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

by Summer Prescott

  “Yeah,” was the still-peeved response. She looked her daughter up and down. “Well, you wear it well,” she teased, trying to let it go.

  Tiara laughed. “Not as well as Bella,” she grinned wickedly. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off? We have all the pies we need, and I can take today to train Kelcie on the register,” she suggested, knowing her mother needed to get away and cool off.

  “You’re probably right, as usual,” Marilyn admitted, nodding. If you really think that the two of you will be okay, I guess I will head home to simmer down a bit.”

  “We’ll be fine,” her daughter assured her. “Tomorrow, after the show airs tonight, we’re going to be swamped, mark my words, but for now…we got this. Go to the beach or something,” she shooed her mother out the door.

  Marilyn trudged home, weary and disappointed, vowing to never allow any part of the television world near her daughter or her shop ever again. She planned to treat herself to a gin and tonic on the patio, with a good book and perhaps a nap. If she felt the urge to go to the beach, she’d probably wait until after the shop closed and try to entice Tiara to go with her. Lost in thought, she stood in front of her front stoop, digging in her purse for keys, not even noticing the figure standing in the shadows.

  “You didn’t give me a fair chance,” Tim Eckels accused quietly, stepping out from behind a fluffy fern.

  “Oh!” Marilyn screamed, dropping her keys onto the flagstone path. “What on earth are you doing on my porch?” she demanded, her heart pounding with adrenalin and anger.

  “Why didn’t you give me a fair chance?” he asked, stepping toward her, his carp eyes seeming lifeless behind his glasses.

  Clearly he was unaware of just how rough her day had been, and just how little patience she had for being interrogated on her doorstep.

  “You have no right to be lurking around on my front porch and demanding answers from me the second I get home. You had the same chance that everyone else had. I hired who I hired, you’re just going to have to accept that,” she stared him down, despite the uneasy feeling that she had every time that she encountered her strange neighbor.

  “This isn’t over,” he commented, so tonelessly that he may as well have been remarking about how warm the weather seemed.

  “Oh no, you’re wrong,” Marilyn was seething. Her anger at having been surprised by him in the back yard, surprised by him at work, and surprised by him just now, boiled over, leaving her less than inclined toward cordiality. “This is absolutely over. I have nothing more to say about it, and I’ll thank you to kindly drop it,” she retorted, feeling her cheeks redden with temper.

  “No,” he replied, crossing his arms and staring at her.

  Marilyn’s mouth dropped open slightly at the man’s audacity, and she realized that she was very much alone with someone who seemed to be more than a bit unbalanced.

  “Get. Off. Of. My. Porch,” she demanded in a low voice, hiding the creeping sense of fear that threatened to overtake her.

  Tim Eckels kept his eyes locked on hers, and slowly walked down the steps, drawing closer. When he got to the bottom, she refused to step aside to let him pass. He was the trespasser here, he could walk around her. He got close enough that she could smell the faint cinnamon scent of his cologne – so close that she imagined that she could feel the heat of his breath fanning her – then he stepped deftly to the left, just in time to avoid running into her, though the hairs on his arm brushed lightly against her skin, giving her chills of revulsion.

  “Thanks for the pie,” he said softly, moving down the sidewalk.

  Chapter 7

  Marilyn was thoroughly rattled by her new neighbor’s strange behavior, even if she did a fantastic job of hiding it. The guy was an odd duck, she’d never encountered anyone quite like him. Shrugging off the bizarre encounter on her front porch, she put a scoop of Key Lime filling and a spoonful of fresh whipped cream in a blender with some ice and made a decadent smoothie. Changing into her swimsuit with the goal of basking in the sun on her lounger while she enjoyed her tart, sweet treat, she headed for the back porch, earbuds in, book in hand.

