Murder at the Beacon Bakeshop

by Darci Hannah

  Dylan growled and wrapped her hands around my neck, trying to choke me instead. She was doing a good job of it too. I couldn’t breathe. I was growing light-headed. I was close to passing out when my fingers touched cold metal. I pushed myself to the limit of my ability and reached for the gun. My fingers were nearly around it when I was suddenly yanked off the ground. The gun fell to the sand again.

  “Kill her, already,” Carl ordered. “We’re wasting time.” He flung me around and shoved my back against the rock. He then picked up the gun and handed it to Dylan.

  With Dylan I’d had a small chance, but now it was two against one. My head suddenly filled with wispy images of another struggle long ago—another fruitless struggle. It was a premonition that I was going to die.

  As Dylan walked over to me holding the gun, I rested my back against the rock and stared out at the dark lake. Tears came to my eyes as I thought of Wellington, Kennedy, and my parents. “Shooting me won’t solve your problems,” I uttered through a sob.

  Dylan raised the gun and pointed it at my head.

  “She’s right,” Carl mused, and took a step toward me. I kept my focus on the lake, the calming lake. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw a dark figure rise out of the waves behind Carl, dripping water like a neoprene monster. It moved stealthily onto the beach. I thought I was hallucinating until a sudden flash of clarity made me realize what was happening.

  “We should bring her aboard the boat and drown her. That way no one would find the body.” It was the last thing Carl said before dropping to the sand with a dull thud. The man stood tall behind him, staring at me.

  Dylan screamed. Fear gripped me anew as she aimed her gun. She was going to shoot the diver!

  My inner New Yorker sprang into action. With the speed of an angry prize fighter, I sucker punched her as hard as I could in the face. “Not on my watch!” I cried, as the gun flew from her hand and her limp body dropped to the ground beside her boyfriend.

  The diver, wasting no time, zip-tied their hands behind their backs. He then lifted his mask. “The beach is secure,” he said into the military-grade speaker near his mouth before removing it altogether.

  Floodlights appeared, illuminating the darkness as the roar of boat motors sprang to life. The identity of the diver, my rescuer, was no longer a mystery.

  “You’re mighty brave for a baker,” said Rory Campbell, and wrapped his cold, wet arms around me.

  CHAPTER 43

  I was still stunned and shaking as the beach burst to life with a hive of activity. Coast Guard boats were on the water. Police sirens blared as squad cars raced across the sand to assist us. Carl and Dylan were beginning to stir as Mike, aboard his fishing charter now loaded with drugs, was making a run for it. He wasn’t going to get far.

  “I’ve never been so scared in my life,” I admitted, resting my head against Rory’s wetsuit as Sergeant Murdock and Officer Tuck jumped from their cars. “I feel so stupid. I never saw it coming.” Then, looking up at him, I asked, “How did you know where to find me?”

  “Welly came howling at my door at three in the morning, covered in sand. He was in such a state of agitation that I knew something was wrong. The fact that you weren’t with him set off all my alarm bells. I left him in my cabin and ran to the lighthouse. When I found it unlocked and the door to the tower open, I climbed to the lantern room. Once there I saw the flashlight on the beach as well as the activity at the marina. I had a pretty good idea of what was going on.” Rory gave me another life-affirming hug and released me. Still close, he looked into my eyes. “Lindsey, I haven’t been totally honest with you. I have a lot to tell you, but let me start with this. I am a retired Navy SEAL, but I’ve been working undercover for the Coast Guard for the last six months—”

  “Was news to us, too,” Murdock interjected as she bent to pull Dylan from the sand. She then broke character completely and graced us with a smile. Dylan, still wobbly from my epic punch, glared at me. “Got to hand it to you, Bakewell,” Murdock continued. “For a baker you’re one tough cookie. And Campbell, glad you’re on our side. Welcome to Beacon Harbor.” She turned and walked Dylan to her squad car. Tuck and another police officer had taken control of Carl. That’s when Kennedy suddenly appeared, marching toward us through the sand in designer silk pajamas and panting from exertion.

