Murder at the Beacon Bakeshop

by Darci Hannah

  “Please, you two. We all stand out in this town—for our own reasons. But, Kennedy dear, I must agree with Rory. You knew something before you came here. What was it?”

  After a minute of defiant silence, she finally relented. “Alright, fine,” she erupted, and slapped down her napkin. “I knew you wouldn’t forget about that little scene in the kitchen, just as I know you’re not going to like what I have to tell you, Linds. I really should have told you sooner. I thought I could handle it. I mean, Rory’s right. It’s partly the reason I’m here.”

  Dread filled me. “What in the name of all that’s holy did you do?” I uttered. “You didn’t . . . you had nothing to do with Mia’s death, right?” Rory, harboring the exact same suspicion, stared at my beautiful friend. There was nothing flirtatious about it.

  “I didn’t poison her,” she declared. “But I did . . . tamper a bit.”

  “What do you mean by ‘tamper’?” My stomach contracted painfully, which, after eating such a rich meal, wasn’t a good thing. Kennedy looked largely unfazed as she said this, which made me even more suspicious and ill.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she chided. “I didn’t kill her. But I did exact a measure of revenge—purely on your behalf, Linds. I mean, you’re my best friend. You’d do the same for me.”

  “That depends on what you did.”

  Kennedy drained her wineglass, then continued with passion. “It all started a month after you caught Jeffery cheating with Mia—and on your birthday, no less! You were devastated, Linds, and I would have been, too, if I were in your shoes. The man is deplorable, and his little tart is no better. For heaven’s sake, you quit your job and moved to Michigan. Michigan! Who in their right mind moves to Michigan? You left me alone in New York City!”

  Kennedy was being dramatic. She had a fabulous career and tons of friends in the city. Sure, she was my best friend, but we talked daily. And she loved my lighthouse. Whatever she’d done, it must have been bad. Kennedy seldom backpedaled like she was doing now. I crossed my arms. “Go on,” I insisted. “A month after I caught Jeffery and Mia, what did you do?”

  She gave a forceful sigh. “It was really all his doing,” she explained with a flip of her hand. “I was watching a morning talk show when they suddenly cut to a cooking segment featuring your ex.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “Jeffrey was his cocky old self, smiling at the cameras while shamelessly plugging his restaurant and new cookbook. Can you believe the title? Plank It!? I nearly vomited in the back of my throat when I saw it hovering before the cameras. The pretention! The nerve! The lack of imagination! Anyhow, I was about to turn it off when Jeffery made a crazy, politically incorrect remark about cows. He was cooking a couple of thick, juicy steaks for the hosts and jokingly remarked that cows were too stupid to live. He pushed it further by stating that their only real aspiration was to be slathered in butter and seared on obsidian rock or a hot slab of sea salt.”

  Rory, aghast, shook his head. “What a bastard,” he remarked. “I’m a hunter. You might not understand this, but the code of the hunter is to honor the dignity of every animal, especially the ones who give up their lives during the hunt. Cows are no different.”

  “Interesting,” Kennedy remarked with a touch of skepticism tainting her voice. “In general, I’m not a fan of shooting wild animals for meat, but your take on it is almost noble. Anyhow,” she continued, returning to her story. “Jeffery’s insensitive comments raised eyebrows on the show, but it was nothing compared to what the PETA people and the vegans were saying on Twitter. The whole thing was blowing up in Jeffery’s face, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to wield a little influence of my own.”

  “Oh no,” I breathed. “What did you do?”

  She combatted my fear with a breezy smile. “I’m an influencer, darling. I have the ear and minds of millions of people. How could I pass up the opportunity to destroy Jeffery Plank and his stupid cookbook? All I did was side with the PETA people. I might have organized a protest outside Sizzle as well. I might have even brought some adorable livestock with me. The cows, I’ll have you know, took particularly strong umbrage. Then, because I could, I began trashing his new cookbook, Plank It!, on Twitter. I basically created a publicity nightmare, the likes of which he might never recover from. You’ll be happy to know that Plank It! is tanking at the bookstores.”

