Murder at the Beacon Bakeshop

by Darci Hannah

  We were laughing, chatting, and making ridiculous toasts, when another knock came at the door. Wellington barked.

  “I’ll get it. I’ll get it,” I said, setting my glass of champagne on the coffee table before following Welly to the door. I opened it and got the shock of my life.

  “Mom! Dad!” I cried, and ran into their waiting arms.

  “After your call yesterday morning from the police station, how could we not drop everything and come to your rescue? We called Kennedy. She filled us in on the details. We had just arrived at the airport to catch our flight when Kennedy called again and told us how you were almost shot on the beach by your baker.” Tears sprang to Mom’s eyes as she talked. “We’re so thankful you’re alive, Lindsey.” Mom gave me another hug and sauntered into the lighthouse with her two little white West Highland terriers, Brinkley and Ireland, prancing behind her like the supermodels they’d been named after. “Oooo, and isn’t this just darling? I was expecting rustic, not this cozy little lakeside haven.”

  “Hope you don’t mind we brought the dogs,” Dad said, and smiled sheepishly. Wellington, for one, was overjoyed. “I’m so glad you’re safe, my dear, although I heard you lost your assistant baker.” Dad grinned. “I decided to come out of retirement and lend you a hand.”

  “Oh, Dad,” I cried, and hugged him again.

  CHAPTER 44

  “Hi, friends, welcome to another edition of my podcast, Kennedy’s Crusades, where we learn about all things hot, fabulous, and trendy, with me, your host, Kennedy Kapoor. Speaking of hot, fabulous, and trendy, we’re coming to you live today from everybody’s favorite lighthouse bakery, the Beacon Bakeshop Café in Beacon Harbor, Michigan. It’s no secret that it’s the brainchild of my bestie, Lindsey Bakewell, who will blow your mind with her delicious baked goods tomorrow, when she launches Opening Day 2.0. We hope to see you there. Another matter that’s not so secret is that a few months ago, I took umbrage with Lindsey’s cheating ex-fiancé, rising celebrity chef Jeffery Plank, over his insensitive statements about cows. Well, friends, as fate would have it, Jeffery and this fashionista have crossed paths once again, and I’ve had another chance to talk with the celebrity chef. After the recent death of his longtime love, renowned pastry chef Mia Long, it appears that Jeffery’s ready to clear the air about many things, including his philandering ways, his derogatory remarks about cows, and his new personal crusade to champion responsibly raised meats. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great pleasure to introduce my special guest today, Jeffery Plank.”

  “I’m so proud of you girls,” Mom said in a soft voice, leaning on her elbows as she watched Kennedy conduct her podcast from across the bakery counter. Kennedy had set up her microphone and cameras at a secluded table under the wall of lighthouse memorabilia. It provided her and Jeffery enough privacy to conduct their interview, with the added benefit of having a live audience, namely Mom and me.

  Mom and Dad had been a godsend from the moment they appeared on my doorstep, helping me get the bakeshop and café ready for what we were now calling our grand opening 2.0. I had high hopes for round number two, especially since Dad had been in the kitchen for two straight days, baking like a fiend. He’d been overjoyed to find he still had some mad baking skills since his days working at his parents’ bakery in Traverse City. Mom had abandoned her disinfectant cloth to watch Kennedy in action.

  “Look at her,” she remarked softly, gesturing toward Kennedy with an elegant wave of her hand. I gestured to Mom to follow me to the kitchen so we wouldn’t disturb Kennedy’s live interview. Mom continued. “She’s created a fashion marketing empire by blogging and tweeting. I don’t understand it, but it’s remarkable. In my day we didn’t control the camera or the narrative. We simply put on our clothes and smiled.”

  I looked at her, wondering when the tables had turned. Kennedy had idolized my mom since the day they’d met, and now Mom was the one full of admiration.

  “You were a model, Mom,” I reminded her. “Kennedy’s an influencer. We’ll get her to explain it to you.”

