A Little Taste Of Murder_A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery

by Carolyn L. Dean

  The inside of Molly’s little VW bug was cozy and warm, and the drive to the resort didn’t take too long. They had wound through the downtown of Brightwater Bay, and Claire was able to see the array of little stores and shops that lined the main street. A large, old-fashioned hardware store dominated one corner, its Victorian heritage confirmed by the wraparound porch that ran down two sides of the building. Across the street, Hardee’s grocery store, with its red and white signs and big plate glass windows, was ready to supply groceries to whoever needed them. As they kept driving, Claire noted an old theater, a butcher’s shop, and a florist at the end of the street, as well as a pet store selling dog food and supplies. Old-fashioned lamp posts lined the streets, each one wrapped in white lights and broad red ribbons, their angled ends fluttering in the sea breeze.

  Getting out to the resort took them out of town, on a narrow road lined by tall trees. As they drew closer and closer Claire’s eyes widened in surprise. Brightwater Bay had a rustic charm of its own, like so many beach towns. The resort, on the other hand, had a size and elegance that was unexpected. As she got out of the car she could see several large outbuildings scattered across the emerald lawn, surrounding the main lodge. A broad path led down to the water’s edge, and an elaborate pergola stood watch over the rippling water of the bay. Tall firs shaded patios and outdoor stages.

  The main lodge had obviously been expanded years ago, but had kept much of its original, ornate charm. Mullioned windows looked out at the elaborately-landscaped flower beds lining the front walkway, and the multi-peaked roof was decorated with Victorian gingerbread and finials. Inside, the main entryway was at least two stories tall, vaulted all the way to the ceiling, with an extravagant crystal chandelier hanging in the middle. The foyer had a gray marble floor and a huge granite-topped reception desk. An enormous Christmas tree stood to the side of the bell desk, and nearly touched the ceiling. It was covered with thousands of warm white lights and garlands. Ornaments drooped from every branch, many antiques that probably dated back to the trees that had stood in the resort’s lobby decades ago. Molly must have noticed Claire’s surprise as she looked around, because she crooked an arm through hers and steered her along.

  “This place has great food, and people come from all over to stay at the Resort. They host a lot of business conferences and big weddings here, even for a few celebrities. I’ve heard the rooms are supposed to be really luxurious, I guess, but local folks from Brightwater Bay come out to the Resort, too. They drive all the way out here to buy goodies from the bakery. Wait ‘til you taste Aunt Myrna’s orange buns.” She rolled her eyes melodramatically. “They’re to die for!”

  As they walked through the luxurious building, Claire could see why people would want to stay at the Brightwater Resort. There were signs directing guests to the massage and spa area, and a peek through a set of double French doors showed off a large pool, covered for the winter. After making several more turns through corridors and connecting hallways, they caught the scent of the heavenly aroma of baking bread and pastries, and it didn’t take long before they arrived at a brightly lit shop with black and white marble floor tiles and a hand-painted wooden sign.

  Brightwater Resort Bakery, since 1912.

  Each Bite Delicious

  “Hi, Aunt Myrna!” Molly called out as she walked in, and a gray-haired lady with carefully coiffed hair popped her head up from behind the broad marble counter.

  “Cookie!” She sang out, a huge grin lighting up her face. She looked to be about sixty years old but the quick bounce in her step as she jogged around the end of the counter and came to hug her niece made her appear much younger.

  “I wondered when you were going to show up, Cookie, you missed all the excitement. Cops were here and everything! Part of my back room’s ripped apart. and you’re just in time to help me put it back together so we can get everything set up for tomorrow’s baking.” Suddenly realizing that Molly wasn’t alone, the older lady turned and looked at Claire, her face relaxing into a warm smile. “Who’s your new buddy?”

  Molly gave her aunt a resounding kiss on the cheek, and then gestured at Claire. “Auntie, you remember I told you they found Orrin Cable stone cold dead at the little cottages down by the ferry, the ones Daisy owns? Well, this is the lady who found him.” She leaned over and loudly whispered, “He nearly wound up on top of her.”