  “Happy?” I cried, staring at my friend with incredulity. “I admit that when I found Jeffery and Mia together, I was heartbroken. But he did me a favor!” I looked at them both, making sure they understood. “I came here and started all this. I would never have had the courage if it wasn’t for cheating Jeffery and that tart, Mia. But you?” I pointed accusingly at Kennedy. “You went after his livelihood.” And then it hit me. My eyes flew wide as I inhaled sharply. “That’s why he and Mia were here! Revenge. They came to ruin me just like you ruined him, only . . . only I had no idea that you ruined him!” My heart was pounding like a hammer in my chest. I was furious. Rory, following along, was puzzled and angered as well.

  “That’s why he kept calling me!” It suddenly made sense. “He called nearly every day, only I never took his call. I thought he was calling to apologize—or grovel. Oh, Kennedy, how could you? I didn’t want you to ruin Jeffery—”

  “He deserved it.”

  “Well, that may be. But you should have told me.”

  The publicity-warrior melted, and the real Kennedy Kapoor poked through. “I was going to, Linds, honestly. But I pushed it too far. I knew you’d be furious if you caught wind of my involvement in Jeffery’s demise.”

  “Ya think?” Rory chimed in with a sobering dose of sarcasm. “Who would have thought a malicious tweet could destroy a man’s business?”

  “That’s the power of the internet,” I remarked, before turning my attention back to Kennedy. “Jeffery may be a cheating pig, but he worked hard to make Sizzle one of New York’s top restaurants. And poor Mia. She was quite talented, you know. She didn’t deserve to die because of... because of . . . Oh God!” I cried, and cradled my head with my hands. Tears threatened. It was really too much.

  “That’s part of the reason I came here,” Kennedy softly admitted. “Of course, I was going to support Lindsey and help her make the best run at opening day of any lighthouse bakery. I was, admittedly, also afraid that Jeffery would catch wind of what you were doing and try to harm you. He thinks you hired me to destroy him.”

  “What?” I cried, drying my eyes.

  “Well, look, he obviously does. I came here to set the record straight and to head off any trouble that might arise from my actions. As you can see, I failed on all accounts.” She flung up her hands in defeat.

  I was fuming, I was so mad. Kennedy’s secret was a bombshell. I was honestly having a hard time trying to process what she was admitting to as well as all the ramifications it had on my opening day. That’s when Rory piped up.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, but how is Mia’s death linked with Kennedy sabotaging your ex-boyfriend’s restaurant? It makes no sense. If what you’re saying is true, Kennedy, and Mia was, in fact, poisoned, then Lindsey could hardly be the suspect. I can honestly attest to the fact that she had no idea you had tried to ruin Jeffery’s reputation as a chef. Lindsey’s not only surprised by your actions, she was also visibly surprised by the arrival of Mia and Jeffery at the bakeshop this morning. I was standing beside her. I saw the look on her face when Mia walked in. In my opinion, Lindsey has no reason—or means—of poisoning Mia. How could she when she had no idea they’d be there?”

  “Good point,” Kennedy said, casting him an appreciative look. “So that leaves us with the obvious fact that whoever poisoned her knew she’d be at your bakery.”

  “Which would be you,” I pointed out, staring at my friend.

  While Kennedy thought on this, Rory added, “Or Jeffery, or one of Mia’s adoring friends. Think of it? They came in a group to ruin you, Lindsey. You and your bakery make the perfect foil. My bet is th
at one of them had a reason to want her dead.”

  “By heavens, I think you might be right.” Kennedy held Rory in a near-loving gaze. She then shifted her attention to me. “You didn’t know Mia was coming. I had a feeling she and Jeffery might show up, but couldn’t really say for sure. However, they all knew. They all made the journey with her.”

  “And they all cheered her on as she destroyed my bakery.” I shook my head, dismayed that my friend had commenced a campaign to destroy Jeffery’s reputation as a chef, and yet happy she’d finally come clean about her deeds. “Thank you for being honest,” I told her. “I now understand the motive that drove Mia to ruin my opening day. She’d been seeking revenge for her lover and his livelihood. The question is, what person in her entourage would want her dead?”

