Live and Let Chai (Seaside Café Mysteries)

by Bree Baker

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  Copyright © 2018 by Bree Baker

  Cover and internal design © 2018 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Internal design by Lin Miceli/Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Adrienne Krogh/Sourcebooks

  Cover illustration © Trish Campbell/Lott and Associates, DRogatnev/Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious and are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks, Inc., is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

  Published by Sourcebooks Landmark, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Summer Strawberry and Peach Tea

  Iced Chai Latte

  Carolina Cucumber Sandwiches

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For my sweet mama and her unending love of the seaside

  Chapter One

  “Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea.” I perked up at the precious sound of seashell wind chimes bouncing and tinkling against the front door of my new café. “I’ll be right with you.”

  A pair of ladies in windbreakers and capri pants smoothed their windblown hair and examined the seating options. Sounds of the sea had followed them inside, amplified briefly by the opening door.

  I bopped my head to a Temptations song and tapped the large sweet tea jug behind the counter. Until three months ago, owning and operating an iced tea shop on the shore of my hometown had been nothing more than a childish dream. I’d thought being a grown-up meant working a job I hated while wearing uncomfortable clothes, so I’d toed the line for a while, but my looming thirtieth birthday and a broken heart had changed all that.

  Now I did what I wanted—in comfy clothes for significantly less money, but at least I could wear flip-flops.

  I set a lidless canning jar of Old-Fashioned Sun Tea in front of the man sitting at my counter and beamed. “Let me know if I can fix you anything else, Sam.”

  He frowned at his phone, too engrossed or distracted to answer. Sam Smart was a local real estate agent. He’d arrived in Charm during the years I’d been away from home, and from what I could tell, he was a type-A, all-stress all-day kind of guy—a little sweet tea was probably just what he needed. I nudged the jar closer until his hand swept out to meet it. “Thanks.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  He flicked his gaze to mine, then back to his phone. “It’s Paine.” He shook his head and groaned.

  “Ah.” I grabbed a thin stack of napkins and patted Sam’s shoulder on my way to welcome the newcomers. “Good luck with that.”

  Benedict Paine had been a thorn in my side since the day I’d approached our town council about adding a café to the first floor of my new seaside home. Owning a sweet-tea shop was my dream come true, and honestly, I couldn’t afford the house’s mortgage payments without the business income. Despite the home’s fixer-upper condition, the price tag had been astronomical, making the café a must, and Mr. Paine had fought me the entire way, complaining that adding a business to a residential property would drag down the neighborhood. I could only imagine the kind of headache a man like Paine could cause a real estate agent.

  The space that was now my café stretched through the entire south side of the first floor. Walls had been strategically knocked out, opening the kitchen and formal dining area up to a large space for entertaining. The result was a stunning seaside setup, perfect for my shop.

  From the kitchen, a private hallway led to the rest of the first floor and another thousand or so square feet of potential expansion space. A staircase off that hall provided passage to my second-floor living quarters, which were just as big and full of potential. The stairs themselves were amazing, stained a faded red, with delicate carvings along the edges. They were mine alone to enjoy, shut off from the café by a locking door. I could probably thank the home’s history as a boarding house for my substantial second-floor kitchen. The cabinets and fixtures were all older than me, but I couldn’t complain—the café kitchen was what mattered, and it was fantastic.

  Seating at Sun, Sand, and Tea was a hodgepodge of repainted garage sale and thrift shop finds. Twenty seats in total, five at the counter and fifteen scattered across the wide-planked, whitewashed floor, ranging from padded wicker numbers with low tables to tall bistro sets along the perimeter.

  The ladies had selected a high table near a wall of windows overlooking my deck.

  I refreshed my smile and set a napkin in front of each of them. “Hello. Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea.”

  They dragged their attention slowly away from the rolling waves and driftwood-speckled beach beyond the glass, reluctant to part with the amazing view for even a second.

  “Can I get something started for you?”

  The taller woman settled tortoiseshell glasses onto the ridge of her sunburned nose and fixed her attention to the café menu, scripted on an enormous blackboard covering the far wall. “Do you really make twenty flavors of iced tea?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Plus a daily array of desserts and finger foods.” The selection changed without notice, sometimes with the tide, depending on if I ran out of any necessary ingredients.

  “Fascinating. I came in for some good old-fashioned sweet tea, but now you’ve got me wondering about the Country Cranberry Hibiscus. What’s in that?” She leaned her elbows on the tabletop and twined her fingers.

  “Well, there—there’s black tea, hibiscus, and, uh, rose hips, and cranberries.” I stammered over the answer to her question the same way I had to
similar inquiries on a near-daily basis since opening my café doors. It seemed a fine line between serving my family’s secret recipes and sharing them ingredient by ingredient.

