Copyright © 2023 by Laura Pauling

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, except for brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog or broadcast.

  This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner.

  Edited by Cindy Davis

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  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

  A Caramel Macchiato Short Story

  Peppermint Mocha Murder Sneak Peek

  Holly Hart Cozy Mysteries

  Also by Laura

  About Laura

  Chapter One

  Secrets. What was it about the unknown, the hidden?

  Belle hoped that Sir Jack, her newly inherited blue-fronted Amazon parrot would know secrets about Aunt Eliza. It was a shot in the dark, more like a shot in the blackest of nights while blindfolded. Worth a try. Time for an interrogation session.

  But first, the coffee.

  She opened the canister, an old-fashioned glass jar, and wondered how Aunt Eliza took her coffee. Oh, the talks they could have had if she hadn’t been brutally taken from this world.

  It had become a habit to breathe in the scent, eyes closed, then measure it out, pour the water, and press Start. It was the small moments. While the coffee burbled in the kitchen, filling the room with its rich scent, she placed Sir Jack’s breakfast in a bowl and set it in his cage. “Here you go. Eat up.”

  “Breakfast time,” Sir Jack said.

  “At least he didn’t say murder,” Belle mumbled, heading back to the kitchen, back to the delicious scent of hazelnut.

  “Murder!” he squawked.

  Living with her aunt and uncle, she could never take the time to just sit in the morning with a hot drink, appreciate the quiet while thinking or dreaming about the future. No, it was go, go, go. Do this. Do that. Now, she took those moments.

  She’d worked it out with Bixby after a long conversation. She enjoyed helping out at The Beanery, even though she knew he could manage it. It was a small operation. She would work several days a week, but there was no need to arrive too early before the rush.

  She poured the coffee, then the creamer, watching it swirl into a blooming cloud of creamy white. Again, it was the small things. “Okay, time to do this.”

  Back in the parlor, Belle had placed an armchair by Sir Jack’s cage. He had become a companion of sorts, though she still had a lot to learn about caring for him. Where to start? She’d created a list of questions. “Does the term Calypso mean anything to you?”

  “Calypso. Calypso gone.”

  He was right. Madeleine Calypso was gone from this world. Could he understand the concept of death? Maybe she needed to simplify her sentences. “What does Calypso mean?”

  “Secrets.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “Secrets.”

  A laugh slipped out, then she sipped more coffee. Getting information from Sir Jack was a puzzle, a mystery in and of itself. Maybe she should try just one word. “Calypso.”

  “Goodwin.”

  Hmm. That was getting somewhere. Charles Goodwin had been a mentor to Madeleine Calypso and had died, leaving Sir Jack to Madeleine, then Madeleine left him to her.

  With a squawk, Sir Jack started singing. “I’m singing in the rain.” He repeated it several times.

  “Wow. Such talent,” she said.

  “No kidding.”

  “Do you know any secrets?” she asked.

  “Secrets. Do you know secrets?” he parroted back.

  Belle scoffed. “Sadly, I don’t. Now, it’s time for me to go.”

  “Sad goodbye,” he said.

  Her cup was empty. She wanted to linger a bit longer but old habits die hard. Even though she was forcing herself to take these extended moments in the morning, she still felt guilty about them. Like she was lazy. She shrugged it off.

  She dressed, left a few lettuce leaves in the bottom of Sir Jack’s cage, then said, “See you later, alligator.”

  “Watch out!” he squawked. “Watch out!”

  Thirty minutes later she arrived at The Beanery. Fresh air and walking—it was all good for you, she convinced herself. She had no regrets about giving her car to someone who needed it.

  She would have arrived earlier, but liked to pause and admire the trees bursting with vibrant colors of fall—bold reds, oranges, yellows, and even a few with leaves tinged purple. The air had a bite to it, warning of cold weather yet to come. She pulled her coat tighter around her body as a gust of wind blew through the trees, signaling that winter was just around the corner.

  The cold would come whether she wanted it to or not.

  Winter. Belle shivered, flashing back to nights sleeping in the attic where she could feel the frigid air wafting through the window like there was no glass. Well, if nothing else, this coming winter she’d be warm. She’d see to that. Even if it meant sleeping under ten blankets. She would sleep on the floor right next to the heating vent if it meant being toasty warm.

  She opened the door to the shop, closed it, opened it, closed it, then entered. It had become habit. She loved the jingle of the bell. It was bright and cheery. It was her way of letting Bixby know she’d arrived.

  He burst from the kitchen, his smile big and broad, her favorite kind. His eyes lit up every time she entered the shop to work. She would never tire of seeing him either; the slight curl to his short brown hair, the way he talked with his hands, especially when there was a mystery to solve. Even a small one, like perfecting a new coffee flavor. “I had a feeling it was you. Glad you’re here. I want your opinion on—” He studied her, eyes narrowing. “You look like you walked here.”

