Murder at the blueberry.., p.1
Murder at the Blueberry Festival, page 1
TOO MANY SUSPECTS
There were so many names to keep track of, but I wrote them all down with notes about what we had learned from each person we spoke to.
Mayor Rod Jeffers, fuming mad at the prank that had been played on him, had looked at the security camera footage of the parade the day before Lars died. That was suspicious. However, he refused to believe that Lars Jorgenson was behind the prank. Could it have been a ruse? I put a maybe by his name and moved on.
Daphne Rivers had a little more going for her as a suspect. She’d been suspicious of us from the moment we met her. She was also certain that Lars was behind the goat-napping and seemed to know him pretty well. Another black mark by her name was because she was named as a person of suspicion by Grayson Smythe regarding the spectacular demise of his glass sculpture. Who else was she mad at? Could she be the prankster? I put a star by her name with a note to talk with her again.
Then there were Stanley and Felicity Stewart. They hadn’t appeared angry at the goat debacle that had ruined Mom and Kennedy’s fashion show; they just appeared exhausted. Even if they had an ax to grind against other members of the festival committee, which I didn’t believe they did, they were working too hard during the festival to even pull off one prank, let alone poison an old man. I put the word no by their name and moved on . . .
Books by Darci Hannah
MURDER AT THE BEACON BAKESHOP
MURDER AT THE CHRISTMAS COOKIE BAKE-OFF
MURDER AT THE BLUEBERRY FESTIVAL
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Murder At The Blueberry Festival
Darci Hannah
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
TOO MANY SUSPECTS
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
RECIPES FROM THE BEACON BAKESHOP
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2022 by Darci Hannah
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The K and Teapot logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3174-6
ISBN: 978-1-4967-3177-7 (ebook)
For Dave Hilgers,
beloved father, mentor, and friend,
in loving memory
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every time I sit down to write about Beacon Harbor, I’m not only filled with happiness to be visiting one of my favorite fictional places again, but I have a deep sense of gratitude for all the people and the little adventures along the way that have led me here. For here is a wonderful place to be. And while just about everyone I meet in some small way shapes the stories I write—be it a lively conversation, a word of inspiration, a description of a place I’ve never been, or an interesting turn of phrase that delights me—there are those who have gone above and beyond in helping me along the way. I’d like to thank my lovely agent, Sandy Harding, for not only taking a chance on me, but for being a dear friend while helping me navigate this crazy world of cozy mystery writing. I would also like to thank John Scognamiglio, my savvy, hardworking, and delightful editor at Kensington for championing the Beacon Bakeshop Mystery series. John is the reason this series exists, and for that I am forever grateful. I would also like to thank the lovely Larissa Ackerman, who not only shares a love of Newfies with me but is also the hardest-working publicist I’ve ever met. And a huge thanks to Rebecca Cremonese and her team of editors for making these pages look so good. And to everyone else at Kensington who works so hard on my behalf, thank you!
I would also like to thank my friends at the Howell Carnegie District Library who have put up with me and my writing for the past ten years, and who never fail to support the books that I write. I miss you guys! And to my dear friends, Robin Taylor, Jane Boundy, Tanya Holda, Sue Hanson, and Margaret Bigham, for the stimulating conversations, laughter, and good coffee! And an additional thanks to Margaret Bigham for letting me use her name in this book. You will always be my favorite librarian!
I would also like to thank my incredible family for their endless love and support. To my wonderful parents, Dave and Jan Hilgers, for being the best parents a child could have. To my brother, Randy, for the laughter and the phone calls. To my nieces, Dana and Jenna, for being like daughters to me. To my sister-in-law, Brenda, for being the strongest person I know. To my wonderful husband, John, and our three amazing sons, Jim, Dan, and Matt, for filling my life with love, wonder, joy, laughter, and happiness. And to the newest member of our family, my daughter-in-law, Allison (Wysocki) Hannah. She knew how crazy our family is and still agreed to marry Jim! Many blessings to you both. I would also like to thank all my wonderful in-laws, whom we don’t see nearly enough but love all the same—Matt and Monica Hannah and family, Becky and Scot Specht and family, Steven and Lilia Hannah and family, Clare and Merrill Krabill and family, and Rick and Meredith Hannah and family. And to Bob and Barbara Hannah, my heartfelt thanks.
And a huge thank-you to all the readers out there who have taken a chance on these mysteries that I write. As always, I hope you enjoy your visit to the Beacon Bakeshop!
