BED, BREAKFAST, and BONES: A Ravenwood Cove Cozy Mystery

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Outside the night air was cold and damp, and the lights she’d left on in front of the Inn didn’t reach around to the back. She was muttering to herself and just about to pull her head back inside when she smelled something.

  Something that shouldn’t be there.

  It was smoke. Not the type of smoke smell she had gotten used to, when her neighbors were burning their leaves or brush piles, but the familiar smell of a campfire.

  Burning wood.

  Craning her head around, she could just see a brief flash of flickering light, coming from near the kitchen. With a horrified lurch she pulled her head inside and dove across the bed to grab her cell phone. By the time she’d reached the emergency dispatcher she was already frantically running down the stairs, trying not to slip in her haste, as she barked out the necessary info on the phone.

  The Ravenwood Inn! On fire! Come as fast as you can!

  Amanda was still desperately babbling into the phone when she grabbed the red fire extinguisher off the kitchen wall. The hungry flames were higher now, their menacing light streaming through the glass pane on the back door. Amanda tried to assess how big the fire was, took a deep breath, and smashed the heavy metal canister against the frosted glass with all her might. It exploded outward with a loud crash and brittle shards blew out onto the porch. A wave of heat from the fire slammed into her through the gaping window frame, and she could see the flames spreading across the porch floor and starting to lick up the railing toward the overhanging roof.

  Gasping for air, she frantically pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher. Using the door as a sort of shield against the intense heat she aimed the nozzle through the broken-out window and squeezed the metal trigger, rewarded by a furious rush of white fire retardant. The fire was so hot she had to turn sideways to gulp a breath of air before training the extinguisher on the bottom of the blaze again, and then again. Just as the fire extinguisher started to sputter and cough she heard the amazing, blessed sound of screaming sirens speeding toward the Inn.

  The fire was smaller, but still not out. She could hear the first responders hollering to each other and she yelled back. “In the back! On the kitchen porch! Hurry!” She threw the empty extinguisher to the side and ran to fill a soup kettle with water blasting loudly from the kitchen faucet. By the time she ran back to the broken door, sloshing water from the deep pot as she went, two of the firemen had dragged a thick hose toward the back and were bellowing instructions toward the firetruck. A moment of waiting, but an eternity before the water sputtered, then sprayed out of the huge nozzle. It took less than two minutes for the crew to douse the flames completely, then they used their axes to pull up the porch floorboards to make sure that no spark was left, waiting for a chance to flare up again.

  Amanda stood just inside the back door, her breath coming in adrenaline-fueled gasps, water dripping down the front of her nightie from the forgotten kettle of water. She’d always been afraid of fire, and to see the evil flames trying to devour her beloved Inn was almost more than she could stand, but she’d stood against it, and she’d fought it. She still wasn’t sure how she’d known to pull the pin on the fire extinguisher, but even though she’d been terrified, she had done her best and called for help to do the rest.

  Her mother had always told her that too much pride was a bad thing, but for the first time in years that was exactly what Amanda felt. Pride. Pride in fighting the fire, and pride that she’d kept her head enough to call the dispatcher.

  A dark-haired figure ran by the firemen and leapt over the hole that had been hacked in the porch floor, skidding to a stop just outside the still-closed door. Amanda grabbed a kitchen towel from the counter and used it to protect her hand on the hot doorknob as she pushed the door open.

  James took one look at Amanda’s soot-smudged face and instantly scooped her up into a warm hug, just as suddenly putting her down, as if he remembered that he really shouldn’t be doing that.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded mutely, her heartbeat still pounding in her ears.

  “Um, yes. I have insurance – “

  “– No, I mean okay,” he interrupted. “Are you hurt?”

  A small shake of her head and, seemingly satisfied, James surveyed the damage. Two firefighters were still checking for hot spots, but from their chatting and calmness it was apparent that the fire was completely out.