  “What is going on here?” she demanded, looking slightly unkempt. “The beach is lit up like a music festival, only there’s no music, just—Oh my God! Dilly?”

  Dylan, embarrassed, looked away as Kennedy stomped over to her. Always ready for a photo op, she pulled out her phone and began snapping pictures. “I can’t believe it. I feel so betrayed. You’re the murderer? You were the one poisoning people with cyanide? You shut down Lindsey’s bakery? Why on earth would you do something like that?”

  “Drugs,” I answered for her. “Apparently, Dylan was storing them in our bakery before they could be smuggled out.”

  “What?” Kennedy found the news just as outrageous as the rest of us. She then turned to Sergeant Murdock. “You searched Lindsey’s bakery for hours. How does something like drugs escape your notice?”

  “Because we hid them in the sacks of flour, the ones with red lettering,” Carl bragged as he was shoved into the back seat of Tuck’s squad car. He stuck his head out and continued talking. “The sacks of flour with the blue lettering is really flour. Those were the only ones Dylan opened for the bakery, and you never knew it. Ha!”

  “The jokes on you, Carl. You’ll be wearing felon-orange for the rest of your life. Nothing screams pathetic loser as loud as felon-orange.” Kennedy shut the car door on him before he could reply. She then turned her attention to Rory. She looked him up and down from head to toe. “I don’t even want to know what’s going on here, but you’re dripping all over my friend.”

  “He saved my life is what he did,” I told her. “I thought I was going to die. Dylan was going to shoot me because I’d finally realized what was going on. I was up in the light tower researching the Captain’s death when I saw the dairy truck leave the lighthouse and drive to the marina. It was three in the morning. I knew something wasn’t right. I left the lighthouse with Wellington and went to investigate. Dylan must have been in the bakery. She followed us across the beach and pulled a gun on us. She was going to shoot Welly because he was barking. I . . . I was so scared.”

  “Oh, poor darling,” she cried, and hugged me as if her life depended on it. “I can’t even imagine. What a she-devil; what a pack of wankers. Oh, and look at your face!” She gasped, turning me toward the headlights to get a better look. “It’s getting all puffy, and . . . is that a black eye?”

  “I was in a girl fight too,” I blubbered, fighting back tears of embarrassment. “A girl fight! Imagine what Ellie would say if she ever found out?”

  Kennedy smiled. “Ellie Montague-Bakewell would be as proud of you as I am. You caught the murderer and exposed a drug ring.” Then, as if it suddenly dawned on her, she asked, “Is . . . Wellington okay?”

  “He’s fine,” Rory said, setting her at ease. “He’s also quite the hero. Wellington and his frantic barking set the whole takedown in action. I was aware that something illegal was going on in Beacon Harbor and have been trying to put the pieces together. Wellington’s arrival in the middle of the night sent me running to the lighthouse. From there I was able to see that something was going on down the beach. I alerted the authorities, coordinated my plan with the Coast Guard, then suited up for a night mission. I left Welly at my place, for obvious reasons, and got in my boat. The moment I rounded the point, I got into place, reported my location, and slipped into the water. And then I swam like the devil toward shore, and Lindsey.”

  I looked at him. “My goodness, you really do have secrets, don’t you?”

  Kennedy smiled at him as well. “Don’t let this go to your head, Hunts-a-Lot, but you really are my hero. Thank you, my friend.” I believe she would have given him a big hug if he wasn’t still dr
ipping all over the sand in his diving gear. The water would have wreaked havoc on her silk pajamas. Instead she shook his hand.

  “And you, my friend,” she began with an air of resignation, “you solved the mystery and saved your bakery. I suppose this means I’m going to have to honor my word and do a podcast with Jeffery.”

  * * *

  Wellington, having been separated from me for the remainder of the night, sprang on my bed at ten in the morning and attacked me with his joyful tongue. Although tired after six hours of restless sleep, I was overjoyed to see him as well. I was acutely aware that if it hadn’t been for Wellington and his faithful obedience to me, he might have gotten shot, and I might have been Dylan’s third victim.

