by Emily Selby
The Long Island Iced Tea Goodbye
Career Crisis Café Mystery 1
Emily Selby
Copyright © 2019 by Emily Selby
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Contents
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
Thank you for reading
Career Crisis Café Mystery series
Also by Emily Selby
Recipe: Feijoa and Ginger Scones
1
Heather Hampton parked the car on the side of the road. Although there was a small car lot for the café customers just by the entrance, she wanted to enjoy the scenery.
"So this is it," she said to herself, climbing out of the old Nissan she bought this morning shortly after checking out of the hotel by the Auckland airport. "This is my new home."
She crossed the street, taking in the scene. A long, white arcade shielded a number of little shops, a B&B and, at the corner just after it, her own little café.
A tired looking, two-level building, much less glamorous than she would ever admit, but it did have great potential. The rear lawn extending onto the beach and the palm trees in the distance could become what Heather had been dreaming of - the tropical paradise retreat.
It required some work, fair enough, and a bit of imagination, but it was feasible.
A new beginning. A new life. Far away from the noise, traffic and cutthroat rat race of New York and the world of fashion.
Heather straightened her back and stretched her neck. The journey from Auckland had been long and tiring. The road looked nothing like on the map, and the GPS ... well ... the car salesman had been right—having only one road to follow helped.
Heather turned left at the end of the row of buildings, heading for the rear entrance. Josephine Barry, the live-in chef-cum-baker was supposed to be waiting for her.
Obviously, it would have been so much better if Josephine waited for her outside, but fair enough, it was cold. After all, it was late September—early Spring in this Down Under world.
The chairs stacked upside-down on the tables on a covered patio rattled as she walked beside them. The café’s windows were dark. The business had been closed for months, since the death of one of its owners, and was about to receive a new lease of life in the shape and form of Heather Hampton.
And Heather Hampton was about to receive a new lease of life herself—a simple, slower, friendlier life in a sunny corner of her new home, Dolphin Cove, New Zealand.
Heather reached the large, glazed door, which sported a wooden sign with a parrot carved in it and a notice, "Sorry, we're closed" underneath.
"Kea Café," Heather mumbled. Nice, but not nice enough. Besides, kea was a mountain parrot, and this was a sunny seaside. The place needed some color, new blood, a new name.
She’d spent most of her flight from New York thinking up a new name. It had been fun.
She pressed the buzzer attached to the door and waited.
"Yes?" a sharp voice croaked through the speakerphone.
"Hi, it's Heather," she said. "I'm a little late. Sorry."
Josephine made an incomprehensible noise in response.
"I'll wait outside," Heather replied. She turned around to take in the scenery. She had seen the café, of course, prior to buying it—although she wouldn't have without her lawyer’s insistence, she'd have bought it anyway—but that had been months ago and in winter.
In the local winter that is, which meant loads of rain, wind and heavy, grey skies. It was nothing like this now. The sun had just emerged from behind a layer of clouds and was happily presiding over an almost endless sheet of blue, neatly separated by the horizon into the sky and the sea.
She stretched her arms out, taking a deep breath, full of salty, fresh air. It made her giddy.
Heather removed her sandals and jumped off the covered deck area on the sand below. The tiny grains tickled her feet. She giggled and took a few steps, pushing the soft, cool sand aside as she waded.
"Kia ora, Heather," a voice behind her boomed.
Heather swiveled to greet the tall, hunched, broad-shouldered woman in her sixties–her new employee and, she hoped, business partner.
"Hello, Kia ora," she shouted, returning the traditional New Zealand greeting. Thank goodness she'd phoned her Kiwi mother to practice a few key phrases before flying out of the States.
"I've put the kettle on and have fresh scones," Josephine said gruffly. "Inside," she added, pointing with her chin. She turned and shuffled back into the building.
"It's nice outside," Heather protested, but her voice came out weaker than she hoped.
"It's still cold and everything's wet," Josephine replied. "It rained this morning."
"I can wipe a couple of chairs and a table–"
"Coffee or tea?" Josephine demanded, ignoring her comment and rushing back inside.
"A coffee would be nice. It was a long drive."
"Are you sure?" Josephine gave a curious look from across the hallway. "It's five pm."
If you think it's too late for a coffee, why offer it?
"Jetlag's kicking in, and I want to stay up until the local bedtime," Heather said, adding a smile.
She needed something to filter her thoughts and keep her polite.
"Do come inside and close the door," Josephine called from the back of the kitchen where she was pouring water.
Heather reluctantly closed the door and entered the building. It seemed as though a cuppa on the patio wasn’t an option. Josephine was probably right. Evenings were still too chilly, but once the weather improved, they'd reopen the garden and start earlier.