  CHAPTER 19

  Kennedy, guilt-ridden yet grateful to have finally come clean, took it upon herself to scrub down the kitchen and attend to the dishes while I left the lighthouse with Rory.

  Wellington, of course, had come with us. He loved the attention Rory showered on him, and would, no doubt, accompany him home even if I didn’t walk with them. But it was a cloudless night, and the lake looked so beautiful as it carried and caressed the light of the moon on its waves. I found the crisp air cleansing, its freshness like a balm to my nerves that Kennedy had nearly stripped bare.

  “I don’t remember if I ever got the chance to say it, but I will now. Thank you for helping at the bakery today. I honestly don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there to stop the chaos and whisk Mia and her friends outside.”

  “Truthfully, I’m glad I was there. I was a little nervous about working the espresso machine, but I eventually got a handle on it. Also, I’m relieved to know that you’re not a killer. Living next to a baker is hard enough, but a killer?” He shook his head.

  Was he joking? It was hard to see his expression on the dark beach, but then the moon lit up his smile. He picked up a piece of driftwood and tossed it down the beach for Wellington to retrieve.

  “You didn’t really think that I . . . ?”

  “I didn’t know what to think when that young officer whisked you off to the station. I had half a mind to think he was just trying to get you alone. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

  Officer Tuck had been looking at me? I wasn’t aware of that, but it gave me a little thrill to hear it. I noticed that Rory was still grinning. He was teasing me again. “Officer McAllister I can handle. He was a perfect gentleman down at the station. However, Sergeant Murdock is another story.”

  “Was he trying to hit on you too?” The look on Rory’s face was anything but teasing.

  “I doubt it, but I’m not much of an expert on those things.”

  Rory stopped walking. “You can’t tell if a man’s hitting on you? Well, that explains a lot.”

  I grabbed his hand and pulled him along. “I know when a man’s hitting on me,” I assured him. “But Sergeant Murdock’s not a man.”

  “He’s a woman?” He sounded confused.

  “She’s a woman,” I corrected. “I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “Why would I?” he replied. “I keep to myself and try to obey the law. Also, Betty never mentioned it. And you’d think she would, being the town gossip and all.”

  I smiled inwardly at the thought of Betty Vanhoosen and Sergeant Stacy Murdock chatting it up like besties at the local diner. Bright, bouncy Betty, and sour Sergeant Stacy had very little in common as far as I could see, besides the fact they both lived and worked in the same small town. “This may come as a shocker, but Sergeant Murdock is not the warm, friendly type.”

  “Let’s just hope she’s good at her job,” he replied, standing before the steps of his wide back deck. The outdoor lights of the log home were on, casting the already-handsome man in a very favorable light. All thoughts of Officer Cutie Pie faded. He was a boy. Rory Campbell was all man. Suddenly, I was filled with the memory of his recent kiss. I wouldn’t hate it if he tried again, I thought, and waited a beat too long for him to make his move. But he never did. Instead, Rory thanked me for dinner, gave Wellington a pat on the head, and made me promise that I’d call Sergeant Murdock in the morning with an update on the new information we’d learned from Kennedy.

  * * *

  The moment I returned to the lighthouse I flopped into bed and reached for my laptop. True, I was exhausted. But I was also flummoxed by the fact that Rory hadn’t even tried to kiss me—after I’d made him dinner and walked him home, no less. In fact, he gave Wellington more affection tonight than he’d shown me. Begrudgingly, I acknowledged that murder could be a turnoff for him, or maybe he was just tired. Then there was the plaguing thought that he might possibly be afraid of becoming involved with me because of Kennedy. She was my dear friend, but the poor man had just learned what she’d done to the last man I’d been romantically involved with. Ruin and murder were enough to scare off any man.

  I opened my laptop, contemplating the thought that revenge was an insatiable monster all its own. If all that Kennedy said was true, and after a quick Google search I saw that it was, then Jeffery and Mia had every right to be mad at me. They had come to the Beacon Bakeshop for revenge, but something had gone very, very wrong. Mia had died—had been poisoned, but why?

