Roses and Revenge (Port Danby Cozy Mystery Book 4) Read online

  Roses and Revenge

  Port Danby Cozy Mystery #4

  London Lovett

  Wild Fox Press

  Roses and Revenge

  Copyright © 2018 by London Lovett

  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, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Firefly Junction

  Tulips and Trouble

  Caramel Kisses

  Recipe Card

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Something wasn’t quite right about the school cafeteria. Yes, it was filled with my classmates. Although some of them were faces I’d never seen before. And yes, they were noisy and sharing potato chips and spilling their juice boxes. But the white laminate tables had been replaced with my mom’s walnut dining set and instead of benches, the kids were standing and dancing around on antsy feet. And no one was wearing shoes. Strangest thing of all was that I had somehow managed to sit myself next to Francine Thomas. I never sat next to her. As I liked to tell my mom, Francine was the most annoying kid in the world, and she always hogged all the good crayons.

  “Hey Lacey, hey Lacey.” Now she was trying to talk to me, and she must have been eating a tuna sandwich because her breath smelled just like fish. “Hey Lacey.” Her long round finger shot out, and she poked me in the chest. Again and again, she poked me. Apparently, she was still highly annoying. Her face moved closer to mine. When did she grow whiskers? I rubbed my nose as she tickled it. She poked my chest again as she pressed her face really close to mine. But instead of saying my name, a low purr rolled out of her tiny, whisker covered mouth. Another poke but this time something sharp stabbed my skin.

  My eyes popped open. Francine’s face melted away, and I was staring into the amber eyes of my cat, Nevermore. He was deep in a purring trance as he kneaded my chest with his paws.

  “Let me guess, Never. You’re hungry?”

  My question excited him, causing the cat to get his claw caught in the fabric of my flannel pajamas. I reluctantly pulled my arms out from under the warm covers and unhooked the claw.

  I stared up at my cat as he sat comfortably on my chest. “I can’t feed you if I can’t get out of bed.”

  Nevermore stood up, stretched his back, sticking his claws in me once again for good measure before leaping off the bed and heading out, tail straight up in victory, to the kitchen.

  My radio alarm turned on with a splash of an old disco tune. “Too late,” I said to the radio as I shut it off. “The cat beat you to it again. Sure wish you and Nevermore could sync up.”

  I lowered my feet directly into the slippers I’d placed under the bed the night before. I literally stepped into the fuzzy slippers and out of the fuzzy slippers every day so that in between getting in and out of bed, my feet were swaddled in them. One thing I’d discovered about my first winter in my wonderful new hometown of Port Danby was that it stayed bone-chillingly cold throughout the entire season. There were plenty of sun-filled days, but the coastal air was perpetually glacial.

  I wasted not a second of leftover warmth from my bed and wrapped myself quickly in my thick, plush robe. I’d finally figured out the timer on my coffee machine. As the rich aroma of coffee washed over me on my short journey down the hallway, I decided it had been well worth the three hours of poring over the insanely confusing directions.

  I stopped at Kingston’s six foot tall cage and pulled off the sheet. The artificial darkness kept my crow from belting out heart-stopping, ear drum splitting caws at the first light of dawn. I’d forgotten to cover the cage once or twice and each time I’d woken to a sound that nearly sent me straight up to the ceiling. Most days though, I was the one startling Kingston awake by yanking off the dark cage cover and ‘turning on the lights’.

  Kingston turned his bleary black gaze up at me with a look that reminded me of a grumpy teenager being woken for school. I reached for the coffee can filled with peanuts I kept stored under his cage, and he perked right up. His long black wings stretched out. He flapped them back and forth to shake out the sleepiness.

  I opened the cage and he walked to the exit to grab a peanut from my fingers. But the peanut dropped and Kingston startled and flew back inside the cage as a loud truck roared past the house. It must have been hurtling at fifty miles per hour along Myrtle Place. The only thing past my street, Loveland Terrace, was Maple Hill and the Hawksworth Manor, a dilapidated, deserted mansion that was the site of a horrific family murder at the turn of the last century. The manor was frequently visited by tourists on weekends, but it was Monday and it wasn’t open for visitors during the winter weekdays.

  I considered it both cool and mildly disturbing that the town’s main claim to fame, other than an ivory sand beach and quaint downtown, was the site of a terrible, brutal murder. The crime, which had long since been deemed a murder-suicide perpetrated by a jealous husband, was something that had sparked to life the mystery solving side of my brain. The clues that I’d found did not add up to a murder-suicide, and I was determined to find out what really happened up on Maple Hill.

  I stooped down and picked up the dropped peanut. Kingston had recuperated from being startled. He edged his way back out. He pinched the nut in his long, sharp beak just as a low thud hit the wood planks on my porch. The unexpected noise caused the crow to startle again, and he dropped the peanut.

  We both stared down at it. “You’re on your own, Mr. Nerves of Steel.”