She crossed the short, dark hallway, no doubt used as a wet room, which opened onto a spacious, open area. The kitchen.
The room was warm but dimly lit from a lamp hanging above a large table at the back. The wooden floor squeaked under her bare feet. She was still carrying her sandals and would need to put them back on. It was cold underfoot.
"Here," Josephine called. "Chin-chin Fiji scones or choclit muffins?"
Heather blinked. Her heart sank. Due to the excitement she'd forgotten Josephine had a local accent that became stronger the faster she spoke. Heather would have to learn to understand her and quickly. Otherwise ... There was no otherwise. In the meantime, she had to find a way to fake it until she could make it.
She crossed to the lit area and inhaled the welcoming aroma of freshly brewed coffee.
"What did you say is in the scones? It smells of ginger, and something ... hm. Not sure." Heather spoke hesitantly.
"That's what I said," Josephine replied. "Ginger and fiji-oha scones."
So, it was ginger! Although her ears had failed, she could still count on her nose.
The other ingredient remained secret though. It must have been something exotic from Fiji. Or Haiti. The "aloha" bit...
Heather bit her upper lip.
"Or a muffin?" Josephine's voice thundered above her head. Heather winced.
"A muffin then," she replied quickly.
"It's from yesterday."
"I thought you said it was chocolate," Heather mumbled. This conversation was becoming difficult to keep track of.
"I can refresh it for you in the oven," Josephine replied. "They keep quite well."
"Yes, thank you, and please," Heather said, scanning the area for a reasonably comfortable chair. A wave of tiredness swept over her, like a wet, thick fog. "I'm drained, sorry if I don't get everything you say."
"That’s what I thought," the woman replied, pouring steaming golden-brown liquid into a mug. "Here you go." Josephine put the mug on the table. "There is a stool over there," she pointed towards a corner with a high table, probably used for dirty dishes.
It was the stool Heather decided to pass on earlier, but it looked as though it'd have to do.
"Where are the chairs?" Heather asked, pulling the stool towards the table.
Josephine looked at her from behind her glasses.
"I don't need chairs here. Don't entertain in the kitchen."
Heather hunched. This was her first informal meeting with the woman who had run this business for over thirty years and Heather wasn't exactly winning it.
Worse, it felt like she was sinking lower each and every time she opened her mouth. Maybe she should keep her mouth shut a bit more than it was open?
At least she could try, and she might succeed. There was always a first time.
"But of course, sorry," Heather replied, smiling broadly. "I was thinking about you. Where are you going to sit?"
"I've my stool here." Josephine conjured a seat from under the table. "You sure you don't want a scone? They're my specialty. Fiji-ohas are not in the season, but I've got some lovely jam from this year. From my own garden."
So, the exotic ingredient had seasons and grew locally. A good sign.
"Would it be very greedy to ask for both? Or half of each?"
Josephine glanced at her over the shoulder. Even when squatting by the oven, she still looked intimidating.
Formidable. That’s the word.
"That'll be quite alright," Josephine puffed and stood up. She placed a large plate with steaming scones in the middle of the table and set plates and forks. "Here's some extra jam, if you want. Unless, you prefer clotted cream, but I don't think that’ll work," she added promptly.
"I think I'll follow your advice," Heather replied, suppressing the urge to correct her chef-cum-baker that where she came from, scones were a different creature altogether, and they knew no clotted cream.
Josephine busied herself with the reheated muffin, and Heather watched her in silence. Her new close-your-mouth strategy seemed to be going quite well.
Finally, the muffin landed on the table, and Josephine grabbed her mug, which was when Heather felt she could finally take a sip of her drink. She was parched and deflated.
Josephine raised her mug and her lips bent into a very first smile. "Welcome to Kea Café and to Dolphin Cove."
"Thank you for such a ... lovely smelling welcome," Heather replied, relaxing her shoulders. In her experience, food and drinks usually made any conversations easier.
"Sorry about the fuss, but here, in Dolphin Bay, we welcome visitors with food. Particularly if they had business to discuss."
"That's awesome," Heather replied.
And, my, oh my, it was awesome! Because she did have business to discuss. But how could she start a conversation about her vision to transform the cake and coffee dormant business into a booming, beach paradise cocktail and exotic desserts bar?
Softly, softly, catchee-monkey.
She might never have needed to negotiate with her own employee before, but she'd talked her way into many fashionista's front rooms. Josephine was just another type of diva.
Heather would find a way into her mind. Or heart. She just needed time to figure out how to do it.
"So, tell me about the café and how things have been for you here," Heather said, stabbing the ginger-and-some-exotic-fruit scone.
"It's been quiet, but I've been brewing some ideas."