  The woman glanced out the window again and pressed a palm to her collarbone as a massive gull flapped to a stop on the handrail outside the window. “Dear!”

  “Oh, there’s Lou,” I said.

  “Lou?”

  “I think he came with the house.”

  She lowered her hand, but kept one eye on Lou. “I’ll try the Cranberry Hibiscus,” she said. “What about you, Margo?”

  Her friend pursed her lips. “Make mine Summer Citrus Mint, and I’d like to try your crisp cucumber sandwich.”

  I formed an “okay” sign with my fingers and winked. “Give me just a quick minute, and I’ll get that over here for you.”

  I strode back to the counter, practically vibrating with excitement. After only a month in business, each customer’s order was still a thrill for me.

  The seashell wind chimes kicked into gear again and I responded on instinct. “Welcome to Sun, Sand, and Tea.” I turned on my toes for a look at the newest guest and my stomach dropped. “Oh, hello, Mr. Paine.” I shot a warning look at Sam, whose head drooped lower over his tea.

  “Miss Swan.” Mr. Paine straddled a stool three seats down from Sam and set his straw porkpie hat on the counter. Tufts of white hair stretched east and west from the spaces below his bald spot and above each ear. “Lovely day.”

  I nodded in acknowledgment. “Can I get you anything?”

  “Please,” he drawled, giving Sam a thorough once-over. It wasn’t clear if he already knew Sam was mad at him, or if he was figuring that out from the silent treatment.

  I waited, knowing what the next words out of Mr. Paine’s mouth were going to be.

  Reluctantly, he pulled his attention back to me. “How about a list of all your ingredients?”

  Sam rolled his small brown eyes, but otherwise continued to ignore Mr. Paine’s presence.

  I grabbed a knife and a loaf of fresh-baked bread and set them on the counter. “You know I can’t give that to you, Mr. Paine. Something else, perhaps?” I’d been through this a dozen times with him since Sun, Sand, and Tea’s soft opening. Swan women had guarded our tea recipes for a hundred years, and I wasn’t about to hand them over just because he said so. “How about a glass of tea instead?”

  I cut two thin slices from the loaf, then whacked the crusts off with unnecessary oomph.

  Sam took a long pull on his drink, stopping only when there was nothing left but ice, and returned the jar to the counter with a thump. “It’s very good,” he said, turning to stare at Mr. Paine. “You should try it. I mean, if you’d had it your way, this place wouldn’t even be open, right? Seems like the least you can do is find out what you were protesting.”

  I didn’t bother to mention that Mr. Paine had already tried basically every item on the menu as I plied him with free samples to try to get in his good graces.

  Mr. Paine frowned, first at Sam, then at me. Wrinkles raced across his pale, sun-spotted face. “It’s a health and safety issue,” he groused. “People need to know what they’re drinking.”

  “Yes.” I arranged cucumber slices on one piece of bread. “I believe you’ve mentioned that.” It had, in fact, been his number one argument since I’d gotten the green light to open. “I’m happy to provide a general list of ingredients for each recipe, but there are certain herbs and spices, as well as brewing methods, that are trade secrets.”

  “He doesn’t care about any of that,” Sam said. “He just wants to get his way.”

  Mr. Paine twisted on his stool to glare at Sam. “Whatever your problem is, Sam Smart, it’s not with me, so stow it.”

  Sam shoved off his stool. “And your problem isn’t with her.” He grabbed the gray suit jacket from the stool beside him and threaded his arms into the sleeves. “Thanks for the tea, Everly.” He tossed a handful of dollar bills onto the counter and a remorseful look in my direction.

  I worked to close my slack jaw as the front door slapped shut behind him. Whatever grudge match Sam and Mr. Paine had going, I didn’t want a ticket for it. I put the unused cucumber slices away and removed a white ceramic bowl from the fridge.

  Mr. Paine watched carefully, teeth clenched.

  “Maybe you’d like to try the Peach Tea today,” I suggested. “Whatever you want. On the house.”

  Preferably to go.

  “How much sugar is in the Peach?” he asked, apparently determined to criticize. “You know I don’t like a lot of sugar.”

  I pointed to a brightly colored section on my menu that highlighted sugar-free options. “How about a tea made with alternative sweeteners, like honey or fruit puree? Maybe the Iced Peach with Ginger?” I turned to the refrigerator and pulled out a large metal bowl, then scooped the cream cheese, mayo, and seasoning mixture onto the second bread slice, turning it face down over the cucumbers. “There’s no sugar in that at all.”

  “Fine.” He lifted his fingers in defeat, as usual, pretending to give up but knowing full well he’d be back tomorrow with the same game.