CHAPTER 1
Having lived in an old, refurbished lighthouse in Michigan for over a year, I had come to realize a few things. The first was that I loved falling asleep to the sound of waves: Be they gently lapping on the beach or crashing onto the rocks, waves had become my lullaby. The second was the realization that the first lightkeeper, Captain Willy Riggs, although dying on the job in the late eighteen-hundreds, had never really left the lighthouse. Not much I could do about that. The third was that I had a smoking hot neighbor, Rory Campbell, whom I was slightly obsessed with. Okay, more than slightly, but our relationship was still a work in progress. The fourth thing that was blatantly obvious was that my giant Newfoundland, Wellington, had a perpetually wet-dog smell that lasted all summer long. He loved the water. And since we lived right on the shore, it was nearly impossible to keep him out of the darn lake. My solution, barring a leash, was a nice-smelling doggie deodorizer. The fifth thing, and by far the most important, was that I loved the freedom of running my own business. Sure, there were easier businesses to run than a bakery. The early-morning hours could be daunting for the average person, but for me, owning and operating the Beacon Bakeshop was a perfect fit. Heck, my own dad liked to remark that I had a knack for making dough. This was a play on my former Wall Street career as much as it was on my new vocation of baker. But Dad was undoubtedly correct. I did have a knack for making dough, only these days the dough I made had to be baked before it could be enjoyed.
There was one more thing about living in a lighthouse on the shores of Lake Michigan that was hard to deny, and that was the fact that August is Michigan was spectacular. The lake was warmer, the weather dryer, and hordes of happy vacationers and tourists flocked to the village of Beacon Harbor. August was also the time when Beacon Harbor held its largest and oldest-running festival of the year, the Beacon Harbor Blueberry Festival.
This year I was especially excited because, thanks to Betty Vanhoosen, head of the Chamber of Commerce, owner of Harbor Realty, and head of the town gossip mill, I was on the festival committee along with nine other lucky, overworked tow nspeople. And, thanks to Betty and her antics of last Christmas during the town-wide Christmas cookie bake-off, I had been excluded from entering a pie in the highly competitive blueberry pie bake-off that was to be held on Saturday. This was because I owned a bakery and was considered to be a professional. I wholeheartedly agreed with the committee’s decision. I’d been making blueberry pies all summer long, much to the delight of our customers. One look at their faces as they took their first bite of the flaky, buttery crust bursting with warm blueberry filling that was the perfect balance between sweet and tart, and I knew that I had already won the only pie contest that mattered.
However, I wasn’t to be let off the hook so easily. Instead, because I was a professional, I had been tasked with baking lots and lots of blueberry pies, not to sell by the pie or the slice as we already did at the Beacon, but because on Sunday, the final day of the festival, the Beacon Bakeshop was to host the rip-roaring blueberry pie–eating contest on the lighthouse lawn.
As a member of the Blueberry Festival Committee, I was planning and executing the pie-eating contest. It was sure to be a raucous, messy affair. Space was limited to the first twenty contestants, eighteen and older, who filled out the entry form and signed the waiver, which warned that eating a whole pie in one sitting could be dangerous. (No joke!) Also, they acknowledged that they were doing so at their own peril. That being done, each contestant was to get a whole, freshly baked blueberry pie to devour as fast as they could. The first one to finish their pie without the use of hands or utensils was the winner.
I never understood the appeal of eating contests, but judging from the race to enter the contest, I was in the minority. It was already Friday morning and all twenty spots had been filled, with twenty-two more on the waiting list! It looked like my weekend was going to be filled with lots of prep work and baking, not only for the gluttonous pie-eaters, but for the Beacon Bakeshop as well.
Given the setting of my bakeshop—right on the shore of Lake Michigan and a stone’s throw from the public beach—and given the beauty of the season, the Beacon Bakeshop was busier than ever. I had also recently opened a pup café on the patio for those visiting with dogs. It was on the patio where we gave out free Beacon Bites, which were essentially day-old donut holes that the dogs loved. I used to reserve my donut holes for Welly until Ryan Wade, one of my intrepid employees, had suggested that other dogs might enjoy them too. I wholeheartedly agreed. Besides the Beacon Bites, we also made a Welly-approved treat of the month. Honestly, Welly would approve of any treat, being a dog who wasn’t above nibbling on rotting fish found washed up on the beach. However, we strived to do better than that by making a delicious dog biscuit of the month. This month’s dog biscuit was flavored with dried blueberries in honor of the festival.
Unfortunately, using so many plump, fresh, delicious blueberries since they came into season, I had taken for granted that I’d have plenty on hand for the festival. However, after a week of baking a prodigious amount of blueberry baked goods, I realized that we had used the last of the blueberries. In short, I was having a blueberry emergency!