  “And you,” she said, shifting her focus to me. “I’ve been bursting with pride since the moment I entered this lighthouse. When you told me that you were quitting your job on Wall Street and moving to a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, I cried. I cried, Lindsey, because I thought that my beautiful, talented daughter had given up on life, but now I understand. This is your dream, and you had the courage to follow it. I’ve always known that you were gifted in so many ways, but seeing this place brings it all home for me. You’re a gifted baker with a head for business, just like your dad, only you have far better taste in decorating. I swear, Linds, I’m going to sample everything that comes out of that kitchen.”

  I was blushing with happiness. “Thanks, Mom, but you don’t have to eat anything here. I won’t be offended in the least. You’re a model; it’s part of the model’s code: no butter, sugar, or yummy breads.”

  She gave me her cover-girl smile. “That was the old me,” she confided. “The new me is practicing yoga and mindful meditation.”

  “Mom, that’s great. But yoga doesn’t burn the cals like cross-training.”

  “Oh, this isn’t about calories, dear. Those are important, but not as important as you are. Yoga and meditation have taught me to be more mindful of the things that really matter. Truthfully, your father was driving me crazy when he retired. I needed better coping mechanisms, hence the yoga. And I want to sample everything you make as a celebration of your art and all your hard work. You are my daughter, and I’m so proud of you.”

  I stared at her, thinking she’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with a calmer, gentler, carb-eating clone. Then, however, the real Ellie Montague-Bakewell emerged.

  “Of course, I’m not eating everything at once,” she cautioned with a flip of her long, perfectly colored and styled ash-blond hair. “I have one of the world’s most enviable wardrobes and I’d be a fool to throw it all away on warm, crusty, chocolaty, fruit-filled gluttony, but I am willing to dip my toe in moderation.”

  “Mom!” I teased. “You’re living on the edge. But maybe it’s time to let go of the old wardrobe and start a new one.”

  “Stretchy waistbands and long, billowy tops?”

  I nodded. “I hate to break this to you, Mom, but you’re getting older. Why not embrace it and start your own line of clothing for . . .” I didn’t want to come out and say old ladies. Mom was in her midsixties and still looked great. I didn’t want to offend her, so I settled on, “women of a certain age.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She grinned and opened the kitchen door. We went back to the bakery counter, leaning against it as we watched Kennedy’s interview.

  You know,” Mom whispered, “I was never a fan of Jeffery’s. I never thought he deserved you.”

  Jeffery, somehow hearing this, broke his concentration and stared at Mom. She smiled and waved.

  “Oh, he didn’t,” I agreed, waving at him as well. Kennedy asked her question again, demanding his focus. “But I do feel bad about Mia. Jeffery’s a talented chef. I won’t ever date him again, but I will go to his restaurant. And I think others will too. He deserves a second chance, and I think he’ll get it. Say what you will, but Americans are very forgiving people.”

  “That’s very nice of you. And it was nice of you to let your father help in the kitchen. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time. Have you tasted this?” She held up a slice of Dad’s apple-cinnamon bread, fresh out of the oven. “It’s positively scrumptious . . . And speaking of scrumptious, who’s that?” Mom wiggled her bread at the bakery doors. Outside, a handsome man was making his way to the bakery, his progress hindered by a small herd of dogs who’d been frolicking on the lighthouse grounds until he appeared.

  “That’s Rory,” I said, waving at him through the windows. I smiled as he waved back.

  “That’s Rory?” Mom cast me a look while arching a pencil-enhanced brow. “I had pictured him as thicker, hairier, an
d with a sloping brow. That man out there is gorgeous.”

  I took off my apron and laid it on the counter. “He wears a lot of flannel and camo,” I confided, watching him greet his canine friends.

  “It doesn’t matter what he wears with those shoulders and trim waist.” Mom flashed me a suggestive grin and picked up her washcloth.

  CHAPTER 45

  I left the bakeshop and walked with Rory and the dogs to a little spot on the beach beneath the lighthouse. “What’s this?” I asked, spying the blanket and the little wicker picnic basket.