  “I might have.” She shrugged.

  “You still haven’t looked into a car?”

  “Soon. I’m getting there. Sir Jack has kept me busy. I’m supposed to spend fifteen minutes with him, one-on-one, twice a day. Then, there needs to be shared time, too. Where I’m just with him.”

  “You’re not under a leash and chain with this inheritance thing, you know. Eliza would be appalled.” He flashed her another smile. “That’s okay. I’ve been busy, too. To be completely honest, I’d forgotten about something.” He wiped his hands on his apron. “Follow me.”

  “Give me a clue.” Belle trailed Bixby through the kitchen, then out the exit door into the parking lot where they usually left their cars. There were two spots for customers in front of the shop.

  He pushed on the door, allowing the rush of seasonal air inside. Belle shivered. Now that she was cooling off from her walk, the air felt more frigid than before. They stood in the parking lot. There was Bixby’s Civic. Next to it, was a huge station wagon. It was ugly, in robin’s egg blue, it reminded Belle of the BEST Candy Company uniforms. It had atrocious brown paneling on the sides.

  “How old is this thing?” she asked.

  “Old.” Bixby patted the hood like it was an old friend. “It was Eliza’s. She had placed it in storage a few weeks before…”

  Belle sighed. “You can say it. Before she was murdered.” She still had nightmares about it. She missed her aunt. In a way, she was still processing, but not talking about it wouldn’t change what happened.

  “Yes, before that.” He tapped his fingers on the hood, then ran them over the rearview mirror. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

  “What?”

  “This beautiful beast of a car is yours!” He pulled the keys from his pocket, letting them dangle from his fingers. “Congrats. You are the new owner. You can give her a name if you want. Like Behemoth.”

  “Great.” She forced a smile.

  It wasn’t that she was ungrateful or that she didn’t appreciate the new set of wheels, but the car was gigantic. Behemoth. The only car she’d driven was easy to maneuver in parking lots and drive safely down streets without hitting anything. Belle could imagine the vehicles she’d rear end, or the massacred parking jobs in her future. Forget about parking between the lines or parallel parking, not that she ever attempted the second anyway.

  “Take it for a test drive.” He opened the driver’s side door.

  “Maybe later?” She let out an uncontrolled shiver.

  “You’re cold. No wonder after walking here.” He handed her the keys. “I know what you need. A taste of my new flavor. That’s where I want your opinion.”

  “What do you mean?” She followed him back inside, rubbing her arms. Though she hardly ever worked in the kitchen, it was a happy place. Just enough room for Bixby to work his magic.

  “You’ll see. Take a seat and I’ll bring it out. Then, you’ll understand.
”

  She made her way to the front and found her favorite table by the window. It was a nice spot, with good memories, and a view of the town, of the people. She had many memories of working here with Lexie, helping with her homework. A smile spread across Belle’s face just thinking about the ten-year-old girl who’d stolen her heart. Lexie and her Uncle Lucas were turning out to be some of the closest friends she could have ever dreamed of having, along with Bixby. Maybe it was the connection she and Lexie had since they both had lost their parents at a young age. Lucas, as guardian, was doing a terrific job, even while grieving the death of his sister and her husband.

  Bixby poured her coffee and added the newest flavor of creamer. She watched the steam curl into the air in disappearing wisps, itching to feel the warmth on her hands.

  He placed the mug on the table. “Here you go. Just the way you like it.”

  “Like it? You mean love it.” She cradled the cup, then sipped. “Yum. Just the right amounts, a hint of pumpkin, the taste of cinnamon and nutmeg. It’s perfect.” Images flashed in her mind, not of anything she’d done, but fantasies of what normal people do in the fall. Like carving pumpkins and roasting the seeds. All seemed like something you would do with friends. Maybe she should throw a pumpkin carving party. Make the fantasies into reality.

  “I tweaked the recipe last night. Thought it might be too bland, in need of more spice. I added the usual cinnamon, along with nutmeg, cloves, and a dash of chili powder. I’ll be in the kitchen. You savor the coffee, then let me know.”

  “I’ll cover any customers who enter.”

  “Got it.”

  Belle relished the quiet before the crowds, though she loved the rush of customers just as much. She took Bixby’s advice, sipped the coffee, closing her eyes to block any distractions. The scent of cinnamon, the taste of cream. Was that the nutmeg and cloves? It was delicious. The tweaks were perfect.

  The bell jingled.

  She didn’t move right away, still savoring, still lost in the moment.

  “Do you work here?”

  Belle startled from the moment of savoring. She straightened. “Yes, I do.”

  The woman was average height, average in appearance. Almost nerdy, with black hair pulled back, a few strands loose about her face, the thick, square glasses with orange frames that almost hid the freckles. Maybe in her thirties? It was hard to tell. She peered at Belle, not judging, but discerning, taking in everything. Her clothing didn’t reveal much…plain, dark, almost like a uniform, like she was on the job.