  Settling in on her lounger with her tunes, her book and her smoothie, Marilyn was more than ready to enjoy a period of time where she did absolutely nothing. She planned to escape into the safe and comfortable world of her latest chick lit novel, even out her tan, and possibly head to the beach with Tiara later. She sprayed on her dry tanning oil and was smoothing it into her glistening skin when a movement over to her left edged into her peripheral vision. She froze for a moment, then slowly took out her earbuds, and turned her head to the left. There it was again! The bushes rattled as though someone was spying on her.

  “Hello?” she called out, upset that it was probably Tim the Terrible. The bushes rustled more frantically, and her heart nearly leaped out of her chest when a small tabby cat leaped out toward her.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, more than a bit startled, then laughed at her paranoia. “Well, hi kitty,” she cooed, as the tiny creature regarded her curiously.

  She sat up in the lounger and patted the side of her leg, beckoning the cat, who mewed in response, then sidled over noncommittally. The thin but healthy-looking animal wound around Marilyn’s legs and she picked it up, scratching it between the ears.

  “You must be Maisie,” she observed, holding the cat up and looking into its huge green eyes. “Poor thing,” she mused. “As much as I hate to do it…I have to send you back,” she said, carrying the purring feline to the gate, opening it and shooing her outside, toward Tim’s cottage. She nearly fainted with fright again when she swung the gate open to let the cat out of the yard, and her neighbor was standing just outside of it.

  Putting her hand over her heart, she admonished the strange man. “You have got to stop surprising me like that, my heart can’t take the adrenalin overload!” She took a deep breath. “Well, the mystery is solved, I’ve found her,” she said, trying to be nice.

  “What?” Tim seemed alarmed. “Found who?”

  Surprised that she had finally rattled the cool-as-a-cucumber neighbor, Marilyn raised her eyebrows. “Maisie…your cat,” she explained when he gave her a blank look.

  He looked at her quizzically, then followed her gaze down to the animal who was busily head-butting Marilyn’s ankles and twining figure-eights around them. “Oh. That’s not my cat,” he said, regarding the cuddly creature with utter disinterest, then turning and walking away. She stood staring after him, wondering what he was up to, and why he’d been loitering outside her gate. She hoped that she wouldn’t have to take formal action to keep him away from her property, but if his eccentric behavior continued, it would certainly be a step to consider.

  By the time Marilyn returned to her lounger, her smoothie had melted into a sickly-sweet, lukewarm, pale green soup.

  “Great,” she said with a grimace, taking the ruined treat into the house and dumping it into the sink. Contemplating her next move, she decided that the best option for trying to salvage some sort of peaceful time out of this day, would be to indulge in a little retail therapy, so she changed out of her swim suit, pulled on white linen capris and a lime green tank top, locked her doors and windows and headed for the mall. It was a relief just to get away from the pressures of work, and the weirdness of her new neighbor. She didn’t have anything specific that she was looking for, but knew that getting away from it all, “girl-style,” could only help lift her mood.

  When Marilyn walked into her favorite store in the mall, a women’s clothing store called “Cheeky Chic,” she noticed some sort of commotion in the center of the store, and followed the crowd that was gathering to see what was going on. Sighing when she recognized the camera crew and producer from Real Girlfriends of the Yacht Club, she turned quickly away, fully intending to get out of the store before anyone recognized her.

  “Marilyn! Marilyn Hayes! Wait!” she heard Sabra Remington’s nasal voice, and turned to see the diminutive producer running after h
er.

  “We meet again,” Marilyn said, without even a trace of a smile.

  “Oh my goodness, I’m so glad to see you,” the woman panted, hands on her knees trying to catch her breath.

  “I can’t even begin to imagine why you’d be glad to see me,” she replied dryly.

  “Do you think your drop-dead-gorgeous daughter might agree to fill in for us on the show today? Bella Fontaine didn’t bother to show up, and we really need to have someone that Amber can shop with. She’s buying clothes for her doggie,” Sabra explained, pleading.