“Those look delicious.” I had just plated a plump, blueberry-filled donut for a tourist, when Ginger Brooks, my friend and owner of Harbor Scoops, the town’s famous ice cream shop, came strolling up to the bakery counter. She cast the middle-aged man a winsome smile, which caused him to fumble with his wallet.
“Came to town for the blueberry festival,” he said, regaining his composure and his control of his wallet. He pulled out some bills.
“Well then, you’ll be wanting one of those too.” Ginger pointed to the tray of warm, giant blueberry muffins that Wendy had just brought from the kitchen. I could tell it was the baked good she had her eye on this morning. And, as a single mother, she might have had her eye on the handsome tourist as well.
The man, put on the spot, nodded. Smiling, I added a giant blueberry muffin to his order. He paid, said good-bye, and took his plate and coffee out to the patio and the morning sunshine.
“Way to upsell, Ms. Brooks.” Tom, our head barista, cast her a smile. “The usual?” he asked.
Ginger nodded. “You know me, Tom. I like my coffee like I like my men: strong, rich, and hot.”
Wendy and I, having heard variations of this line nearly every morning that Ginger came in, giggled, nonetheless. She slayed us every time with her sassy coffee order.
Tom handed Ginger her usual cup of freshly brewed house coffee. “Good,” he offered with a nod. “Because if you said bitter and weak, I’d have to send you down to the gas station. Come back before the parade today, and I’ll make you our special blueberry-pie cold-brew latte.” Tom, with his sun-streaked light brown hair, light brown eyes, athletic build, and charming smile, had a way with the ladies. To be fair, he also had a way with coffee. He and Elizabeth, the Beacon’s other talented barista, often put their heads together to come up with specialty coffee drinks. The blueberry-pie cold-brew latte was like drinking a scrumptious slice of caffeinated blueberry pie. Aliana, the shortest of the bunch, with her chestnut hair and sparkling green eyes also had an artistic flourish that we all admired. I had put her in charge of our menu board the moment I discovered it. Last night she had added the specialty latte, including an eye-catching drawing of what the blueberry-pie cold-brew latte looked like. She had also embellished the board with lovely, hand-drawn blueberries for the festival.
“That sounds sinful,” Ginger said. “Maybe I will, but for now just this and one of those warm, yummy muffins.”
I took a sheet of bakery paper and plucked a giant blueberry muffin off the tray Wendy had just put into the bakery case. “Here,” I handed it over to her, paper and all. “Try it and let me know what you think?” Ginger took hold of the warm muffin with dancing pleasure.
“It’s bursting with blueberries. I can already tell I’m going to love it. Bet you’re having a hard time keeping these on the shelves.”
“We are,” Wendy replied with a troubled look. “That’s already the second batch of the morning.” Turning to me, she added, “Lindsey, what’s the news on the blueberries? Our last quart went in there. And don’t forget that your mom ordered two pies for Sunday.”
Ginger’s head snapped up. “You’re out of blueberries? Already? And when does Ellie Montague Bakewell eat blueberry pie?” This was said with a slight mumble due to the sizeable chunk of muffin in her mouth.
Wendy, a year out of high school and one of my first employees, was intrigued by Ginger’s last remark.
I shrugged. “When all aging models do, I guess. Late at night when she thinks no one is watching.”
A little giggle escaped Ginger’s lips. “Wicked,” she admonished, grinning. “It must be hard for a former eighties fashion model and icon to have a daughter who bakes.”
“Typical of you to take my mom’s side,” I teased. “What about me? My livelihood relies on sugar and butter, and she moves to town and opens a high-end clothing boutique? What kind of message does that send?”
“You’re terrible.” She rolled her eyes as she said this, but she grinned all the same. My mom’s clothing boutique was across the street from her ice cream shop. “Ellie and Company sells adorable flouncy tops and chic pants with elastic waistbands. Your mom has both our backs.”
She was undoubtedly correct. I also loved the fact that my parents had recently moved to Beacon Harbor to be closer to me. Dad, although claiming to be retired, helped in the bakeshop three days a week. More when I needed him. We were still looking for an assistant baker, but with Dad and Wendy helping me in the kitchen, we were managing quite well. Mom, also having retired from modeling years ago, got the itch to get back into the world of fashion. She had opened her flagship clothing store, Ellie & Company, right on Waterfront Drive, also known as Main Street. Her business partner was none other than my best friend, Kennedy Kapoor. Unbeknownst to me, the two had cooked up the idea one day. I had to admit, they were doing quite well. Kennedy, still one of the country’s hottest influencers, split her time between New York City and Beacon Harbor. However, thanks to Tuck McAllister, one of Beacon Harbor’s finest men in uniform, our little town in Michigan was winning out.
