by Amber Crewes
Meghan handed her a plate of mini eclairs. “Try this next,” she urged Erin. “We thought mini eclairs would be a fun evening snack for guests to enjoy during the dancing.”
Erin picked one up and took a bite, closing her eyes and savoring the taste of the thick cream filling. “It’s to die for,” she declared. “I think if I eat too many of these, I won’t fit into my swimsuit for the honeymoon, but I don’t even care. They are so good.”
Trudy clapped her hands. “This is going so well,” she whispered to Meghan.
“It really is,” Meghan agreed as she cleared the empty plate from Erin’s place and replaced it with a plate of tiramisu. “This is one of my favorite desserts to make,” she told Erin. “We’ve worked on the ratio of coffee, rum, and ladyfingers, and I think we have perfected it.”
Erin began eating the tiramisu, and her eyes widened. “This is it,” she moaned. “This is what I want for my dessert. My sweetheart can have his red velvet cake, but I want this tiramisu.”
“Not a problem,” Meghan grinned. “We can make it happen.”
They finished the tasting. Erin chose a diverse range of desserts and treats for the reception, morning after brunch, and rehearsal dinner, and Meghan was pleased by her selection.
“This has been one of the best tastings I’ve ever done,” Erin gushed as she handed Meghan the contract she had signed. “Truly, Meghan, your work is unmatched.”
Meghan beamed. “I’m so glad you think so.”
“I will surely be recommending you to all my friends,” Erin promised. “Gosh, you are such a gem. You should really go bigger on your advertising, Meghan. You could make a killing if you did more social media and radio marketing.”
“Radio marketing?” Meghan laughed. “Do people still listen to the radio these days?”
Erin nodded earnestly. “Oh, certainly,” she told her. “We use radio ads all the time for my fiance’s businesses, and customers always tell us the ads are what brought them to us.”
Meghan bit her lip. “Do you really think it would work?”
Erin smiled. “I think it’s always worth a try!”
The front door opened, and Mrs. Sheridan, an elderly resident of Sandy Bay, bustled in. Mrs. Sheridan was known for her bold, no-nonsense attitude, and while Meghan had been intimidated by her at first, they had eventually become fond of each other.
Mrs. Sheridan hobbled over to them, balancing carefully on her cane. She had a portable radio in her other hand, and the volume was turned up obnoxiously loud.
“Mrs. Sheridan, we are in the middle of a private tasting,” Trudy told her as the lyrics of a rap song filled the dining room.
Mrs. Sheridan fiddled with the buttons, and the volume increased. “What? I can’t hear you,” she squawked. Erin covered her ears, and Pamela shot Mrs. Sheridan a look.
“Turn it down,” she told the old woman loudly, but Meghan brushed her off.
“No,” she murmured. “That’s it, Erin, you’re right!”
“What?” Erin asked loudly.
“The radio,” Meghan said to herself. “We’re going on the radio!”
12
A fter Erin had left her tasting, Meghan fetched her coat from the back and set off toward the local radio station. She was going to drop by and see how much it would cost to do some advertising, and she was excited to see what was in store for her bakery with some new marketing.
As she made her way through the snowy streets of Sandy Bay, she thought of the press coverage the bakery had received in the past; any time she had gotten a glowing review or nice article written about her or her work, business had increased significantly for at least a month after. She wondered how business would increase after some radio advertising, and she was giddy as she imagined old and new customers flooding the dining room.
She wondered if she should mention the bakery’s leap to the wedding industry; did she have enough hands on deck to handle a mass influx of wedding orders? Meghan pondered hiring a new part-time worker; she had been toying with the idea for a few months, and maybe now it was time to take action.
Meghan rounded the corner and ran right into Mayor Rose. He was walking with his wife, a petite, curvy woman with strawberry blonde hair tied in a long French braid, and the couple nearly fell as Meghan crashed into them.
“Excuse me,” she apologized as she held up her hands. “I did not see you there. Forgive me for running into you.”