  Myrna openly looked her up and down, as if evaluating what she saw, but she did it in such an obvious way that it didn’t make Claire uncomfortable at all. Molly continued the introductions. “Claire, this is my aunt, Myrna Applegate. She’s the greatest baker in the world,” she said with a giggle and Myrna laughed in agreement with her.

  “I know I should try and act humble, but she’s absolutely right. I am the greatest baker in the world,” she said with a wink, and Claire couldn’t help but smile, even after all she’d been through that day.

  “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Applegate,” she said, reaching out, and Molly’s aunt wiped the flour off her hands before gripping Claire’s in a friendly handshake. “I’m sorry to hear someone broke into your bakery.”

  Mrs. Applegate shrugged noncommittally. “You know, it could’ve been much worse. All the money gets stashed at night in the big resort safe, so they didn’t get any cash at all. No one got hurt. It was probably just a couple of teenagers looking to make some mischief. They moved around a bunch of our equipment in the back and broke a couple of things, but that was it.” She looked shrewdly at Claire. “I hear you’ve been having a tougher day than I am. Are you okay, honey?”

  Claire tried to smile. “I’m here to eat away my sorrows. Any recommendations, especially something with lots and lots of chocolate?”

  “Are you kidding?” Molly laughed incredulously. “Come over here and look in this case. Take your pick.”

  The glass display case was probably twenty feet long, with two levels inside and ropes of tinsel garland and small, hanging glass ornaments on the outside. Rows of trays and baskets were filled of every pastry Claire could have imagined. Delicate chocolate filigree-decorated custard tarts were near the front, and an assortment of pies, some available by the slice, showed off the amazing variety of fruit in the region. Perfect creampuffs were filled with snowy-white froth and dusted with powdered sugar, while a row of tall layer cakes displayed the bakers’ considerable talents. Fresh doughnuts, newly-dipped in sprinkles or frosted, were laid out with perfect precision.

  “I can’t choose,” Claire said, her mouth watering. “Honestly, they all look amazing.” She felt like a little kid again, with her nose pressed against the candy counter. Straightening up, she looked at Mrs. Applegate, now understanding Molly’s praise for her aunt’s talents. “You know, I love to bake, too, but I don’t think I could ever do anything this magnificent.” She glanced back at the case. “How about a piece of German chocolate cake?” she asked, and Mrs. Applegate instantly pulled the cake out and sliced off a large chunk, expertly setting it sideways on a white plate. She handed Claire the plate and a clean fork, then watched in anticipation as she dug in.

  The first bite was heavenly, and the second one was even better. Claire kept chewing as she glanced at the beaming baker.

  “Genius,” Claire muttered, around a mouthful of chocolatey crumbs. “Amazing.”

  Leaving Claire to her cake and her happiness, Molly and her aunt walked around the counter and into the back room. Claire was just scraping the last bit of frosting off the plate when the women returned, Molly’s face a thundercloud of anger.

  “You can’t believe how much got tipped over back there! Even the big machinery, and most of that’s brand new, from when we replaced the old ones less than a year ago. You know how expensive those things are?” Her voice was trembling with fury. “The maintenance guy is back there, helping clean up and trying to get everything working again, but the new video camera wasn’t installed correctly, and I guess there’s no footage of the guys who did all this.”

  Mr
s. Applegate watched her niece’s agitation with calm detachment. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. Cookie, I love this place, but we have to remember it’s only equipment and a bit of a mess. It’s not people. If we can’t make pistachio biscotti tomorrow, we’ll just put up a sign and let people know why. The guests will understand.”

  Claire set her fork on the plate with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious. I’ve made German chocolate cake before but never one like that.”

  The compliment seemed to delight Mrs. Applegate. “Honey, have you ever thought about working in a bakery? Abigail’s going on maternity leave any day now and I’m going to be really short-handed for the next few months. Are you looking for a job?” she asked, but Claire instantly shook her head.