  Welly’s presence also meant that Rory was downstairs. My dog had spent the night with him. Rory had promised to bring him back in the morning. I got out of bed, washed my swollen face, ran a comb through my sand-infested hair, and threw on a pair of jeans. I then left my room to meet him.

  Kennedy was in the kitchen making coffee. There was no sign of Rory.

  “He stopped by a few minutes ago to drop off Welly,” she informed me. “I practically pulled him inside, but he refused to come in. Said he was in a hurry, but he wanted me to give you this.” She handed me a note.

  Lindsey,

  Had to leave town to finish the business started last night. Dylan, Carl, and Mike are to be transferred into federal custody and officially charged with their crimes. Won’t bother you with the details, but I want you to know that I’m happy you and Wellington are safe. We need to talk, but not over the phone. Please bear with me until I return.

  Rory

  “Is it a love note?” Kennedy set a cup of coffee on the table and leaned over my shoulder. “Umm, not a love note,” she remarked, unable to resist the temptation of reading the message. “Or maybe it is. We are talking about Sir Hunts-a-Lot, after all.”

  “I can only imagine what other secrets he’s been hiding from me.” I folded the note and gripped the mug of coffee with both hands, allowing its warmth to seep through me. I was in desperate need of caffeination, just as I was desperately trying to come to terms with the drama of last night. I had almost died at the hands of a woman I’d considered a friend; my dog had saved my life; and Rory Campbell was a flipping badass military special-ops hero. If it hadn’t been for Rory and his impeccable timing . . . but I didn’t want to think of that now. I took a sip of coffee and remarked, “I respect the undercover work, but I don’t think I could handle learning he’s already married with kids. Do you think he’s married?” It was the only reason I could think why he wouldn’t want to talk with me over the phone.

  “If he is, he’s going to live to regret it.” Kennedy arched a menacing brow, causing me to smile.

  “Whatever his secrets, the fact that I’m sitting here this morning, and the Beacon Harbor murderer has been caught, pretty much guarantees that I’ll forgive him nearly anything.”

  “Smart man,” she said, and raised her coffee mug to him.

  I was just about to whip up a quick batch of blueberry muffins when Betty stopped by. She had come bearing flowers and a bakery bag from the local grocery store.

  “Until your wonderful bakeshop came along, this was all we had.” She placed the bag on the table and pulled out what looked like a coffee cake, only it wasn’t. The rectangular cake had a crumble top sprinkled with powdered sugar and was filled with a layer of fluffy buttercream and strawberry jam. I’d never seen anything like it before, but it looked utterly sinful.

  “It’s a Swedish Flop,” she proclaimed. “Although I’m not sure it’s really Swedish. Not many have heard of it outside of Chicagoland, and since many of our vacationers come from the region, the owners of the grocery store decided to carry it. It’s unusual but delicious, and after the trauma of last night”—her eyes began to tear up as she said this—“I thought you could use a treat.”

  “Oh, Betty, that’s so thoughtful of you.” As Kennedy went to find a vase for the flowers, I pulled three plates from the cupboard, three forks from cutlery drawer, and poured another cup of coffee for Betty. “This treat of yours looks like the perfect complement to a cup of hot black coffee.”

  Kennedy put the vase of flowers on the table as I began to cut and plate slices of the decadent coffee cake. I placed one in front of Betty and thought she was going to burst out in tears.

  “I’m so sorry, dear,” she said, dabbing her watery eyes with a napkin. “I honestly thought you were trying to murder me. Will you ever forgive me?”

  “Betty, you’ve been nothing but kindness to me since I’ve moved here. And I must confess something to you as well. We thought that maybe you were behind the poisonings. We soon realized how wrong we were to suspect you.”

  “Well, dear,” she said, placing a comforting hand over mine, “with two deaths in this quiet little town, we were all growing suspicious of everyone. But I must say, I never suspected that Dylan and Mike were behind everything.”