Mrs. Rose smiled warmly at Meghan. “It’s no worry at all, dear. You should be careful though; these streets were not made for running around in the winter! You’re lucky we didn’t go flying; last week, Mrs. Sheridan took quite a tumble after slipping on some ice, and I think she almost just met her fate.”
Meghan nodded. “You’re right, I was in too much of a hurry,” she agreed. “I’ll let you two get on your way. Nice to see you both.”
Mayor Rose held up his hand. “Wait,” he gestured. “Stop.”
“Let her go, dear,” his wife told him. “This young woman clearly has somewhere to be. She doesn’t need two old folks like us taking her time.”
Mayor Rose shook his head. “I just need a moment with Mrs. Irvin,” he assured his wife. “Meghan, have you and your husband made up your mind? Will you be doing me the honor of voting for me in the election?”
Meghan’s face paled. “The election?” she asked, her voice shaking. “Mayor Rose, your opponent just died. I don’t think anyone is really thinking about the election right now…”
Mrs. Rose gave her husband a swat on the behind. “Roland,” she chastised him. “Are you seriously asking her that? After Diggs just passed away? My goodness, dear, please forgive my rude husband. He is so... shaken... by Diggs’ death. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
The mayor shrugged his wife off. “I do know what I am saying,” he insisted. “Look, Meghan, there is only one candidate left, and it’s me. I really hoped you wouldn’t make this difficult, and I don’t want to cause trouble with your husband, but I think it’s in your best interest to give me your endorsement.”
Meghan peered at him. “And why is that?”
He stared into her dark eyes. “I could make things very difficult for the police department,” he whispered to her. “And for your business, Meghan. Do you see what I am saying?”
She said nothing, and his wife interjected. “Roland Rose,” Mrs. Rose screeched. “What on Earth has gotten into you? Apologize to the young woman for your rudeness. I cannot believe you. Dear, please forgive my husband. He hasn’t gotten a lot of sleep lately, and he’s been under a lot of stress. He has not been acting like himself, and I am so embarrassed for this outburst, I assure you.”
He was silent, and Meghan nodded at Mrs. Rose. “I’ll be on my way, then. My apologies again for running into you two. Have a nice day, Mayor Rose and Mrs. Rose.”
Mayor Rose shouted after Meghan. “You will vote for me,” he told her as she hurried away. “Like it or not, I’m the only choice for this town, Meghan!”
She took off in a sprint down the street, only slowing down when the Roses were out of sight. What had prompted the mayor’s bizarre outburst? She was puzzled by his behavior, and even more worried about his threats. Why was he so concerned about the election? As she had mentioned, his only opponent was dead. Surely there was not a lot Mayor Rose had to worry about in his re-election campaign. Or was there?
She arrived at the radio station out of breath, still panting when she walked in and approached the receptionist’s desk.
“May I help you?” the receptionist, a college aged man with a mohawk asked her.
“Who do I need to speak with about advertising?” she asked.
The man smiled. “Marty Workman, the owner,” he informed her. “You’re lucky; he usually isn’t in at this time, but he just finished an early meeting. Shall I tell him you’re here…?”
“Meghan,” she told him. “Meghan Irvin. Yes, please.”
Fifteen minutes later, Meghan was sea
ted in Marty Workman’s office. Marty was a tall middle-aged man with a head full of silver hair, a sleek, fitted suit, and designer shoes. Meghan instantly recognized his smooth, deep voice; he was the DJ during the late night hours on the weekends, and she had spent many long nights at the bakery listening to him.
“What can I do for you today, Meghan?” he asked with a smile. “You own that bakery, right? I’ve eaten a lot of your cookies over the years. My wife wants to kill you; she says your chocolate raspberry croissants are so good that she’s put on ten pounds since you’ve moved to town.”
Meghan grinned. “I’m glad,” she told him. “Well, not that your wife wants to kill me, but I am happy she enjoys the croissants. Tell her to buy them and reheat them and add a dollop of butter on top; that’s the best way to enjoy them, in my opinion.”
