The Lime and the Dead: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 3

by Summer Prescott

  “Fine,” her mother frowned, rolling her neck on her shoulders from one side to the other and wincing at the crackling sound that the simple act produced.

  “Hello,” a familiar mild voice startled her for the second time today.

  “Mr. Eckels…what can I do for you?” Marilyn asked warily, wondering how he’d managed to find out where she worked. She thought about snarkily telling him that his cat wasn’t here either, but resisted the impulse.

  “I…uh, here’s my resume,” he said, handing it to her and taking a seat across the desk from her without being invited in.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she replied, not looking at the paper in her hand.

  “My resume…I’m here to apply for the position you advertised,” he blinked at her owlishly from behind his glasses.

  “Oh! Uh…well, okay then. Give me a moment to review your information,” she said, looking down at the paper, but entirely unable to focus on the words. “I mean…ummm…tell me about your background,” she floundered, totally off-balance and glad that he’d left the door open.

  “Well, as you can see in my resume, I’ve just retired from more than twenty years of being a mortician, but baking has always been my hobby. When I tasted your pie, then saw on the local classifieds that you had an opening, I just had to apply. It seems that your standards of excellence are on par with mine, which would make me a beneficial and logical addition to your staff,” he smiled faintly.

  “A mortician…how…interesting,” Marilyn tried to smile, but felt that her face was imitating rigor mortis at the mere thought of mortuary arts.

  “Yes, well, it’s certainly not a career for everyone, but it has its own sense of satisfaction,” Tim blinked at her again.

  “I’m sure,” she replied, giving herself a mental shake. “Well, thanks for coming by. I have a lot of resumes to review, but if yours is selected, I’ll be sure to let you know,” she tried to dismiss the odd, pale man.

  “Don’t you want to ask me any questions?” his eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want to give anyone the impression that you discriminate, based upon gender or past occupation, now would you?” he purred, strange green eyes gleaming behind his glasses in a way that struck Marilyn as sinister.

  “I resent your implication, Mr. Eckels. You came in here at the last moment, without an appointment, and I not only agreed to look at your resume after a full day of interviewing, but stayed after closing to talk with you. I told you that I have a lot of resumes to review, and yours will carry just as much weight as the others,” Marilyn stared him down coldly.

  Tim Eckels rose from his chair slowly, never breaking eye contact. He stood staring down at her for what seemed an awkwardly long time. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Hayes,” he said in a tone that seemed somehow menacing. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you.” He turned on his heel and left without another word, leaving her staring after him, chilled to the bone.

  Chapter 4

  “Mom!” Tiara called back to the kitchen from her spot at the front register. “You have a phone call.”

  “Can’t you take it, sweetie? I’m training Kelcie,” Marilyn replied, delighted with the progress that her young protégé was making. Kelcie Williams had been to pastry school and would be a tremendous asset to the staff. Her youthful enthusiasm was contagious, and the relieved owner finally felt like she could entrust another person to shoulder some of the creative and constructive load of baking that had to be done on a daily basis. With Tiara’s marketing plan, new orders for large events and private parties were pouring in nearly every day, and Marilyn desperately needed the expertise and extra set of hands that Kelcie could provide.

  “Ummm…no. You need to take this call,” her daughter insisted, transferring the caller back to the kitchen extension.

  Marilyn sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and answered the phone. “Yes, hello? Marilyn Hayes here, how can I help you?” she tried to keep the annoyance from her tone.

  A nasal feminine voice responded. “Mmm…yes, hello, Ms. Hayes. My name is Sabra Remington and I represent NoFaux TV, we produce reality shows, I’m sure you’ve heard of us,” she asserted with an off-putting smugness.

  “Uh, no…I don’t really watch TV, especially reality TV, but what can I do for you, Miss Remington?” Marilyn tried to keep from sighing as she gestured to Kelcie to take the latest batch of Key Lime mousse and put it into decorative cups, garnished with strawberries and a sprig of mint.