  Another thud drew my attention to the front porch. It was very early for someone to be at my door. I walked to the front window and lifted the curtain. Two more trucks rattled past on Myrtle Place, shaking the pictures on the wall. I lifted the curtain higher to get a better view of the porch. I had a visitor.

  Captain, my neighbor’s giant, lovable dog, was gnawing a massive rawhide bone on the top step of the porch. I opened the door and stepped out to greet Captain just as his extremely handsome owner walked around the corner of the house.

  I instantly reached up to pull down a curly strand of hair that coiled right back up the second I released it. My mop of just out of bed curls instantly took a back seat to the horrifying realization that I was still in my fuzzy bathrobe and slippers.

  “Dash, good morning,” I chirruped slightly breathless about being caught in my frumpy morning get-up. On the other hand, Dashwood Vanhouten, my tall, broad shouldered neighbor, looked the exact opposite of frumpy. He was his usual glorious self with his dark blond hair con
trasting nicely with a blue flannel shirt. And then there was his award winning, breath stealing smile to add to the overall picture and to make me feel extra dowdy.

  I smoothed my hands over the plush terry cloth robe, my prized possession when I wasn’t standing in front of my dashing neighbor, Dash. “Excuse the way I look,” I said quickly. “I overslept. Or at least I gave it a shot. Nevermore did his best to stop my quest.”

  Dash had one of those smooth laughs, and it flowed off and over the roofs of town like melted butter. “Lacey Pinkerton, you are one person who never has to apologize for her appearance. You’re always a sight to see, even dressed in periwinkle blue terry cloth. In fact, I owe the apology.” He looked pointedly at Captain, who had worked up a good lathering froth on the rawhide bone. “Lately, he likes to bring his bones over here to eat. I guess he doesn’t like my porch because it still smells like new paint.”

  “That it does,” I said. “Although I’m pretty sure the only noses to smell it are Captain’s and mine.” My hyperosmia, or extreme sense of smell, always told me when someone in the neighborhood was painting a house, or baking a bread, or planting a fragrant bush. It was a talent that was both a blessing and a curse. My super nose had allowed me to help the local detective, James Briggs, solve a few murder cases, but it was also the reason I had to give up my dream of becoming a doctor. The smells in the science labs were too strong, and I found myself doing an embarrassing amount of fainting. Not a promising outlook for a future doctor.

  The din of voices and wheels moving on gravel and dirt rumbled down from Maple Hill. “Something seems to be happening up at the manor.” I pulled the robe shut tighter and stepped out to get a better look up the hill. Swirls of dust floated up into the morning air before being whisked away in the breeze.

  “Yes. I saw a lot of trucks and trailers heading up there. I checked Facebook. Mayor Price posted that there was going to be a photo shoot at Hawksworth Manor. It’s for a commercial or a magazine or something. Guess they’ll be here all week. That’s all I know. Mayor Price tends to ramble on his posts. I got bored after the first few lines and stopped reading.”

  “At least you’re on his friend’s list. I have to get all my town updates through Lola or Elsie, and neither of them are very good at filling in key details. I knew that one day had been set aside for work crews to paint lines on Harbor Lane, but no one told me which day. I ended up with a nice ticket and an extra droopy frown from the mayor. Or at least I think it was extra droopy. Since frown is the only face he ever shows me, it’s hard to judge.”

  Dash leaned his arm against the porch column. It was one of those casual, manly poses that made me think he’d make a perfect catalog model. “I don’t understand why he dislikes you so much. Especially considering there is nothing at all to dislike.” His grin seemed to be extra flirty this morning. Maybe the fuzzy bathrobe had more alluring qualities than I realized.

  “Thank you but I don’t think there’s one particular thing the mayor finds objectionable. He just doesn’t like me as a whole, and he has a special loathing for my crow.”

  “Ah yes, Yolanda told me he keeps pestering the city council to enact some sort of ordinance that bans crows from the downtown area.”

  “And by crows, he means Kingston. Fortunately, my bird has a fan club around town. Everyone on the council agreed that Kingston should be allowed. He’s sort of become the town mascot. And I think having a big black raven as the mascot of a town famous for a murder case makes perfect sense. I feel confident that if Edgar Allen Poe were still alive, he’d visit Port Danby and never want to leave.”

  A gust of cold air blew across the front yard shaking some of the leftover bits of snow off the juniper shrubs planted around the border of my house.

  “I’ll let you get inside before you catch cold,” Dash said. “I don’t have to work today, so I’m off for a quick flight along the coast.”

  “Great. Have fun.” I turned to go inside but spun back around. “Did you say a flight?”

  “Yes, a friend of mine is on business in Europe for the month, so he lent me his plane. It’s a sweet little two seat Cessna. It’s noisy as heck but fun to fly.”

  “I had no idea you were a pilot.” But then, looking at the man, it was hard not to picture him doing all the swashbuckling, daring things required of his type.