  “Absolutely not. The footage that you insist upon showing tonight is not going to reflect well upon my business because that dreadful young woman had to open her nasty, judgmental mouth. I don’t want my daughter to have anything to do with this program,” Marilyn shook her head in disgust. “What in the world is so darn fascinating about someone buying clothes for their dog, anyway? When did that kind of nonsense become entertainment? It’s utterly ridiculous. You make a star out of some ill-mannered person like Bella Fontaine, and you want to drag my daughter into that toxic mix? Forget it! I wish I’d never agreed to any of this in the first place,” she fumed, turning to go.

  “Marilyn…wait!” Sabra caught her wrist as she tried to make a beeline out of the store.

  Reclaiming her arm, Marilyn slayed the producer with a look. “What part of no do you not understand?” she blinked at the woman in disbelief.

  Sabra lowered her voice. “What if we edit out the part where Bella is making fun of the pie?” she asked, desperate.

  Marilyn raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually do that?” she asked suspiciously.

  The producer made a face. “If that’s what it’ll take to get that talented young daughter of yours to participate…of course,” she shrugged.

  “Well, I have no idea if she’ll agree to it or not, but you can call her and ask,” Marilyn conceded.

  “She’s going to be a star, I just know it,” Sabra grinned.

  “I certainly hope not,” was the muttered reply.

  Chapter 8

  “So, how was it? Are you changing your name, moving to Hollywood and becoming a movie star?” Marilyn teased when Tiara came in, ready for pizza and a movie.

  “Not even close,” her daughter laughed, picking up a chewy, gooey slice of pepperoni pizza and slapping it onto a paper plate for their weekly ritual. “It was fun, though, not gonna lie,” she said, taking a huge bite, the mozzarella stringing between her mouth and the triangle in her hand.

  “What did you do?” her mother asked, handing her a napkin.

  “They told me that I could buy whatever I wanted, I just had to make silly conversation about it with Amber, and they’d reimburse me for the cost of it, plus give me five hundred dollars for showing up on such short notice,” Tiara explained, holding up her hand in front of her mouth so that she could chew while she talked.

  “This guy named Tucker, who drives the limo that Amber and Bella travel in, followed us around the whole time, and whenever we bought something, he carried all of the bags and put them in the car. So, by the time we were done filming, I had picked out four swim suits, a couple of sundresses, some new sunglasses and five different colors of flip-flops. Amber got way more stuff than that, plus about twenty outfits for Lulu. I felt kind of bad for her actually, she really doesn’t have much of a life. The guy from the yacht club that she hangs out with sounds like a jerk, and she travels all the time, but never gets away from the cameras and has her own life. It’s kind of sad,” she said, reaching for her water bottle to wash down the pizza.

  “You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that,” Marilyn sighed with relief. “I was hoping you wouldn’t get lured into that kind of lifestyle.”

  “Oh please, Mom,” Tiara rolled her eyes. “You and I are just normal people who live in the real world. I wouldn’t last a week doing something like that without calling someone out for being fake or pretentious. No, thank you, I’m just fine working with you at SubLime Sweets until my dream job comes along,” her daughter assured her.

  Mother and daughter fought good-naturedly over which movie to watch, finally settling on an eerie mystery that took place in the swamps of Louisiana. There were a few surprised screams, and plenty of hold-your-breath suspense filled moments, and when it was time for Tiara to head out, Marilyn walked her to the car with a flashlight remarking that they should probably stick to comedies next time. Locking the door behind her after her daughter drove away, the tired pie-maker headed for bed, asleep almost before her head hit the pillow.

  **

  Marilyn slept so hard that she felt foggy when she woke up the next morning. Sunlight streamed through her window, but something felt…off. Shaking her head to try to clear the morning cobwebs from her brain, she heard something that sounded like she’d left the TV on, but she knew that she had turned it off after the movie last night. She slipped into her fluffy purple chenille robe and padded barefoot out to the living room to see where the noise was coming from.

  Bright blue and red lights splashed color all over the walls of her house as the lights of multiple police cruisers lit up the cozy interior. Marilyn’s heart beat rapidly when she saw uniformed policemen as well as the ever-handsome detective, Bernard Cortland, and her creepy neighbor, Tim Eckels, standing in her side yard, by the trees that separated her property from his.