  Searching for answers, I decided to start at the beginning and read about the demise of Sizzle and the tanking of Jeffery’s book, Plank It! I even pulled up a YouTube video and watched his gawk-worthy performance on the morning show Kennedy had referred to. Yet just as the video was about to end, my laptop screen went blank.

  “What?” I uttered, and began hitting buttons. I was panicking. I didn’t think I could handle my computer dying too.

  Wellington, having slipped into a peaceful puppy slumber, sprang awake at my outburst. He peered over the foot of my bed, his soft brown eyes foggy with sleep. Sensing my frustration, he leapt up and joined me.

  “It’s okay,” I soothed, stroking the soft fur of his head. Although Wellington had his own bed, he relished any opportunity to join me in mine. And tonight, I wasn’t about to shoo him away. “My computer just died,” I told him. “Be thankful you’re a dog. Technology is a real curse for us humans.” I was just about to close my computer and snuggle in bed when the chilling words appeared on my screen.

  She didn’t like your donuts. She was lying. She was dying.

  The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I cast a glance at Wellington and typed, What? Who is this? How are you typing on my computer?

  Typing? Communicating. Reaching out to you, Lindsey Bakewell. Murder. Unfinished business.

  I shook my head, but it was still tingling with fear. Whoever was messing with me knew my name. That creeped me out. Who are you? I typed again, then watched as the words appeared on my screen.

  Lightkeeper.

  There is no lightkeeper, I typed angrily.

  There is a light, there is a keeper. You are a keeper of recipes. I am a keeper of light, Captain Willy Riggs.

  “Am I going crazy?” I asked the room at large while staring at my screen. Wellington picked up his head. I gave him a gentle rub, setting him at ease as I wondered who the devil was hijacking my laptop. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I didn’t really believe in ghosts, but this idiot was doing his best to challenge that. I was about to pick up my phone and call the police. The thought of Sergeant Murdock’s unsmiling face stopped me. I had half a mind to close my laptop when another thought struck me. Someone claiming to be the ghost of a dead lightkeeper was trying to contact me. They knew my name. They knew Mia had died. Damn me, but I was going to play along and see what else they knew.

  Captain Willy Riggs? I typed, peevishly. I do remember hearing that name. Tell me, what exactly are you the captain of?

  Former captain of the schooner Ellie Rose.

  In what year?

  Eighteen forty-five to eighteen fifty-eight

  I rolled my eyes at the screen. That’s a long time ago. I
’m surprised you know how to type on a computer. Gotcha, sucker!

  Whoever it was waited a minute before replying, Communicate. Trying to reach you.

  Well, damn his determined spirit energy! Not a bad answer, I thought, then probed further. Why are you contacting me?

  Untimely death.

  Who died? I asked, looking for something a little more specific.

  Angry lady donut dunker, and me.

  Now that was chilling. I stared at the screen a moment, drawing comfort from Wellington’s warm, silky fur while I gathered my nerves. Was I really conversing with a ghost, or just a creeper?

  Alright, if you are the Captain, prove it. When was the last time you were in the lightroom? As I typed the ridiculous words, I was trying to recall what Rory had told me about Captain Willy Riggs. Rory said that according to legend, Captain Riggs had been shot at an unknown location somewhere on the windswept beach. After being shot he had made his way to the lighthouse, climbed the tower stairs, and lit the lantern one last time before he died. But what year was that? Unfortunately, the answer that appeared on my screen was a little closer to home than I expected.

  Last night.

  I inhaled sharply, recalling the mysterious light emanating from the lightroom. As far as I knew, only Rory and I knew about that.

  That light was you? What did it mean?

  Danger. A storm approaching.

  Although the night had been clear, I had a feeling I knew what he meant. You were trying to warn me? I typed.

  Yes.

  Could I have stopped Mia Long from being murdered? I asked, filling with colliding emotions.

  No.

  Then why warn me? What are you trying to do? If you’re trying to frighten me, congratulations!

  No. Do not be frightened. I am your friend. We are kindred spirits. I want you to find the woman’s killer, and mine.

  Was this ghost-creeper serious? But I’m a baker, I typed with growing frustration. I don’t know anything about investigating a murder. Where do I even start?