New England Clam Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy

by Summer Prescott

  Becca put her hands on her hips and tried not to glare. “And why are you telling me this, exactly?” she asked, impatient and thinking that Lacey had probably whined to him about her behavior last night.

  “Becca, when I went upstairs this morning to shower...Lacey was…” he stopped, his voice cracking slightly.

  “She was what, Simon? Can we speed this up? I really have a full plate today,” she raised her eyebrows, glancing at her watch.

  “She was dead, Becca,” he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

  Becca’s mouth dropped open in shock. “What?!” she whispered, moving closer, her hands covering her mouth.

  Simon nodded sadly. “She was cold and grey...I felt for a pulse, but there was nothing. She was just...gone.” His lower lip trembled a bit, and despite the fact that his treatment of her throughout their marriage had been controlling and horrible, the part of her that would always be a compassionate human being felt a twinge of sympathy for him. She had never understood the relationship between him and Lacey, but that didn’t change the fact that he had just lost a mate.

  “Oh my...I’m so sorry, Simon,” she moved closer to him, touching his arm briefly.

  “But...how did it happen?” she asked, eyes wide.

  The grieving husband shook his head. “I have no idea. She was fine when I left for New York, and when I returned, she was…” he bit off the last part of his sentence, his throat tightening.

  “That must be just awful,” Becca said, meaning it. “What can I do?”

  A look that she couldn’t exactly identify flashed across his features, gone in an instant before she could analyze it. “The police came,” he said, dropping his gaze to the floor. “They’re trying to figure out what happened...they think that there might have been foul play involved.” Simon rubbed a weary hand over his eyes, and despite their unpleasant past, Becca felt sorry for him. “They were asking a lot of questions, and I couldn’t help but feel like they were looking at me suspiciously for some reason,” he admitted. “I know that I have no right to ask you for any favors after the way that...things ended, but do you think, that if the police talk to you, you could let them know that I’m just a normal guy who loved his wife and wants to find out what happened to her just as much as they do?”

  Becca looked at him for a long moment. It was pretty bold of him to ask her for anything, considering the tone and tenor of their entire relationship once she had said ‘I do,’ but the thought of him killing anyone, much less his precious little socialite, was preposterous to say the least. “Of course,” she agreed, thinking that now at least she knew why the police had stopped in the office this morning. “Look, I hate to rush off during such a difficult time, but…” she let the sentence trail off, glancing at her watch again.

  Simon got the point. “No, I completely understand,” he nodded sadly. “I know you have a business to run, I don’t want to keep you. Just wanted to let you know. Thanks for listening,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets.

  “No problem,” Becca looked at him sympathetically. “Take care.”

  “You too,” he said, turning quickly to leave.

  “Holy cow!” Katie exclaimed, coming out from her hiding spot in the hallway where she’d been listening to the entire conversation.

  Becca crossed her arms, shaking her head in disbelief. “Right?” she agreed. “I just dumped a glass of champagne on that woman last night. She seemed fine.”

  “Looks like Simon is taking this one pretty hard,” Katie observed.

  “Yeah...I’ve never seen him act that way before. He’s always so cool and in control, no matter what the situation. He showed no emotion or remorse when we divorced, he didn’t cry when his mother died, and didn’t bat an eye when his afghan hound was run over. I mean, I know that Lacey was his wife, but I guess I just didn’t realize that they were that bonded.”

  “Birds of a feather,” Katie murmured.

  Chapter 4

  Becca was swamped the entire day after Simon left. Wedding and graduation season was fast approaching, and nearly every one of her available slots was getting filled, with some going for triple her normal rates. She had interviewed candidates for kitchen and server positions, approved more menus than she could count, visited with five different clients to finalize the details of their events and only had time enough to eat an apple and a granola bar that she had stashed in her desk for lunch. She was exhausted by the time the workday was finally over, and was looking forward to an uneventful evening on the couch, snuggled up with Poppy and Netflix. There were a couple of smaller functions happening tonight, but they were deliver-only clients who had their own kitchen and serving staff, so Katie would ensure proper delivery, leaving the rest of the details in the hands of the client. Delivery-only jobs weren’t as lucrative because there were no service aspects, but when there were multiple DO jobs in a day, it made life easier on everyone.

  She stopped at the market on the way home, too exhausted to even think about fixing dinner, and ironically bought a rotisserie chicken and a salad from the deli. One would think that with a commercial kitchen full of gourmet food at her disposal, she’d just ask Julio and his band of merry chefs to whip up a bit extra for her to take home, but she liked to keep her business and personal life separate in every sense of the word, so she either cooked for herself or had take-out rather than bringing home goodies from work. She was wandering through the bakery, trying to decide whether or not a piece of Boston Cream Pie would be worth the extra time she’d have to put in at the gym, when she heard a vaguely familiar male voice at her elbow.

  “Dessert is my downfall too.”

  She turned around quickly and saw a very attractive and well dressed man, carrying a small basket full of fresh fruit and vegetables, eyeing the cakes and pastries in front of her.

  “Becca, right?” he asked.

  “Yes...do we know each other?” she asked, trying to place him.

