cue from Oliver and stop for a rest?” Kate suggested. “I’ve got a pitcher of lemonade in the fridge at the Cookie House.”
“Right now, I’d settle for cold water out of the sink. Or the hose.”
Fifteen minutes later, with frosty glasses in their hands, Kate and Maxi relaxed in lawn chairs, surveying their handiwork.
As they chatted, Oliver scrambled back to the area they’d excavated for the last raised bed.
“OK, so we’ve removed two-and-a-half feet of sandy top soil. Now what?” Kate asked, eyeing the neat rectangular trench on the left side of the yard.
“Just like last time. We’ll fill it up with my super secret planting soil mix. Then we drag out the frame for the raised bed, tack it down, and fill that up to the top with more planting mix. Then we’re done. And I’ll put in the plants over the next few days.”
Oliver circled the pit several times, then he hopped in and scratched the soil with his front paws, yelping. He put his head down, digging furiously. All they could see was sand flying past his fuzzy oatmeal-colored rump.
“What’s he doing?” Kate asked.
“Probably digging up one of the gloves he buried. Or one of his other treasures. Oliver’s got stuff buried all over town,” Maxi said with a rueful smile.
They watched as the poodle-mix pup paddled furiously with his front paws for several minutes. Then he sat back on his haunches and howled.
Maxi sat forward, alarmed. “He’s never done that before,” she said, setting her glass on the ground.
“Maybe the little guy hurt himself,” Kate said, as they both hurried over to the half-grown pup.
As they neared, Oliver began digging again, his oversized paws clawing frantically at the sand.
“Oliver? Come here, baby,” Kate called softly. “Come up here.”
When he jumped out of the pit and trotted over, Kate stroked his soft curly coat, and scratched him lovingly behind one ear. “Now, let me see those paws of yours,” she said, gently examining each one in turn.”Nope, you’re fine. Everything looks good,” she called over her shoulder to Maxi.
“I don’t think so,” Maxi said softly.
“What do you mean?” Kate said, turning to see her friend’s face pale. Maxi silently pointed down. To the hole where Oliver had just been digging.
And that’s when Kate spotted it. In the sandy soil. Scraps of an ancient leather boot. Long and brackish brown. In tatters. Kate could barely make out what had probably been a wide cuff at the top. And a big silver buckle, blackened with age, at the bottom. It reminded Kate of something out of Treasure Island. Or the Discovery channel. Exposed at the top of the boot, yellowed with time, was a barely visible swath of bone.
“What? Who?” Kate gasped.
Maxi took a giant step back and crossed herself. “It’s him,” she whispered. It’s really him. It has to be.”
“Who? Who is it?”
“Gentleman George Bly. The pirate king. I thought it was just a story,” she said in a hushed voice, shaking her head. “Something to tell mi niños at bedtime. But it’s real.”
Kate stood and took a step closer to her friend. Oliver followed suit. The three of them stared down into the pit.
“I admit that boot looks old,” Kate said. “But what makes you think it’s him?”
“It’s all part of the legend,” Maxi said quietly. “Gentleman George, he pretty much founded Coral Cay. He and his men. They’re the reason we have our Pirate Festival every year. Well, them and to celebrate the end of tourist season. His crew used to raid the Spanish treasure ships sailing to and from Florida and the Caribbean. This island was their home base. He was smart, and he was sneaky. He bested the Spanish king every single time and swiped their loot. But he had a code. A sense of honor. And he was only stealing what had already been stolen in the first place. But one time—the last time—they were attacked by a galleon. A big war ship. He was wounded, his ship was nearly sunk. But Gentleman George? He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. And he got his ship and crew to safety. Back to Coral Cay.”
“What happened after that?” Kate asked, never taking her eyes off the boot buckle.
“No one really knows,” Maxi said. “Local legend has it once he and his men reached the harbor, they burned the ship to cover their tracks. And shortly after that, he died. Supposedly, his men laid him out in his very best clothes and even shined up the silver buckles on his boots. And, as a gesture of respect and gratitude, they buried him in a secret spot on the island with his share of the treasure—a fortune in gold and jewels. And the site has never been found.”
“And you think…” Kate started.
“I think our friend Oliver has discovered the last resting place of Gentleman George Bly, pirate king of Coral Cay.”
About the Author
A Florida native, EVE CALDER contends that cookies always taste better when you eat them at the beach. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Acknowledgments
Excerpt: Sugar & Vice
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Paperbacks, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
AND THEN THERE WERE CRUMBS
Copyright © 2019 by Eve Calder.
Excerpt from Sugar & Vice copyright © 2019 by Eve Calder.
Credits: Cover design by Lesley Worrell; illustration by Mary Ann Lasher
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN: 9781250313003
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / August 2019