Marty nodded. “I will give the missus that message,” he promised. “So, Meghan, what brings you in today?”
“I want to do some radio advertisements for my bakery,” she declared. “I want to expand our advertising, and I think this will be a great way to do it.”
Marty smiled. “That will drive your business up.”
“That’s what I’m hoping for,” she explained. “I want to do a weekly radio advertisement, if I can afford it. What does your pricing look like, Mr. Workman?”
“Please,” he cracked his knuckles casually. “Call me Marty. And pricing for a new customer as pretty as you? I think we can cut you a great deal.”
Meghan shifted in her chair. Marty’s compliment had made her a bit uncomfortable, but she wanted to seal the deal. “Tell me what I need to do.”
“For starters, I will give you ten minutes of on air advertisement time a week,” he began. “That’s a lot of time. I’ll also throw in a feature article in the newspaper, which I own, as well as a billboard out by the interstate.”
Meghan’s dark eyes grew large. “That’s so much,” she commented. “I don’t know if I can afford all of it.”
Marty reached into his desk and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. He wrote a sum on it, folded it up, and handed it to Meghan. When she unfolded the paper, she gasped.
“This isn’t enough,” she protested. “You can’t give me that much for so little.”
He smiled wolfishly and ran a hand through his thick silver hair. “I can do whatever I want,” he assured her. “I’m the owner.”
Meghan stared at the slip of paper. “Why are you being so generous?” she asked in confusion. “We’ve just met…”
He shrugged. “I need the business,” he admitted, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Maybe if a sweet little local business woman like you does some ads with me, others will follow suit. I had a bad hit this month, and things have been on a downward spiral. I need to be on the up and up, you know?”
Meghan nodded. “I get that,” she told him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what caused the downward spiral? Anything in particular?”
His eyes narrowed, and his face grew dark. “My business is on the brink of ruin,” he sputtered angrily. “Because of him.”
“Him?”
“He wouldn’t pay up. He walked in here and made a lot of promises, but after months and months, he never came through on payments. He left me high and dry, Meghan. I had to take out a loan from my grandmother to cover expenses. Can you imagine how humiliating that was for me? He really did me dirty. And I don’t like it when people do me dirty.”
“Neither do I,” she agreed, raising an eyebrow. “So, who was it? Who was the jerk?”
He looked right into her eyes. “Who do you think it was, Meghan?”
She felt her stomach drop, and she watched as he buried his face in his hands.
13
“W
ho hurt your business?” Meghan repeated as Marty sat back up and cleared his throat. “Who was it, Marty? What’s going on here?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”
“I will,” she pleaded. “I’m a good listener, Marty. Tell me what’s going on.”
Marty frowned, his thick eyebrows knitting together until a deep line ran between his eyes. “It was Anthony Diggs.”
She shuddered. Why was everything coming back to Anthony Diggs?
“What did he do?” she asked quietly. “What did Anthony Diggs do to you?”
“What didn’t he do?” he scoffed. “I went out of my way to help him, and he really did a number on me. Diggs came to me about a year ago when he was in the early stages of planning his campaign; he was on the hunt for donors, cash, and equipment, and I said I could help him out.”
Meghan pursed her lips. “Did you know him well? What about his wife?”
“Well enough,” Marty commented. “He’s well known in town, of course, and I’ve done a few trips abroad with his outdoor adventure company. They did an overseas trip a few years ago to Costa Rica, and we got to know each other down in Dominical.”
“Dominical?”
“It’s a sleepy little surfer village off the west coast of Costa Rica. It’s hard to get to, but the food is good, the waves are insane, and the hiking is out of this world. Anthony and James led a trip down there, and I tagged along. James and I didn’t see eye to eye, but Anthony and I got along well. We ended up getting beers every night of the trip. On the last day, we took off on an all-day surfing excursion down the coast. It was a blast.”
Meghan nodded. “So, you guys became friends, and then he came to you and asked for help with his campaign?”