  James walked back onto the porch, checking over the entire burnt area. After about a minute deep in thought he gave his opinion. “Looking at the burn mark, it seems like someone doused your back porch in something flammable and lit a match.” His eyes caught hers. “I think this is a case of arson, not an accident.”

  Amanda wasn’t really surprised, because somewhere in the back of her mind she’d thought it probably was arson, too. Always cautious with fire, she’d double-checked the electrical system when she moved in and made a nightly before-bed inspection to be sure that the stove and any unneeded lights were turned off. She’d had a fear of fire ever since her mother’s fireplace mantle had caught on fire one day when she was seven. Maybe she was the one who had put something so explosive in the trash, she still didn’t know, but all she remembered what standing stock-still in horror while her mother ran with a bowl of sloshing water from the kitchen, and doused the flames.

  “The rooster,” she gasped, “Dumb Cluck woke me up. If he hadn’t been crowing his head off in the middle of the night right under my window, I would’ve slept through it.”

  “The rooster woke you up?” James looked dumbfounded.

  Amanda nodded. “From now on that chicken can crow whenever he wants, and I’ll feed him corn myself.”

  The tall detective laughed and glanced back at the damaged porch. “Well, the good news is that we caught it in time, and that there’s more brick than wood back here. The fire’s out and you’re safe. I’ll tape off the back porch as a crime scene. This was no accident.” His face was grim as he strode back to his car. A minute’s rummaging in the trunk and he returned, yellow tape in hand.

  “You look exhausted.” Amanda couldn’t help but notice the sag to his body and the dark circles under his eyes.

  “I’ve had a helluva day. Was dealing with a fatal rollover accident on highway 101, right after an all-day investigation of a child abuse case over at Likely. I’ve been going nonstop since midnight last night.” He stifled a yawn. “I was just heading home when I heard the call over my radio.”

  “Gotten any sleep at all?”

  “No, but if you sing me a lullaby I’ll probably just curl up on your counter and start snoring there.”

  “Sounds charming.” Amanda looked closer and realized that James didn’t just look exhausted; he looked sick. She walked over and set her palm gently on his cheek. “Detective Landon, you are burning up. You’re probably running a fever of over a hundred.”

  “I’m okay. Just too much time out in the weather.”

  Her eyebrows raised in disapproval. “You should be home in bed.” When he didn’t look surprised she instantly guessed why. “You know you’re sick, don’t you?”

  He shrugged. “No one else to fill in today, so what was I supposed to do?” He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a clean dishtowel, ran it under the water and walked over to Amanda.

  “Here. Soot on your face.” He dabbed at a spot on her forehead, then handed her the damp towel, watching as she scrubbed dutifully under his watchful gaze.

  She could tell he was mulling over something. “I think this was to scare you, or maybe to do enough damage that you’d leave.” He gestured toward the back porch, small tendrils of smoke still spiraling upward from the water-logged wood. “If they’d wanted to hurt or kill you there are lots of more efficient ways than to burn the porch off the Inn. The sunroom is mostly wood, with wood siding above it, and would’ve made it more difficult to view from the front. It would’ve gone up like a torch if they’d started a fire there. This area has a lot of brick around it.”

 
James cleared his throat, knowing she wasn’t going to like what he was going to say.

  “Look, I’m going to sleep in my car in the driveway, so I know you’re protected. I don’t think they’ll be back to do any more damage but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  Amanda brushed the hanging hair back from her face. “I really appreciate it, James, but you’re in no condition to do that.” She plopped down onto a stool by the kitchen island and sighed. “You said yourself that you thought the fire wasn’t meant to hurt me; just scare me. After everything that’s gone on tonight I won’t get to sleep for hours and by the time I do it’ll probably be dawn. There’s really no need for you to stay.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Detective, you’re sick.”

  As James started to protest he was interrupted by the young cop coming in the back door. “I could stay,” he said eagerly.

  James shook his head. “Rollins, you’ve already been assigned a patrol shift. How are you going to cover that and stay here?”