  “Thanks, but I’m due to be back in Arizona as soon as the police let me leave.” Noticing Mrs. Applegate’s crestfallen expression, she gently said, “It isn’t that I wouldn’t love to work with you. I hate to admit it but I’m just not up to the skill level you have here, and I’ve got to get back.”

  Mrs. Applegate nodded in understanding. “Back to friends and family. I completely understand.”

  The words brought Claire up short. Back to friends and family.

  Well, not really, she thought. Back to an empty apartment and a job hunt in the desert.

  As the thought crossed her mind she instantly tamped them down. The sooner she put Brightwater Bay behind her, the better.

  Mrs. Applegate was still explaining the break-in to Molly. “They didn’t even really steal anything, except for a pumpkin pie. Oh, and someone dropped a fruitcake and then tracked it all over the back room. I’m going to have to make Sarah double-mop that whole area so the stickiness doesn’t wind up as a sticky mess across the whole bakery.”

  Claire’s ears perked up. “Fruitcake? He stepped in fruitcake?,” she asked, knowingly, but Mrs. Applegate shook her head.

  “No, dear. They stepped in fruitcake. More than one person. There are two completely different sets of shoe prints back there.”

  Chapter 8

  Thank goodness for dogs, Claire thought the next day, watching the backside of her furry friend, Roscoe, heading for the ferry dock on his morning walk. After the excitement and the horror of the previous day, it was lovely to do something as simple as taking him outside. It had been pointless to try to sleep the night before. Between her normal insomnia and the fact that every little sound in and around the cottage made her jump in fear, she spent most of the night with the small bedside lamp turned on so she could instantly see if someone was in the room. Roscoe knew this routine wasn’t normal, and had laid on the bed and watched her with dark brown doggie eyes full of concern.

  Though the forecast had threatened snow, the heavy clouds high over the town hadn’t cooperated with that prediction yet. Claire was almost looking forward to being able to experience a Pacific Northwest snowfall. Maybe it was all the decorations in the stores and restaurants, or maybe it was how cheery the people seemed, but whatever it was, there was a simple happiness that seemed to pervade the little town of Brightwater Bay.

  A happy town, until she thought back to the ongoing investigation and the fact that Orrin Cable had died under mysterious circumstances. Claire kept trying to push the reality of the previous day to the back of her mind, concentrating on the swooping gulls by the dock and the cheery Christmas music that had been on the radio when she woke up. It felt like she hadn’t had a Christmas in ages, and the first time she caught herself humming along with ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, she was surprised when she realized it was her own voice.

  The walk was lovely this time of day. Several early joggers loped by, most of them greeting her with a cheery smile or a ‘good morning’. She could see the white steeple of the church by the town’s center, rising like a hopeful beacon against the gray clouds. The town was built on hills that dropped down to the saltwater bay, and when Claire looked back at Brightwater she could see decorated Christmas trees in many of the front windows of the houses, and even some sparkling lights around the foliage in a lot of the front yards.

  Christmas in Arizona had always been a time of stress for her, as many of her accounting clients were asking for end-of-year reports, or wanting to know how they stood taxwise, so they could calculate how to minimize the amount they would have to pay. Christmas here in Brightwater seemed to be a very different sort of occasion, relaxed and joyful. Claire made a mental note to walk through the shops later to see what was on sale. Even if she didn’t have anyone to shop for, exactly, maybe it would still feel good to be part of the Christmas crowds.

  She was leaning on a wooden railing and looking out on the Bay, her thoughts a jumble of her recent experience in town, when a cheerful whistle caught her attention.

  “Daydreaming?” Scott asked. The cold morning air caught his breath and made wisps of steam. He was wearing a heavy coat and had a large travel mug in his hands. “If I’d known I’d bump into you here, I would’ve brought more coffee.”

  “Thanks,” she said with a smile, “but I’m usually more of a tea drinker.”

  He feigned shock. “In this neck of the woods? The state where Starbucks was invented and where every corner has a coffee stand on it? That’s like saying you don’t love your mother and apple pie.” His expression turned more serious. “So, did you get any sleep? How are you holding up?”