  “If it makes you feel any better,” Kennedy began, the first bite of Swedish Flop balancing on her fork, “I didn’t either. I was really beginning to like Dilly, too.” She no sooner placed the Flop in her mouth than her whole face lit up with pleasure. “Not your granny’s spotted dick, that’s for certain! Never heard of Swedish Flop before, but it’s now at the top of my list of favorite things.”

  Kennedy wasn’t far off the mark. I’d have to look into adding Swedish Flop to the bakery cases. The first challenge would be finding a good recipe.

  “I told you that I had two godchildren, but I never mentioned their names. I’ve always been so careful with Dylan and Mike,” Betty explained, still trying to process the fact that they were caught up in a drug-smuggling ring that had been taking place on her private land and my lighthouse bakery. “They had a rough start of it, you know. A long history of felons in the family, and parents who didn’t set the best example. My dear Peter wanted to make a difference. I did too. We convinced their parents to have the children baptized in the church, stating that Peter and I would be honored to be their godparents. You see, we thought we could make a difference in their lives. Peter and I took our vows seriously. We always tried to be a positive influence. When Peter passed, I continued to uphold our promise. I really believed that I could redirect their talents and energy. There is good in them,” she proclaimed like the forgiving soul she was. I wasn’t so ready to forgive. “Sampling Dylan’s baked goods is proof of that. I really thought they had changed.”

  “She was a good actress,” Kennedy said. “You have to remember, Betty, she did her best to poison you. By my count, you should have died twice.”

  Betty shivered at the thought.

  “You’re a good person for trying to help them,” I told her. “Maybe that’s why Dylan never succeeded in poisoning you. I thought about that last night as I was trying to fall asleep. What are the odds that two angry, albeit innocent, women subverted her efforts by stealing something from you? Mia took your cyanide-laced coffee, and Fiona your cyanide-laced Coke. I guess what I’m getting at is that you have one heck of a vigilant angel watching over you.”

  “It’s my Peter,” she said, looking up at my ceiling with fondness. “I’ve always felt he’s my guardian angel. Maybe while I was blindly trying to protect Dylan and Mike, he was, in fact, protecting me from them.”

  “It’s a comforting thought,” I told her, thinking it just might be true.

  Betty and I chatted awhile longer. Through her I found out that Chad, the manager of the Harbor Hotel, had scribbled his phone number on the receipt not to ask me out on a date, as I had been led to believe, but to warn me about Dylan’s history. She’d lost her job at the hotel when she was found stealing from the cash register. Chad, having a fondness for Dylan as well, never pressed charges. He also never suspected Dylan in any wrongdoing regarding Mia’s death. He was simply trying to give me a heads-up, and Dylan likely knew it. Then, as we were finishing our coffee, I thoug
ht to ask her about a name that had piqued my curiosity the night before.

  “You’ve lived in Beacon Harbor your whole life. Have you ever heard of a man by the name of Captain Edmond Cuthbert?”

  “How odd that you should mention that name. I’ve never heard of Captain Edmond Cuthbert, but a man named Carson Cuthbert was Dylan and Mike’s grandfather. Molly and Carson had two daughters, Carol and Cathy. We all went to the same high school.” Betty’s gaze grew distant with the memory.

  “Lovely girls, but there was always something quite tragic about them. Their father was an alcoholic, you see. Unfortunately, both Carol and Cathy ended up marrying men of very weak characters as well. It’s a long story. I’ll spare you the sordid details because you already know the ending. But if you’re interested in learning about the family history, you should go to the archives in the library.”

  After Betty left, Officer Cutie Pie stopped by. He needed a signed statement of the proceedings of the night before, which I was happy to give him. He then told me that once all the evidence of drug smuggling had been removed from the bakeshop, it would be cleared to open once again.

  Kennedy and I cheered and celebrated the news. We pulled a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator and popped the cork. Then we made Tuck drink a glass with us.

  “Come on,” I prodded. “I’m now on Murdock’s good side. She likes me. I caught the Beacon Harbor murderer red-handed.”

  “Besides, darling,” Kennedy said, putting a glass of bubbly in his hand, “what happens at the Beacon, stays at the Beacon.” She graced him with a flirty grin.

  No man could resist that, including Tuck.