  “My shift ends in half an hour and I could just stay out front until daylight. That way you can to go home and get better, and I get a few hours of overtime, if the sheriff’s office will pay outta their budget. That work for you, detective?”

  Amada looked back toward James, and at last he nodded. “That will be fine, Rollins, but I want your word that you won’t leave the premises. Deal?”

  At the rookie’s eager nod James stuck out his hand and shook with the younger cop. “Thanks, buddy. I feel terrible,” he finally admitted. “I’m going home.”

  “Good. Thanks for coming by, James. I really do appreciate it.” Amanda smiled at the tall detective as she ushered him out the front door. Just as she was about to close it behind him he stopped and leaned back inside.

  “I’ll have the ringer on my phone turned up so I can hear it if you call.” He yawned again, covering his open mouth with his hand. “I just need a couple of hours of sleep, and I’ll be back in the morning. We can talk things over then, okay?”

  Amanda watched him out of the window, not surprised to see that he did a final walk around the grounds to check for anything suspicious before he drove away.

  With the police and firefighters gone, Amanda’s previous prediction about not being able to sleep proved to be true. She tried wrapping herself in a quilt on the parlor sofa but her mind was still racing with the memories of what had happened that night. Every once in awhile she’d get up to peek out the front window, where the patrol car sat like a protective pit bull. After about an hour of restless fidgeting Amanda finally admitted defeat.

  With a sigh she opened the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. If she couldn’t sleep she might as well bake something. The firefighters and police had done an amazing job with the fire, and the least she could do was take them a huge batch of fresh chocolate chip cookies to thank them.

  Oven on, mixing bowl and measuring cups and spoons pulled out, ingredients all over the kitchen island, and she was in business. She’d used the same cookie recipe since she was a child and her mother was teaching her how to cook; gently correcting her from dropping bits of eggshell in the dough and letting her lick the spoon and bowl afterward. The memory was a nice break in what had been an awful night, and Amanda lost herself in the rhythm of measuring and mixing the ingredients. She remembered all the times she’d rolled out dough to make Christmas or Halloween sugar cookies, each cookie carefully decorated so she could share them with family and friends.

  When it was time to put in the dry ingredients she dug a cup into the bag of powdery-soft flour and dumped it into a new bowl. It landed with a nearly-silent poof, dusty bits gently settled onto the bowl’s sides, and something suddenly clicked in Amanda’s brain.

  Flour.

  Flour on Emmett. On the murdered body.

  Halloween cookies.

  Her mouth dropped open, the measuring cup forgotten in her hand. Means, motive, and opportunity. That’s what made a murder.

  It had been right in front of Amanda’s face all along but only now were the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit together.

  I have to tell James, she thought, reaching for her phone, but suddenly remembered how exhausted and feverish the detective had been. She knew Rollins was still sitting out front so she felt safe, and she didn’t want to wake James by calling him. Her news could wait. Amanda’s fingers hovered over the screen for a split second, and then she started tapping quickly, sending James a short text.

  Have important information! Call me or stop by when you’re up.

  By the time Amanda had mixed together everything for the cookie dough, she was feeling waves of exhaustion washing over her. Even with everything that had happened in the middle of the night, Amanda’s adrenaline could only go so far. Deciding that she’d have time to bake the next day, Amanda put a plate on top of the bowl of chocolate chip cookie dough and put in the fridge, sneaking a taste just before she closed the door.

  Plenty of time to bake cookies after I get some sleep, she thought. Stifling a yawn, she shuffled back to the parlor couch. As soon as she lay down she could feel the fatigue pulling her deeper into the plush cushions, and she wrapped the quilt back around herself and rolled over. She was almost asleep when she felt a cautious paw placed on her calf as her new cat slowly stepped across the quilt and snuggled into the curves of her body, as if she wouldn’t notice if he was just quiet enough.