  Knowing he was referring to everything that had happened the day before, Claire quickly told him about her trip to the Brightwater Resort Bakery, and that there had been two distinct sets of footprints from someone accidentally stepping in fruitcake while they were trashing the back room.

  Scott’s eyebrows went up and he gave a low whistle. “Mrs. Applegate told you all this? If she did, you can take it as gospel. That lady doesn’t mess around.” He paused, seemingly considering what Claire had said. “You think Orrin was in the bakery and had an accomplice?”

  “Sounds like it,” Claire said with a nod. “I left a voicemail for Officer Portman so he could investigate it. He’ll turn it over to whoever’s working the case. Mrs. Applegate said she hadn’t pointed it out to the junior officer, I think his name was Bell, who showed up and took the initial report.”

  Scott looked disgusted. “I know Officer Bell. He’s a nice guy and all, but I wouldn’t trust him to find a killer. I went to high school with him, and to be honest, I’m not even sure I’d trust him to find a stolen fruitcake.”

  Pulling Roscoe’s leash so he wouldn’t chase a nearby seagull who was eyeing him, Claire shrugged. “I also had a business card on my front door when I got back from the bakery. It was from the detective from the sheriff’s department, wanting me to call her. I left a voicemail, but I have no idea what I can say that will help the investigation.” She caught Scott’s eye, her voice adamant. “I already told the cops what happened. My dog heard a sound that night, I searched but didn’t find anything, I went to sleep, then I opened my front door the next day and BOOM. Dead guy falls in my foyer.”

  They walked together toward the main street, Roscoe excitedly pulling on the leash as he tried to make them go faster. Looking in the festive shop windows together was fun, even if Claire felt a bit awkward. From time to time she’d glance sideways at Scott, wondering what was on his mind. He was acting like a true friend to her, but it still felt a bit odd. She wasn’t used to having male friends, and even though she was enjoying her time with him there was still a sense of unease about it.

  They walked by the toy store, which was full of chattering people, all going over their Santa lists. Half a block later they stopped and admired the large nativity scene on the front lawn of the church. The florist shop was decked out, too, with a huge display of wreaths and Christmas ornaments in their wide front window and red glitter scattered all over the bottom of the display. The hardware store was doing a thriving business selling trees, too, with a local band of Boy Scouts using their fledgling sales skills to explain the merits of each tree before helping to c
arry the chosen tree to their customer’s car.

  As they rounded the corner toward the cafe, they could see Officer Portman standing on the sidewalk ahead of them, patiently listening as Mrs. Freeman gave him an earful. Her wire shopping basket was nearby, a small bag of groceries in the bottom. Her springy gray hair was poking out from the knit hat she’d crammed on her head, and she was shaking a finger in the police officer’s face.

  “And that’s not all, young man! That Edna, she’s done been sleeping under my rhodies again, smashing down all the little bulbs and not letting ‘em having any room. What are you gonna do about it?” she stuck her face in the policeman’s, her lower lip stuck out belligerently. “Hmmmmm?”

  Darryl put up his hands, trying to calm her. “Mrs. Freeman, I’m sorry to hear about your rhododendrons. I’ll be happy to stop by later to see how I can help.”

  “See how you can help?” Mrs. Freeman said as she put her hands on her hips, her voice shrill with anger. “I should think you would see what you can do.” Suddenly, she smiled. “I’ll see you at four for tea. I’ll have spam sandwiches. Don’t be late,” she added, grabbing the handle of her cart and toodling along the sidewalk away from them.

  Claire and Scott could hear Darryl’s deep sigh as they walked up. He looked their way.

  “Did I hear you have a date at four?” Scott asked, a note of humor in his voice. “Must be tough being a hot guy in this town,” he said, but Darryl didn’t seem to think much of the comment.

  “Right, hot guy, that’s me. Wish someone would tell my wife that I’m the hot guy around town. Doubt if she’d believe it, but it would be worth a try,” he said, then looked pointedly at Claire. “I have some news for you.” He glanced around, but no one else was near them on the sidewalk. “The preliminary results are back from the medical examiner.”