  Dashing back to her bedroom and dressing in a hurry, because there was no way she was facing that crowd in her ratty bathrobe, she ran a brush through her hair and tossed it into a ponytail. Wondering what was going on, she sauntered nonchalantly out onto her porch. Detective Cortland looked up, saw her and jogged over, notebook and pen in hand.

  “Good morning, Detective,” she smiled, hoping that he couldn’t hear her heart pounding. “What brings you out here at this hour?”

  “We had a call from your neighbor,” Bernard began, his eyes narrowed.

  “Confidentially,” Marilyn leaned in. “He’s really strange. He keeps popping up in my yard and on my porch at different times and it really freaks me out. He actually sort of threatened me,” she confided as the detective took notes.

  “Threatened you?” Cortland raised his eyebrows. “In what manner?” his pen was poised over the notebook.

  Marilyn related the incident from the previous afternoon and told him how rattled she’d been over the encounter. The detective took copious notes, nodding and occasionally asking clarifying questions.

  “So why did he call you anyway?” she asked.

  Bernard Cortland looked at her for a long moment before replying. “He found something,” was the vague reply.

  “Oh…his cat? Why would he call you about that?” Marilyn looked past the detective to where Tim Eckels stood.

  “No, actually he found a body,” Bernard replied, watching her reaction carefully.

  “A body? What? Whose? Where?” her eyes were wide with fear. She knew that her neighbor was odd, but it was more than disconcerting to think that he would kill someone. “What did he do?” she whispered, wondering why the man wasn’t in hand cuffs by now.

  “He called in to report a dead body…on your lawn,” Cortland responded, looking at her closely.

  “On my…what? Where?” now Marilyn was terrified.

  “Did you happen to see last night’s episode of Real Girlfriends of the Yacht Club?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “What? No, of course not, I don’t watch that trash,” she waved dismissively. “But you’re telling me that there was a body found on my lawn? When?” she asked, practically convulsing with chills.

  “So you didn’t watch the show, even though you knew that your daughter was on it?” he persisted.

  “No, I reject the whole ridiculous concept. How did this happen?” Marilyn was getting frustrated that the detective was talking about a stupid reality show immediately after telling her that someone had died on her lawn.

  “You’re telling me that you have no idea what one of
the participants on the show said about your pie while she was in your shop?” Bernard continued to try to clarify the situation.

  “Wait…what? Did that nasty Bella Fontaine say something bad about my pie? Because the producer told me that they would edit that out. I’m going to be so angry if that segment aired,” she fumed. “But let’s table that discussion for a moment. Why is there a body on my lawn…and where exactly?” she asked, swallowing hard.

  “Over there, next to the treeline that divides your property from Madge’s,” Cortland inclined his head. “And we’d like to know how and why it got there too,” he said carefully.

  “Are you going to arrest Tim?” Marilyn whispered, so that her neighbor wouldn’t hear her.

  “No. I’m not going to arrest Mr. Eckels, and I’m hoping that I won’t have reason to arrest you or your daughter,” he ground out grimly.

  “What? Why on earth would you do that?” was her horrified reply.

  “The victim is Bella Fontaine. Mr. Eckels has no motive to have done anything to her…but you and your daughter certainly do.”

  Chapter 9

  “Should we close the shop for a few days?” Tiara asked her mother as the two left the police station after giving their statements. It was a Sunday, so the shop didn’t open until noon, and fortunately, they were done with the police in time to open up if they chose to.

  “I don’t see how we can,” Marilyn replied. “People who saw the show last night are probably going to be lining up before we open. Kelcie and I can make the pies in time for the rush, then I’ll tackle extra product while the two of you handle the customers.”

  “What if nobody shows up because they think we had something to do with Bella’s death?” she worried.

  “We’ll donate the pies to the homeless shelter,” her mother’s mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Okay,” Tiara nodded. “Let’s do this.”