  “The beginnings of an apology.” His smile was earnest as he offered me a seat on the plaid blanket. Welly was just about to sit down beside me when I shooed him away, making room for Rory. Brinkley, wearing her signature pink diamond collar, and Ireland, wearing an identical one in emerald—it was the only way I could tell them apart—were both clamoring for a space on my lap. Welly, eyeing the lapdogs with envy, opted for a corner of the blanket beside Rory. I ruffled his big head and watched with pleasure as Rory began unpacking homemade sandwiches, a tray of sliced melon and strawberries, a bag of potato chips, and a bottle of wine. “I’m better with a grill,” he confessed, handing me a kaiser roll filled with so much roast beef and cheese, I almost laughed.

  “These look delicious,” I told him honestly. “But before I take a bite, I have to ask: Are you married?”

  “What?” He looked at me as if I’d gone mad. “No.”

  “Any kids?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good. You said you had secrets. I won’t have a picnic with you if you’re hiding a wife and kids. It might not look like it at times, but I do have standards.” Overestimating my abilities, I took a bite of the ridiculously large sandwich. The bun slid back; meat, cheese, and a fringe of lettuce squirted out the sides. I felt like a toddler eating a Big Mac for the first time, and, in all likelihood, looked the part. Covering quickly, I mumbled, “Really good,” while covertly picking up the scraps before the dogs attacked them. But, like blood in the water, the dogs sensed weakness and dove in.

  Rory, acting quickly, pulled out a strip of roast beef from his own sandwich and lured Wellington to his side while I brought the models under control.

  “I’ve never lied to you, Lindsey,” he said, nudging Welly’s curious nose away while attempting to pour a glass of white wine. Achieving success, he handed me the glass and poured one for himself. “But I have omitted the truth from time to time. I am trying to write a book, and I do hunt when it’s the right season, but my real focus has been to stop drug trafficking across the Canadian border. When Mia Long was murdered at your bakery, I felt that maybe somehow you were involved in the drug ring. But the more I’ve gotten to know you, the more I realized what an idiot notion that was. However, I did suspect a connection to your bakery. Your friend Kennedy set off all kinds of warning bells for me, but the more I investigated her, the more I realized she’s exactly what she claims to be. The woman posts literally everything she does on social media. Unless you’re into clothes and makeup, it’s not very interesting.”

  I was in the process of taking another bite of the sandwich before his confession. I set it down and stared at him. “You thought I was smuggling drugs?” I found the notion more than a little insulting. “That’s why you’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

  “Yes and no. It’s not that simple. I was contacted by Captain Miller of the Coast Guard shortly before you moved in. He and his men have been tasked with many things, but the illegal shipping of drugs across our northern border has been a particular thorn in his side. His intel suggested activity along this stretch of coast, and since he knew I had recently moved into the area, he contacted me. Then, shortly thereafter, you bought the lighthouse and a whole flurry of activity began.”

  “The place was a dump! I was in the midst of renovations! You . . . you were spying on me?” I nearly spilt my wine.

  “I came to be neighborly,” he said with a wan smile. “I met Wellington first, if you’ll remember. And I had gotten the lowdown on you from Betty. Welly was the perfect icebreaker. And, in all honesty, you’ve been the best neighbor I’ve ever had.”

  His look, like his beach-picnic romantic gesture, was sincere. “Thanks, I think.”

  “It’s a compliment, Lindsey, which is why I have to confess another misdeed of mine. You see, I really did plant the notion that your lighthouse was haunted.”

  “But it is haunted,” I countered in all seriousness. “All my life I thought ghost stories were just that, stories. I’ve never believed in ghosts, but I do now.” He was looking at me with something akin to pity. I narrowed my eyes and confessed, “I’ve felt the Captain, Rory. Captain Willy Riggs really did die in this lighthouse. Well, he died on the beach, then was brought back to the lighthouse. We’ve been through that.”

  He nodded. “That’s history. History is real, but ghosts aren’t. Take, for example, that night before your grand opening. We both saw a light in the lighthouse. I told you it was a ghost light, a portent of danger. I was a little spooked by it as well, but now I believe it was Dylan who was up there signaling the delivery boat.”

  “But you don’t know that for sure, do you?” I cast him a look and popped a strawberry into my mouth.

  “No, but it stands to reason. Given what we now know, I do believe it was her.”