"Tell me about them," Heather encouraged, lifting a forkful of the heavenly-smelling dessert to her mouth.
Josephine jerked her chin.
The scone touched Heather's tongue and palate. A sweet and tart taste with a warm kick filled her mouth.
"Uhm..." Heather moaned. That thing, whatever was in it tasted like nothing she'd ever had before. She savored the tiny grains of something that reminded her of pear.
"Sorry, didn't quite catch what did you say you'd been working on?" Heather muttered, still processing the flavor overload.
This time, Josephine raised her eyebrows in response.
"This is delicious," Heather stated. "Is it one of the things you serve in the café?"
"It's one of the new items I'd like to put on the menu. Been working on them throughout winter."
Heather nodded eagerly.
"That's a brilliant idea. If you have any more new desserts you'd like to test on someone, I'd be more than happy to act as volunteer taster."
At least she has one redeeming quality.
The previous café owner had been dead right. Accepting Josephine Barry as a "tie-in" to the contract was not a bad idea. Heather might not have wanted too much continuity with the former identity of the café, but baked goods of this quality were priceless.
"I understand you may be excited about new things, but there is a plenty of old stuff that need fixing first," Josephine said.
Yeah, work before play. Josephine’s clearly one of that sort.
Heather sipped her coffee, which bought her enough time to return to the professional frame of mind.
"Tell me more," she said simply and braced herself.
Josephine grabbed the heavy-framed, yellow-brown glasses that had been dangling on a golden chain from her neck and slid them onto her nose.
"I've got a list somewhere here." She fished a neatly folded piece of paper from the front pocket of her stripy apron. "Let me see... The windows need changing, particularly some of the ones downstairs. The frames are old and don't close properly. Then, there’s the floor..."
Heather leant her elbows on the table. This was going to be a long conversation. She could have probably found all these details in the documentation she got from the sale.
"What's wrong with the floor?"
Josephine stood, grabbed an empty jar from the worktop and placed it sideways on the floor.
The jar rolled away towards the hallway.
"I didn't touch it," Josephine said, grimly.
"I see..." Heather replied. "But we can probably live with an uneven floor for a while. The windows seem more important. What else?"
"The windows will have to be all replaced. Maybe one level at the time, but we can't have different styles of window. It would look bad."
Heather agreed, and reached for the plate with the heavenly scone. She needed to remember that Josephine had some positive sides.
Josephine went on, listing the need to trim the hedge, add a few new outdoor umbrellas, a refreshed menu, which she had already committed herself to, probably a new marketing strategy and maybe new decor.
Heather jerked on hearing the word 'decor'. She could definitely relate to that. "Absolutely," she said nodding so vigorously, her curls spilled across her face. "We definitely need to do something with the decor."
Josephine's shoulders stiffened. She glanced at Heather from behind her glasses. It was frosty and chilled Heather to the bone.
Heather flicked her hair back. "It's a bit... dark and gloomy," she said, making a broad gesture with her free hand. "How about we introduce color, brightness and some fun?"
"Fun?" Josephine pronounced the word in such a way Heather wondered if she might have misheard it. But Josephine didn't look like a person who’d use profanity.
> Maybe it was the harsh Kiwi accent again.
"Yes, fun. This place needs life. It's been dead for a long time," Heather blurted.
Josephine's eyes narrowed. "Yes, since Maree's tragic death. I've been grieving. She was my childhood friend. We ran this café together for over thirty years," Josephine said, staring hard at Heather.
Heather shifted on the stool. It was more uncomfortable than she thought. She added kitchen chairs to her mental list, but only two.
"I'm sorry about Maree. And my apologies for my unfortunate turn of phrase. I didn't mean to upset you."
Josephine gave a curt nod. "Thank you. But going back to the business, what ideas do you have?"
Heather rubbed her chin. Uncertain about how to say what she wanted to say, and she also felt the grounds were too shaky for her to proceed with her usual casual frankness.
"I thought about maybe changing the name to something funky, unusual, maybe even controversial," Heather said as lightly as she could.
Josephine's face turned even paler. Her eyes fixed on Heather's face. The silence in the room thickened and frosted over.
Heather pressed her lips together and returned the stare, ignoring the shivering chill spreading through her body.
Yes, it was a staring match. Just as one of those she used to have with her older brother.
Whoever blinks first–loses.
Josephine jumped up and squatted by the oven.
"What else?" she asked, apparently checking the oven was off.
It was. And this was the end of the conversation regarding the café name.
Heather made a mental note to plot her strategy for the name change carefully but, for now, she needed to play the game.
"What else?" Heather repeated, pretending the previous minute hadn't happened. "I've done a mixology course, and would like to use my skills," she said proudly.