  “Darling, call me Sabra,” the voice insisted. “So anyhoo…one of our shows, the Real Girlfriends of the Yacht Club is being filmed on your little island this week, and we’d like to have the girls make a stop in your shop and have some pie. It’ll be great publicity for you…for free!” she trilled. “And the only thing that we ask of you is to allow our film crew to be in your shop for however long the gals stay there and eat their pie. Whaddya say? Sound good?” the producer asked, assuming the answer.

  Marilyn was taken totally off guard. “What kind of show is this?” she asked.

  “Oh…uh…it’s kind of like “a day in the life” type thing that revolves around the girlfriends of yacht owners,” Sabra explained.

  “And people actually watch that?” Marilyn was genuinely surprised.

  “Millions of them, actually,” now it was Sabra’s turn to hide her annoyance.

  “Hmm…wow. Okay, I guess that would be fine,” she agreed. “When will you be here?”

  “Tomorrow morning, around ten o’clock. The gals have a morning yoga session with some guy on the beach named Andrew, and then they’ll head your way.”

  Marilyn smiled, wondering if Sabra knew what she was getting the “girlfriends” into. Her daughter Tiara had a huge crush on Drew the Yoga Instructor a few months ago. Women went to his class just to watch him flexing his beautifully sculpted muscles.

  “Okay, sounds good. Is there anything special that we need to do to prepare?”

  “I’ll fax over some release forms that you’ll need to have your employees and anyone who’s in the store at the time sign, and then we should be all set,” Sabra replied.

  Marilyn gave her the shop’s fax number, and after a few minutes of polite conversation, the busy producer hung up, promising to see her tomorrow. Tiara was ecstatic when she heard the news.

  “Mom, I’m not sure that you understand just how big of a deal this really is,” the typically level-headed college graduate gushed. “Everyone watches this show! My roommates know all the names of the girls on it – it’s crazy how popular it is. Every store that the girls have gone into has become famous overnight – we couldn’t pay for this kind of publicity!” she enthused, eyes bright.

  “Well then, let’s just hope that we don’t embarrass ourselves on national television,” Marilyn commented dryly. She’d never been on television before, had no desire to be on television, and thought that most of the stuff that passed for entertainment these days was exploitation in one form or another. She didn’t even want to watch, much less participate in a TV show, but she trusted her daughter’s analysis. How bad could it be?

  Chapter 5

  “Hi, I’m Amber,” a silicone-enhanced bleached blonde shook her hand, smiling vacantly. She was barely dressed, in a sequined bathing suit top and a short hot-pink skirt, and carried a small dog in her oversized pink ostrich-leather tote.

  “And I’m Bella,” a tall, almost painfully thin brunette, with sunglasses that cost more than Marilyn’s car, introduced herself, her affected manner setting the pie-shop owner’s teeth on edge. She looked around the perfectly cute and cozy shop as though she smelled something bad, and gave the appearance that she didn’t want to sit at any of the tables for fear of contamination, perhaps by “commoner cooties.”

  “Good morning,” Marilyn smiled warmly at them both, hoping to defrost them a bit. “Make yourselves at home.”

  Sabra scurried over to give everyone instructions. “Okay, Amber, Bella, you two are going to make a
spontaneous decision to stop for pie after your yoga class, and you’ll come in here. Once you’ve ordered, take a seat, relax and just chat about anything that comes to mind. Now might be a good opportunity to discuss how you both feel about Frankie cheating on Jessica.

  “We can’t prove that,” Amber frowned, her lower lip pooching out into a pout.

  “No, but we can talk trash about it,” Bella sneered, practically licking her chops.

  “That’s my girl,” Sabra encouraged. “So…places everyone, let’s get this party started.

  The Hollywood crew had immediately seen the aesthetic value that Tiara could bring, and specifically requested that the beautiful blonde be present at the register when the “girls” came in. Marilyn and Kelcie’s work in the kitchen wouldn’t be interrupted, and if all went well, the scene would be filmed and the show would be packed up and out of their hair in a matter of an hour or so.

  “Hi, welcome to SubLime Sweets, how can I help you?” Tiara chimed brightly when the girlfriends came in.