  “I’ve read the articles, Rory. The ghost lights of Beacon Harbor were happening long before Dylan and Mike started their drug trafficking ring. And you went up there, remember? You said you didn’t see anything.”

  “I didn’t, but I did do something that I’m not proud of. I saw your computer up there and planted some military-grade software on it that enabled me to contact you directly and covertly.”

  I was about to attempt another bite of the huge sandwich when he said this. Warning bells exploded in my head as anger crept into my throat. “That was you? You pretended to be the ghost of Captain Willy?” I was outraged.

  “I told you that I didn’t know what was happening at the lighthouse. I wanted to keep an eye on you. Then, when Mia Long died, I grew suspicious. I thought it best to engage you directly and see if you’d get involved. I’m sorry to have scared you. I wanted you to think that you were conversing with a ghost.”

  “Well, mission accomplished! But I liked talking to Captain Willy. Once I got over the fact that he was a ghost, I rather liked him. We were connecting.”

  Rory stared at me. “Yes, but . . . that was me.” He gave me an odd look as he repeated, “I was the one talking to you, not a ghost. Lindsey, if you’ll bring me your laptop, I’ll remove the software.”

  With the help of the dogs, I had managed to eat half the sandwich. The wine, however, I had no problem with. I emptied my glass and stood up from the blanket. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “No. Really, I should remove it.”

  “I like the Captain,” I repeated again, staring at him with a straight face. “He really got me, you know? It’s been a long time since anyone’s talked to me like that in bed.”

  Rory began to understand what I was saying. “Interesting,” he said. “Did you know that I’m a captain too?” Welly picked that moment to sit up and lick him in the face.

  “I didn’t know that,” I said, impressed to hear it. “But here’s an even more puzzling question.” I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “Do you think ghosts know about sexting?”

  His blue eyes twinkled at the thought. Playing along, he shrugged. “Not sure. But I think you should definitely give it a try.”

  “I agree. And I will, but right now I’ve got a bakery to get ready. Tomorrow is Opening Day 2.0.”

  Rory stood with his back to the lake. Welly and the models stood as well. “Need a barista?” he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

  “Thanks, but I’ve actually got that covered. I’ve also figured out what happened to Captain Willy Riggs on the night he died. In an odd sort of way, I believe his story has come full circle. Did you know that M
ike and Dylan were related to the man most likely to have shot him?”

  Rory, looking impressed, shook his head.

  “I’m still digging out the details. Anyhow, I was planning on telling the Captain all about it tonight at, oh, say, ten o’clock? That’s a little early for the Captain, but it’s better for me. I have to be up very early.”

  “I’ll bet.” He smiled.

  “Thanks for the lunch, Rory. And I accept your apology. See you at the bakeshop tomorrow.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  I cast him a smile and headed back to the lighthouse with three rambunctious dogs leading the way.

  CHAPTER 46

  I had butterflies in my stomach, I was so nervous. I had prepared for this day for so long, and I was undoubtedly ready. Still, thoughts of murder and mayhem lingered. Ten minutes until the bakery was officially open again. It was Opening Day 2.0. Why was I so nervous?

  It was a sunny, blue-sky morning on the lake. That should have been a good omen, right? On the other side of the door, a crowd was gathering. Murdock, Tuck McAllister, and two more officers I recognized, due to my short stint in the slammer, were first in line, all dressed in their police blues. Murdock and Tuck were chatting with Kennedy. She had insisted on parading Wellington outside on the bakeshop lawn again, something I was a little uncomfortable with. The last time she had used such tactics, it hadn’t gone well. “Oh, do have a little confidence, Lindsey,” she had chided. “Welly’s the town hero. Do you think he’d let another sniveling drug smuggler through these doors?”

  She had a point.

  Behind the police officers, I spied Ginger Brooks and Felicity Stewart. The women were chatting amicably with Carol Hoggins from You Had Me In Stitches and Christy Parks from the Bayside Boutique. Next the Johnsons arrived with their dog, Libby. Bill Morgan appeared as well. All four women turned and waved at the new arrivals, reminding me that Beacon Harbor really was a close-knit community.