  “Yep, I’ve been flying since I was a teen. My dad and I both took flying lessons together. He gave up on the idea, but I got bit by the Snoopy bug.”

  I laughed. “The Snoopy bug? Do you wear a bright red scarf and goggles?”

  “No, but now I’m thinking I should. I can take you on a ride later this week if you’re interested.”

  “Yes!” I covered my mouth. “Jeez, that sounded desperately eager. But yes, I would love to fly along the coast.”

  “Great. We’ll firm up some plans later in the week. I can fly you over your house for an aerial view. Have a good day, neighbor.”

  “Have a good flight.”

  Chapter 2

  Lester was outside of his shop, the Coffee Hutch, arranging his brand new counter height tables. He’d transformed the casual sidewalk seating area into a posh coffee pub, complete with tall walnut tables and leather cushioned, extra tall stools.

  My shop, Pink’s Flowers, was sandwiched between Lester’s coffee shop and his twin sister, Elsie’s, bakery. Even though they were sixty plus in years, neither of them had grown out of the sibling rivalry stage. And they each had a competitive streak that was a mile long and a mile wide. For months, Lester and Elsie had been upgrading their sidewalk tables and giving away freebies and raffle tickets to lure customers to their respective seating areas. It didn’t even matter if the customer bought anything. They just wanted their tables to be filled, thus giving the appearance that their shop was more popular. This latest upgrade must have cost Lester a small fortune.

  “The tables look beautiful, Lester,” I called as I scooted the sidewalk chalkboard stand advertising my Valentine’s specials out from the shadows and into the sunlight.

  “Thanks.” Lester waved back. A tuft of his white hair fell over his forehead like the white forelock on a horse. He pushed it aside. “I think people will really like them.”

  “Yes, I think so too.”

  “Yes, they’ll be wonderful until his first customer falls off one of those nose bleed high bar stools and then sues him for his coffee shop,” Elsie said sharply from her front door.

  “Oh hush, Elsie. You’re just trying to stir up trouble.” Lester returned to his shop.

  Elsie looked at me. “I’m not wrong. Am I wrong?”

  I turned the key on my lips. Elsie knew better than to pull me into the table war.

  “I am right,” she said confidently. “I’m making my February caramel kiss cookies, Pink. Come try one when you have time.”

  “I smell brown sugar and butter, and I never say no to brown sugar and butter. I’ll drop by later.”

  Kingston normally flew into the shop in a flurry of black feathers, but today, he marched past with his wings glued to his sides like an self-important man with his hands behind his back, coming to inspect things.

  “Well, all right then. So we’re getting too lazy to flap our wings, huh?”

  Ryder, my wonderful shop assistant, noticed Kingston’s pedestrian entrance as well. He shook his head as he finished tying a red ribbon around a vase.

  I walked to the hook to hang up my scarf and coat. “I’m worried he’s starting to forget how to be a bird.”

  “I don’t think you have to worry.” Ryder pointed down to Kingston. The crow had marched straight to a pile of sunflower seeds. “I spilled his can of seeds this morning.”

  “I guess he smelled them when I opened the door and decided not to waste any energy with flight when his goodies were on the ground.” I finished peeling off all the layers of warm clothes and took a deep breath as if I’d just rid myself of a heavy suit of armor.

  “What do you think of the Valentin
e’s bouquets?” Ryder asked as he pointed to an array of bouquets on the large tile island, the central workspace and focal point of my very adorable, industrious flower shop.

  For some of the women customers, Ryder tended to be a focal point as well. He was a very charming, very helpful and exceptionally talented florist. Ryder was fresh out of college. When he had enough money saved, he would be heading off to study horticulture around the world. But for now, he worked for Pink’s Flowers, and I was lucky to have him.

  Ryder walked to the first bouquet. It was a pleasant gathering of yellow roses and white daisies bursting from the top of a bright yellow coffee mug. “This is the ‘I like chillin’ with ya’ bouquet. It’s a subtle gift for the guy or girl who doesn’t want to come on too strong and who wants to make clear that the relationship is still at the chillin’ stage.”

  I nodded once. “Yes, that works. Yellow is perfect for the chillin’ stage.”

  He walked to the next bouquet, a smartly arranged group of pink roses, white lilies and purple chrysanthemums in a glass vase. “This is the ‘I think we might have something here’ bouquet for the person who doesn’t want to say love but who also doesn’t want to not say love.”

  I pursed my lips trying to decipher that one for a minute. “I think I understand. And I’d say those are the right flowers for that particular sentiment.” I smiled at him. “You really put some thought into this.”

  His long dark bangs fell in his eyes as he agreed. Lately, he’d taken to wearing a green and white striped knit beanie that worked well with his longish hair. “I wanted to make sure we had every level of arrangement. That way, if someone wanted to give a gift but they didn’t want to send the wrong message and screw up the entire day, they’d have choices. Communication is key.”