  “Well, not really,” he admitted, looking chagrined. “I was at Lenora Thornton’s party last night, and…” he trailed off, embarrassed.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, the heat rising in her cheeks. “You were with…” she ended her sentence awkwardly, not wanting to say the dead woman’s name, out of respect.

  “Lacey...yeah. I assume you heard?” he asked gravely.

  Becca nodded somberly. “Terrible thing,” she murmured.

  “Terrible indeed,” he agreed, dropping his gaze.

  “Did you know her well?” Becca asked, making conversation.

  “We’ve known each other for years. We played tennis pretty often,” he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” she noted, tilting her head inquisitively.

  “Oh, my apologies, I’m still kind of stunned by everything. Trevor, Trevor Wycliff,” he offered his hand.

  Becca shook it, giving him a sympathetic smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Trevor. My condolences for your loss,” she said, ready to get home and forget that today ever happened.

  “Thanks,” he attempted a smile, falling just slightly short. “Nice meeting you,” he raised a hand in farewell and turned to go.

  Becca found it more than a bit odd that a man who was clearly a member of the society set happened to be out grocery shopping on his own, but thought that it was kind of endearing and perhaps gave her some insight into his character. Complex people fascinated her, and the handsome Trevor Wycliff had certainly captured her attention.

  **

  Devouring both of the wings and one of the breasts from her rotisserie chicken and following it up with a good-sized wedge of Boston Cream Pie, Becca had just settled in for her quiet evening on the couch with Poppy, when her doorbell rang. Sighing, she put her movie on pause, and wasn’t entirely surprised when she looked out her peephole and saw two men in suits on her front porch.

  “Yes?” she said after opening the door to the men who were clearly detectives.

  “Miss Ro
gers, I’m Detective Chester Gramble, and this is my partner Detective Lance Reynolds,” the older, heavier-set one spoke, flashing a badge in her face. The one that was about her age, fit and handsome, nodded when introduced, but said nothing.

  “How can I help you, Detective,” she asked politely, thankful that they had come in an unmarked car so none of her neighbors would wonder why she was receiving a visit from the police.

  “We’d like to talk to you for a few minutes if you don’t mind. May we come in?” the detective didn’t smile, but seemed pleasant enough.

  “Of course, please do,” Becca stepped back, allowing them to follow her inside. Poppy looked up briefly from her perch on the arm of the couch, but immediately began licking her paw, utterly disinterested in the new arrivals who had disturbed movie time. Becca led the detectives to the kitchen and offered them a seat in her cozy dining nook. “Would you like some coffee, or water, or something?” she offered. Being a good hostess was an occupational byproduct for her.

  “No, thanks,” Detective Gramble demurred. “We shouldn’t be here all that long.”

  “Okay,” Becca responded, eager to get on with her evening. “Then what is it you’d like to talk with me about?”

  “You’re the ex-wife of Simon Langworthy, correct?” his eyes bored into her.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you aware that Mr. Langworthy’s wife passed away?”

  “Yes. Terrible thing,” Becca responded sympathetically.

  “It certainly is,” Gramble agreed, still staring at her intently. Reynolds remained silent, taking notes. “Are you also aware that you were recorded on security cameras last night having an altercation with Mrs. Langworthy?”

  It felt strange to Becca to hear her former name being used to refer to someone else. Wanting no part of Simon after the divorce, she had changed back to her maiden name, but she had been Mrs. Langworthy for more than five years. “I was not aware that I was on camera, no. And I certainly wouldn’t call the interaction between Lacey and myself an altercation. More of a disagreement, really,” she replied, slightly embarrassed.

  Gramble narrowed his eyes a bit, and Reynold’s continued to jot down notes. “You left the premises right after your ‘disagreement’ with Mrs. Langworthy. Where did you go?”

  “I went home. Why?” she asked, puzzled.

  The detective leaned forward. “That’s precisely what I’d like to know...why? Why did you go home? You own the catering company and you left in the middle of what I presume was a major event for you. Why would you do that?”

  “I was tired, it had been a long day. I had a martini-soaked dress and honestly, I was a little embarrassed that I had allowed Lacey to get a rise out of me,” she admitted, shrugging.

  “When you say ‘get a rise out of you’ do you mean that you were angry with Mrs. Langworthy?” he asked, folding his hands together on the table in front of him.

  Becca sighed. “I wouldn’t say angry, exactly, it was more...frustrated than anything else I suppose.”

  “Frustrated,” he repeated. “Mmhmm.” he and Reynold’s exchanged a look.

  “What do you know about your husband’s relationship with his wife?” Gramble asked, eyeing her intently.

  “I really don’t have any idea what their relationship was like. He came by the office today to tell me about her death and he seemed pretty shaken,” she said, remembering Simon’s request that she paint a pleasant picture of him if questioned by the police.

  “Of course,” Gramble replied, sounding impatient. “What husband wouldn’t be?”

  “Of course,” Becca nodded, wondering at the detective’s abrupt change in manner. “Are we done here, Detectives?” she asked politely, more than ready for them to leave.