  Amanda sighed happily and reached down to pet Oscar’s head. Amazing how some things in life could be made better by just chocolate chip cookie dough and a purring cat tucked behind her knees. With the promise of a new morning and new revelations to tell James, she finally sank into dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 30

  The hand-written note was shoved through the old mail slot in the Inn’s front door, and was short and to the point.

  I peeked in but didn’t want to wake you. Would love to buy you breakfast at the Cannery today on Oceanside road so we can talk things over. My treat, meet me at 9. They’ve got the best oysters in town.

  Oysters for breakfast, she thought, and shuddered. He must be feeling better. Doubt those’ll be my cup of tea. Just reading the words in the note made her smile. After she’d started putting clues together last night she had a list of things to tell James, and she was sure it would be a breakfast that he wouldn’t forget.

  Hope he got enough sleep, she thought. She texted a confirmation to James that she would meet him for breakfast at 9 o’clock and fed Oscar, who was patrolling the kitchen and loudly reminding her about his missing breakfast. Carefully locking the front door, she jogged out to her car, threw in her purse and started on her way. A morning drizzle had set in and she had to turn on her windshield wipers as she drove through town, the overcast sky settling over the coastal village like a thick blanket.

  She had a vague idea where the Cannery restaurant was, but when she saw Mrs. Mason setting out the wooden sandwich board sign for the Bake Me Happy bakery, she pulled over to the sidewalk and rolled down her window.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Mason!” she called cheerfully, hoping the older lady wasn’t hard of hearing.

  “Oh, good morning, Amanda. Not exactly California weather, is it?” Mrs. Mason gestured to the damp sky with disgust.

  Amanda couldn’t help but smile. “Actually, I think I’m getting used to the Pacific Northwest rain. I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you could point me toward the Cannery restaurant? I’m supposed to meet someone there and I’m not sure where it is, exactly.”

  Mrs. Mason wiped her hands, covered with bits of dough and flour, on her new pink and white striped apron, just as her phone rang. She pulled it out of her pocket and hastily told Amanda, “Down the street, turn right on Elm and follow it to the beach. About a half mile or so down and it’s on the left, right on the old pier. Restaurant’s in the front of the building, and the cannery’s in the back.”

  The road to the beach bent north, toward Likely, and wound d
own to sea-level through a scrubby forest. Amanda took her time, watching for potholes as she drove over the rough asphalt. It took her only a few minutes to drive the rest of the way to the restaurant, and she could see right away that the place included a small cannery at the back of the building, and an old covered pier attached at the side, probably to facilitate getting the seafood into the cannery and then available for loading onto trucks going to market.

  She was starting to turn left into the gravel parking lot when her world exploded.

  There was a rush of movement out of the corner of her eye and she turned just in time to see a large gray SUV screech out of a forested side street and accelerate full speed into the side of her car. The crash was monumental, as the sounds of tearing metal and exploding glass hit Amanda as hard the air bag smashing into her upper body and face.

  Her head flopped back, there was a moment of high-pitched buzzing in her ears, and then the sudden silence was deafening. Just as her thoughts were beginning to clear the driver car door was yanked open and someone was frantically cutting through her seatbelt.

  Charles.

  She gasped as the wiry lawyer leapt forward, grabbed her arm and throat and yanked her roughly out of the wrecked car. She tried to shift her weight as he changed his relentless grip on her torso and wrapped his other arm tightly around her neck. She was stunned at how strong his desperation and rage had made him, and she instantly tried to dig her fingers into the groove around her neck, frantic to pull the arm blocking her windpipe away.

  Air. She needed to breathe!

  He was dragging her, the heels of her boots banging and scraping as she kicked and fought, straining for any bit of oxygen she could get into her compressed windpipe. She was frantic, twisting and thrashing as she tried to get leverage or any way to kick or punch him, as he slowly pulled her farther and farther into the cold darkness of the long, covered pier. She caught glimpses of bushel boxes and crab traps that had been pushed along the walls, stored for the cannery that was at the back of the restaurant.