  “If you work here and have the time to sit drinking coffee, that tells me the business is not doing well. I should go somewhere else.” Her words, her tone, weren’t angry, just matter-of-fact, like she studied the situation, analyzed it, and came to a conclusion. She turned to go.

  Belle gasped. That certainly was not the situation, but how did she explain the walk to work, then cooling off, then going back outside to see the car, then the attack of the shivers. Bixby wanting her to try out his tweaks to the recipe.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  The woman stopped in the doorway. “This might be where you use a developed sales slogan to lure me back inside. It probably won’t work, but I’ll let you try.”

  Was the woman trying to be sarcastic? Belle didn’t think so. What this woman said seemed to be what she meant, emotion not playing a role. “We don’t use sales slogans to lure people inside.” It sounded like they were poisonous spiders trying to catch their prey.

  “You should. A catchy, bold slogan has been proven to work, but if you don’t have one, I’ll leave.”

  “No, wait.” Belle never felt flustered on the job, but she did now. No one had criticized their sales tactics before. She’d relied on Bixby’s amazing organic creamers and syrups, and her own bright, encouraging smile. “People come back here because they love our organic coffee creamers and our friendly service.”

  The woman glanced toward the table. “What are you drinking?”

  “The newly tweaked pumpkin spice coffee creamer.”

  “With coffee, I assume?”

  Belle nodded, wanting to laugh but realizing the woman took things literally. “Would you like some?” She smiled. “I was taste-testing the tweaks on it, and I highly approve. Would you like to help us out? It’s on the house.”

  For the first time, the woman offered a hint of a smile. “Nice tactic. When you make someone feel like they are doing you a service, you play on their need for acceptance and purpose.”

  “It’s not a tactic. It’s just me, being nice.”

  “You being nice and offering a free sample of your product are two completely different things.” She added, “Yes, I’ll sample the start of your sales funnel.”

  “Take a seat. There’s a terrific view of the town.” She cleared her cup and brought it behind the counter, unsure of what to think of this customer. Belle had never thought about sales tactics. She’d have to talk to Bixby about that. Maybe it’s something they should do. They were a business, after all.

  “Do you like cream?” Belle asked, wanting it to be perfect.

  The woman nodded. “Not too much. Just a tablespoon.”

  Belle prepared the concoction for the woman. She placed it on the table in front of her. “Here you go.” Then added, “By the way, I’m Belle.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Mona.”

  A few more customers entered. Belle smiled, she offered words of greeting, she poured the coffee, placed the pumpkin spice muffins in bags. She wanted to point out to Mona the stream of traffic, but she didn’t.

  When it quieted down, Belle came out from behind the counter and took the seat across from Mona. “What’s the verdict?”

  “Satisfactory. I would return for another. Not today, of course.”

  “That’s great. Glad you liked it.” Mona definitely seemed new in town, not that Belle knew everyone. She was still getting to know people. Still wanted to visit the different businesses and introduce herself. “In town for any specific reason?” Belle was thinking family or work, something like that.

  “For murder,” Mona stated.

  Chapter Two

  Murder?

  Either Mona was the most naive murderer out there, or she didn’t actually mean she was going to kill someone. Belle waited to see what Mona would say next.

  But clearly, Mona wasn’t the type of person to explain anything, or even realize how her words might be misinterpreted.

  “Do you know Detective Lucas Graystone?” Mona asked.

  What? “Yes.” Belle couldn’t help the suspicion from creeping into her tone. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m looking for him, but he’s been hard to track down.”

  Or murder him, thought Belle. She’d have to give him a heads up. This was the strangest conversation she’d had in a while.

  “The coffee is gone, which means it’s time for me to go.” Mona stood. “Thank you for the free coffee.” Then she left.

  Belle often told herself stories to process life. It was a habit that started early. This time was no different.

  Once upon a time, an unusual woman arrived in Everly. She was straightforward in her words and manners. When asked by a local barista why she was in town, she flat-out stated murder. She mentioned the local detective, whom the barista happened to care about. That fact left the barista speechless and then the woman whisked out of the coffee shop.

  It was only minutes later when Lucas and Lexie burst in. Lexie, her hair in braids, wearing overalls, shone with excitement. Lucas followed right behind her, an apologetic look on his face. Belle felt relief she could pass on the strange interaction to Lucas. Tell him to watch out for a socially awkward female with orange glasses, possibly wielding a knife.

  There wasn’t time.

  Lexie started babbling immediately. “Please! Please! Please! Uncle Lucas said not to bother you. That it was too much to ask. You wouldn’t want to come. But there’s going to be food. I don’t know what”—she searched the store—“maybe pastries or cupcakes or muffins. I don’t know exactly. Please say you’ll come. You can even come to lunch after. We’re eating out.”