  “For now,” Gramble stood and Reynold’s did the same. “We’ll be in touch. If you think of anything out of the ordinary regarding the party or Mrs. Langworthy, please give me a call.” He tossed his card on the table rather than handing it to her and made his way out to the foyer, his eyes darting around her home as though he were looking for clues. Becca closed the door behind them, trying to figure out what was going on, and why the police had wanted to speak with her. She had gathered up the remote to push continue so that she could watch her movie, and was interrupted yet again, this time by her phone ringing. She picked it up when she saw that it was Katie calling and answered it.

  “Hey Katie,” she responded wearily.

  “Oh my gosh, Becca, did the police come talk to you?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Yes, they just left, why?” Becca sat up, listening intently.

  “They came to see me too! They asked all sorts of questions about your relationship with Simon, how you felt about the divorce, and this is really strange...they asked how much hands-on contact you have with the food when we work on an event. What is going on, Becca?” she asked, sounding frightened.

  Becca sighed. “I honestly have no idea, Katie. The only thing that I can figure is that Simon is in some kind of trouble and doesn’t want the police to find out about it.”

  “Yeah, that’s kind of what it sounded like when he came to the office and talked to you,” her friend agreed. “But Becca, what if Simon is in more trouble than you think and is trying to set you up?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her heart pounding.

  “I’m just saying, what if Simon did something...that he wasn’t supposed to do...and told the police some things that he made up about you so that they wouldn’t focus on him?” Katie proposed hesitantly.

  “Well, in the first place, Simon would never kill someone, especially not his arm-candy socialite wife, and secondly, even if he did do something...accidentally, he would never try to blame it on me, that’s diabolical,” Becca protested, shaking her head.

  “From what I recall of our conversations about him, he’s capable of some pretty nasty stuff,” she reminded her friend.

  “Well, yes, but murder?? That’s...inconceivable.”

  Chapter 5

  Becca was surprised to see Simon’s flashy little red sportscar parked in front of her office when she arrived. She hadn’t communicated with him in quite some time and now he appears at her doorstep twice in the same week? She was beginning to think that something was not quite as it seemed, and was not looking forward to yet another encounter with her estranged ex.

  “Becca,” he called, when she parked and headed toward the door. Sighing internally, she went over to the passenger side of the convertible and leaned on the door.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” she remarked mildly, despite her irritation. She much preferred to stay out of Simon’s life and vice versa.

  “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? Let’s go somewhere for a bit, I need to talk to you,” Simon replied, looking out of sorts.

  “Simon, I have a job to do. I can’t just leave whenever…” she protested. The thought of climbing into a car with her ex-husband gave her chills, as she remembered being left by the roadside on a rainy night after he threw one of his notorious tantrums. That was when they were married and he still, at least ostensibly, had a vested interest in keeping her happy. Who knew what he was capable of now that she meant nothing to him?

  “Please?” he interrupted. “It’s important. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t.” His tone was somewhat terse, but it was as close to pleading as Simon was ever going to get, which raised her curiosity several levels.

  “Fine,” she finally agreed, sighing. “I’ll meet you at Espresso Especiale, but I can’t stay long,” she warned, unlocking her car. Without bothering to reply, Simon roared out of his parking spot and headed for the coffee shop. It rankled that they had been divorced for quite some time and yet he still felt entitled to call the shots and intrude upon her time, but Becca was intrigued, despite herself, and had to know what he was going to say. His behavior was beginning to make her wonder if Katie’s idea that he was trying to frame her might not be so far out of the realm of the possible after all.
>
  Because of Simon’s frat boy driving style, he was already seated with a steaming cappuccino by the time she arrived. She ordered a skim latte for herself, along with a fluffy, flaky, chocolate croissant, and sat down across from him at a quiet corner table.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked without preamble, tearing off a piece of croissant, choosing to disregard the vague feeling of nausea that always seemed to present itself whenever she had to deal with her ex.

  “Have the police talked with you?” he asked, his voice low.

  “Yep,” Becca replied, not giving away anything. She wanted to see where he was going with this.

  “And...?” he said, rather impatiently.

  “And they asked me a few questions, I answered them, and they left. No big deal,” she shrugged, watching him for a reaction. She could tell that he was agitated on some level, because his jaw muscles flexed continually and his hands were balled into fists on either side of his coffee cup.

  “What were the questions about?”

  Becca frowned, looking at him closely. “Why do you want to know?” she answered his question with one of her own, not giving an inch. Simon’s eyes darted back and forth and he took a deep breath, seeming to come to some sort of decision.

  “I don’t know,” he sighed. “This whole thing is just so surreal to me that I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t understand it, and no one is giving me any answers,” he raised his hands in frustration, then dropped them back on the table.

  “That must be difficult,” Becca murmured, wondering how she could tactfully end the conversation without Simon becoming hostile.

  He drilled her with a glare. “You have no idea.” He shook his head as though overwhelmed. “I need to get away from this for a while. I can’t even think straight right now.”

  “Will running away help?” she asked simply, taking a sip of her latte.

  “It sure as hell can’t hurt,” he stood and strode from the coffee shop, leaving her staring after him, puzzled and a bit afraid.