  “Hi! We just finished a killer yoga class on the beach, and I’m starving. What’s good?” Amber asked, blue eyes wide.

  “Well, we have the best Key Lime pie in all of the Keys if you’d like to try a slice,” the clever girl scripted a free commercial on the spot.

  “Mmmm…yummy!” the blonde simpered. “We’ll take two slices and two bottles of coconut water.”

  “Umm…no,” Bella wrinkled her nose. “Just get one for yourself, I don’t do dessert, you know that,” she sniffed.

  “Oh get over yourself,” Amber fired back. “You’re just going to throw it up later anyway,” she rolled her eyes.

  “Oh you did not!” Bella gasped. “That was so rude, you little…”

  “Two slices please,” Amber reiterated, cutting off her “friend,” as Tiara looked on, trying not to let her distaste show.

  “You got it,” she smiled sweetly, and plated two pieces. “Go ahead and have a seat and I’ll bring them right out to you,” she promised, glad that she wore the cutoff denim shorts that showed the length of her tanned legs. Who knew what might come of her fifteen minutes of fame on a ridiculous reality show? She delivered the pie to a table in the center of the dining area, and discreetly hung out behind the cash register to eavesdrop on their conversation.

  “Oh. My. Gosh. This pie is amazing,” Amber raved, washing down a bite with her coconut water.

  “Are you high?” Bella sneered. “This crap isn’t worth the syrup of ipecac that it would take to get rid of it,” she pushed her plate back and unscrewed the cap from her water as though she couldn’t wait to get a foul taste out of her mouth.

  “Oh whatever,” Amber rolled her eyes again, savoring another bite. “You just can’t take pleasure in anything. It must suck to be so bored by life and everything in it,” she accused, digging her fork into the tart, gooey concoction.

  Tiara had never been one to take criticism lightly, an unfortunate trait that she’d picked up from her mother. Coming out from behind the counter, she approached the girls.

  “How’s the pie?” she asked lightly, daring Bella to say something rude, and hoping that she’d retract the statements that she’d just made in front of millions of viewers.

  “I’m sorry, honey, I’m just going to be real here,” the bitter brunette began. “This pie sucks. It makes my mouth pucker and just tastes like crap,” she curled her lip in disgust, dramatically dropping her fork onto her plate.

  “Well, thankfully, that’s the first time I’ve ever had feedback like that. Everyone else seems to love it,” Tiara raised an eyebrow, and Marilyn, watching from the kitchen, could practically see the smoke rising from her ears.

  “I’m not everyone else,” Bella sniffed haughtily.

  Tiara was simmering, but absolutely refused to end up looking like the bad guy in this scenario, and hid her anger behind an angelic smile.

  “No, you’re definitely not everyone else,” she agreed. “Everyone else is much nicer, far less rude, and not quite so self-absorbed. Tell me, do you go out of your way to try and hurt people’s feelings, or does it come so naturally that you don’t even have to think about it?” she inquired, placing her hands on the table and leaning into the brunette’s space.

  “Bella….” Tiara heard Amber issue a warning to her friend from across the table, but held her ground.

  “You know what, you pie-selling-peasant…if you love this disgusting pie so much, you can have it,” Bella snapped, picking up her plate and smashing the piece of pie all over the front of Tiara’s white camisole. Without even a second thought, Marilyn’s daughter scooped the green and white goo from her clothing into her hands and ground it into Bella’s hair before the nasty young woman even had a chance to react.

  “You little…” the brunette’s eyes flashed fire, and she stood up quickly, her chair tipping over backwards and clattering to the floor.

  “Bring it,” Tiara stood her ground, hands on hips.

  “Cut!” Amber bleated, watching the hostile exchange like a tennis match, while her placid little doggie licked bits of pie that had been flung onto her bag.

  “Don’t you dare cut to commercial right now,” Sabra whispered to the cameraman. “Get every bit of this,” she hissed, pushing him closer.

  “You horrible little wretch! This is not over,” Bella set her jaw, glaring at Tiara.