“He wanted equipment, airtime, billboards, and the works,” Marty explained as he stood up and began to pace around his office. “He wanted it all. And I was the trusting dummy who practically threw my time and money at him. I should have known better. Anyone who makes promises to a friend and doesn’t deliver on those promises is the scum of the earth.”
She cocked her head to the side. “So then what happened?”
“He really got me good, Meghan; he had all of these dreams and plans about the campaign, but when it was time to pay up, he always bailed.”
“Why didn’t you stop providing stuff for him? Didn’t you realize he was swindling you? You seem pretty savvy to me, Marty...”
Marty glowered at her. “It’s not that simple,” he promised. “He had me running all sorts of orders and errands, and he kept promising me the money was coming. Or, he would write a small check to hold me over, promising there would be more money when he was elected.”
She frowned. “There never was any money, was there?”
Marty crossed his arms and perched on the edge of his desk. “He was a con artist,” he spat as Meghan’s dark eyes grew large. “He really got me. He sold me this vision of how the media could have a positive impact on the prosperity of Sandy Bay. I’m a good guy, Meghan. I like to help people, and I love this town. I was inspired to make large orders for his business and his campaign. But now, in the end…”
She stared at him. “What about suing his estate?” she asked quietly. “I know that’s a big step, but you can’t let your business go under for his mistakes.”
Marty sighed. “I already contacted his attorney,” he informed her, his voice flat. “There’s no money left. He went through it all. Apparently, Anthony had a little gambling problem, and all of the Diggs’ money is gone.”
She stared at him. “Do you think Bonnie knew?” she whispered, thinking of the elegantly dressed widow in her designer clothes.
“She knows now,” Marty laughed. “Her husband was a loser and a cheat, and I’m sure if he’s done me wrong, he’s done her wrong. It sounds like that piece of trash deserved what happened to him, if you ask me. Then again, Bonnie is just as bad as he was, if not worse.”
She raised both eyebrows. “What do you mean, Marty? What did Bonnie do?”
He shook his head. “She is conniving,” he warned her. “She comes off as sweet and quaint with that pretty face and those nice clothes, but beneath it all, she is a killer. When Anthony died, she lawyered up fast
er than you can imagine, Meghan. What does that tell you? And I’m not talking about a silly little Sandy Bay attorney. I’m talking about the big dogs. She hired one of the best attorneys in Los Angeles to fly up here and sort through her husband’s mess. Don’t you think that screams guilty?”
Meghan was shocked by the hostility in his tone. “I’m sorry all of this happened to you,” she offered quietly. “I can see you are really upset. I’ll just get out of your hair, now.”
He walked her to the door. “Are we in for our deal?” he asked, and she could smell a faint sour scent on his breath. Had he been drinking in the middle of the day? She knew he was having problems, but was there more to Marty than she knew?
“I think so,” she told him. “I’ll talk to my husband about it, as well as my team at the bakery. If all goes well, I will have the money wired to you tomorrow.”
Marty stared at her. “Tonight, would be better,” he insisted. “Can you wire the money tonight?”
She felt her stomach churn. Marty had been charming at first, but now, he was making her feel apprehensive. “I’ll do my best,” she told him, and she turned and left the radio station as fast as she could.
As she walked outside, she could not get over her conversation with Marty; Anthony had always presented himself as a respectable gentleman, so professional and refined. Could he really be as malicious as Marty had described?
Her phone buzzed, and she reached into her pocket to retrieve it, smiling as she realized the text message was from her husband.
Date night tonight?
She texted back immediately.
YES!!
Her heart was glowing as she imagined a romantic date with Jack; she started thinking of all the outfits in her closet, determining which would look best on her for their date. Should she wear the plum midi skirt and matching top, or the blush turtleneck dress with her camel boots?
I want to do something exciting. You’ve been talking about trying new things and new experiences….Want to try something new?
She thought for a moment. What had she and Jack not done before in Sandy Bay? They had gone bowling, to the movies, walked dogs at the shelter, taken a dance class, and tried every restaurant in town. She wondered if Jack had something special up his sleeve.