  I had quit hoping he’d start paying for his orders two weeks ago. That was never going to happen, and I had decided to chalk the minimal expense up to community relations and let it go. Though if he kept walking off with my shop’s canning jars with , he’d soon have a full set—and those weren’t cheap.

  “Great.” I released a long breath and poured a jar of naturally sweetened peach tea for him. He was lucky I didn’t serve it in a disposable cup.

  “What’s in it?” he asked.

  “Peaches. Tea.” I rocked my knife through the sandwich, making four small crustless triangles.

  “And?” Mr. Paine lifted the tea to his mouth, closed his eyes, and gulped before returning the half-empty jar to his napkin. He smacked his lips. “Tastes like sugar.”

  “No,” I assured him. “There’s no sugar in that.” I plated the crisp cucumber sandwiches, then poured the ladies’ mint and cranberry teas, grateful that they were too busy ogling Lou out the window to notice the delay. “Fresh peaches, honey, ginger, lemon, and spices. That’s it.”

  I knew what my tea really tasted like to him: defeat. He’d tried to stop me from opening Sun, Sand, and Tea because businesses on the beach were “cliché and overdone.” According to Mr. Paine, if I opened a café in my home, Charm, North Carolina, would become a tourist trap and ruin everything he lived for.

  Fortunately, the property was old enough to have been zoned commercial before Paine’s time on the town council. Built at the turn of the nineteenth century, my home had been a private residence at first, then a number of other businesses ranging from a boarding house to a prep school, and if the rumors were true, possibly a brothel. Though, I couldn’t imagine anything so salacious ever having existed in Charm. The town was simply too…charming. And according to my great aunts, who’d been fixtures here since the Great Depression, it had always been that way.

  The place was empty when I bought it. The previous owner lived out of town, but he’d sent a number of work crews to make renovations over the years. I could only imagine the money that had been slowly swallowed by the efforts. Eventually it went back on the market.

  Mr. Paine eyeballed his drink and rocked the jar from side to side. “I don’t see why you won’t provide the complete list of your ingredients. What’s the big secret?”

  “I’m not keeping a secret. The recipes are private. I don’t want them out in the world.” I wet my lips and tried another explanation, one he might better understand. “These recipes are part of my family’s lineage. Our history and legacy.” I let my native drawl carry the words. Paine of all people should appreciate an effort to keep things as they were, to respect the past.

  He harrumphed. “I’m bringing the ingredient list up at our next cou
ncil meeting. I’m sure Mayor Dunfree and the other members will agree with me that it’s irresponsible not to have it posted.”

  “Great.” He never seemed to tire of reminding me how tight he was with the mayor. He’d used their relationship to the fullest while trying to keep my shop from opening, but even the mayor couldn’t prevent a legitimate business from being run in a commercially zoned space. I refilled Mr. Paine’s jar, which had been emptied rather quickly. “Let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to try.”

  Mr. Paine climbed off his stool and stuffed his goofy hat back on his mostly bald head. “Just the tea,” he said with unnecessary flourish.

  “See ya.” I piled the ladies’ teas and sandwich on a tray and waved Paine off. “Try not to choke on an ice cube,” I muttered.

  • • •

  The afternoon ebbed and flowed in spurts of busyness and lulls of silence. I supposed that was typical of a new business in a small town, not to mention that Sun, Sand, and Tea hadn’t had its official launch yet. I was due for a big grand opening, but fear and cowardice kept me from planning it. What if no one came and the whole thing was a flop?

  I flipped over the CLOSED sign promptly at five and went upstairs to trade my sundress for exercise gear and hunt for my track shoes. I’d gotten out of shape while I was away, loitering behind a table at culinary school, in a city where I never felt completely safe, eating take-out and every meal on the run because I didn’t have time to cook for myself while studying the art of haute cuisine.

  Now none of my clothes fit and I wasn’t happy about it. Luckily, Charm was a great place to get out and get moving, whether hiking the dunes, playing volleyball on the beach, or swimming in the warm, blue ocean. I hit the boardwalk with a brisk stride.

  Waning sunlight glistened on the water, reflecting shadows of soaring birds and the occasional single-engine plane, and the heady scent of home hung in the air. It was the salty, beachy fragrance that clung to my skin and hair long after I’d gone inside, the humidity and seagrass, wet sand and a hint of sunblock. I could never quite put it into words, and my attempts had been wholly lost on the friends I’d made living inland. Maybe rather than just a smell, it was a sensation you had to experience to understand. Kind of like that perfect glass of iced tea. Or maybe it was just me. Some days I wasn’t sure if it was sweet tea or saltwater flowing in my veins. Probably a little of both.