  “Really? It’s not? Do you really wanna go there? Cuz I have plenty of pies left, and your hair looks like it could use another treatment.” Never one to shrink from confrontation, she stepped forward, towering over the petite pseudo-socialite.

  “You’re going to regret this,” the haughty brunette snarled through her teeth. “You’ll wish you never met Bella Fontaine,” she turned, flouncing toward the door.

  “You’re absolutely right,” Tiara nodded grimly. “I already wish I’d never met you, you spoiled little brat,” she said with utter contempt.

  “Hmpf…sounds like somebody’s jealous,” she sniffed, her hand on the doorknob.

  “Of a conceited little princess like you, who’s so full of herself that she can’t even appreciate the simple things in life? Fat chance,” Marilyn’s down-to-earth daughter scoffed.

  “Fat? Yeah, I’d say so, but don’t worry honey, you’re still young enough to work on it. Lay off of the pie for a while and you’ll be fine,” Bella fired her parting shot.

  “Oh please,” she rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “I’d rather look like this than the angular bag-of-bones thing that you’ve got going on,” Tiara smiled nastily.

  Amber, who had been busily munching her pie and watching the other two volley back and forth, finally stepped forward.

  “So, like, I thought the pie was really good,” she said, handing her plate to Tiara. “Thanks for your hospitality,” she said, waving on her way out.

  “Aaaaaand…cut!” the director called out, making a circular motion with his hand.

  Sabra rushed over to Tiara. “Oh, this is gold! Hey, beautiful, have you ever considered acting?”

  Chapter 6

  Marilyn came out of the kitchen, furious, and strode to where Sabra seemed to be trying to convince Tiara to come out to Hollywood to audition for a reality show.

  “You have to take that out,” she decreed, staring the producer down.

  “Take what out? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sabra looked at Marilyn curiously.

  “The part where that…” she glanced at her daughter and decided to use a different word. “That…rude young woman said that my pie was terrible. How could you let her say that when you’re filming in my shop?” she demanded. “And how could you allow her to treat my daughter that way?”

  Sabra looked at Marilyn over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. “I don’t control what the girls say or do, it’s spontaneous, that’s the nature of reality TV,” she explained slowly, as though she was talking to a child. “And I must say, your daughter not only did a wonderful job of handling
the situation, but looked fabulous on camera while she was doing it,” the producer beamed. “I think she could go a long way in Hollywood.”

  “She’s an intelligent young woman with a college education, she’s definitely not going to Hollywood, and I don’t care if she handled it well, there was absolutely no reason to allow that…woman to treat her the way that she did,” Marilyn fumed.

  “Yes, she’s an intelligent and educated, hot and sassy young woman working in her mother’s obscure little pie shop, you’re right, that’s so much better,” Sabra mocked.

  Tiara saw her mother open her mouth to reply and stepped in before things got really heated. “I’m just fine, thank you very much, and I’ll be the judge of what I do with my life,” she looked at them both pointedly. “Is there anything left that we need to do for the show?” she asked Sabra, placing herself between the producer and her glaring mother.

  “No, I think we have all we need…unless you can spare one of those pies,” she replied hopefully, looking at the display case.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve…” Marilyn began, aghast.

  “Of course, it’ll be our pleasure,” Tiara interrupted, silencing her mother with a meaningful glare. She boxed up a pie and handed it to Sabra with a smile. Handing her a card, the producer instructed the young woman to call if she changed her mind about auditioning, and went out the door behind her cameraman.

  “If they put that on the air, we’re ruined,” Marilyn sank into a chair after the TV crew left.

  “Don’t be so dramatic, Mom,” Tiara replied. “Do you honestly think anyone cares what that snarky little snot thinks? It’s free advertising for us, and we may actually have people come in out of curiosity now, so whether she liked it or not is irrelevant if it brings in more business,” she reasoned.

  Marilyn sighed. “I suppose so. I just hated the way that she treated you,” she frowned.

  “I’m thinking that she probably has a negative comment about everything that she encounters. Besides, Amber loved the pie,” she reminded her mother.