Sweet Taffy and Murder: Sweet Taffy Cozy Mysteries Book #1 (3 page)

The envelope Ethan had given her contained a note, which was not written in her grandmother’s familiar cursive script, but nonetheless conveyed her wishes:

Once you arrive, meet with Lionel Davenport, Esquire.

There was an address and a time, which happened to be in an hour.

Taffy was dying to have a shower and wash and blow-dry her hair, but that wasn’t going to happen without electricity, so she tied her hair into a chignon and dug around in her hastily packed suitcase for something other than lingerie and yoga pants.

She changed into designer jeans, Louboutin heels, and a pink leather jacket. She dolloped on lip gloss and donned a pair of fat Kate Spade sunglasses.

Ethan helped her retrieve her car keys from the bushes. Handing them to her, he appraised her outfit and said, “You’ll fit right in.”

She was pretty sure the lopsided grin meant he was being ironic, but she didn’t care. Fitting in, in Abandon, Oregon, of all places, was hardly a priority. But getting back to New York was. Whatever game her Nana was playing, Taffy was ready to cash in her chips and go home. Perhaps this lawyer could help.

She tucked her dead phone and charger into her purse and headed to town.

Guiding her tin can Aveo up the road away from the house, she kept an eye out for the coffee shop Ethan had said was ‘just up the road’ because she could really use a double-shot skim-milk latté with unsweetened vanilla syrup right about now, but no luck.

The road wove past homes and lawns and rolling hills. On the left she caught glimpses of the sea. A large black rock rose up from the bay. It was flat-ish on top and had sharp angular edges that reminded her of castles and battlements. Was that Castle Rock?

Clouds raced and broke in the sky, revealing patches of blue. With the windows rolled down she could smell the salty air. She also smelled something sweet, but she couldn’t identify what that was.

The main street of Abandon was lined with several boarded-up storefronts. Taffy kept an eye out for a stone building with a slate roof, which was how Ethan had described the town hall. When she spotted it, she pulled over to park. She had just enough time to stop in and request a power hookup before her lawyer’s appointment.

The utilities department on the second floor had a large waiting room with rows of screwed down chairs.

After Taffy had stated her business, the woman behind the high counter peered over her cat’s-eye glasses and said, “The old Harken property? Some of the wiring isn’t quite up to code. You might want to fix that.”

Taffy had no intention of fixing anything, except a date to get out of town.

“I only need power for a few days, one week tops.”

“One week?" The woman chuckled. “One month is the minimum, Hon.”

Taffy had to pay for a minimum of one month’s power plus the activation fees, which added up to over $350. When she held out her bank card, she had a hard time letting it go. There was only $500 left in her account.

“Is there any way to defer part of the payment to the next month?”

“After the power is cut off again? No, Dear.”

Taffy released her card. She needed electricity. To power her phone, hair dryer, and flat iron, especially.

“So when will everything be hooked up?”

“Depends on Bill,” the clerk said, completing the transaction. “On his schedule, and, honestly, his
mood
. He has good days and bad days.”

Taffy was not interested in a moody utilities technician. She just wanted her power switched on.

“Maybe you could put in a good word for me?”

The clerk offered a tight smile. “Maybe.”

Leaving the utilities office, Taffy kept her fingers crossed that whoever this Bill was, he was having a good day with nothing better to do than hook up her electricity.

The town hall clock gonged. It was time for her appointment with the lawyer. Maybe he’d be able to shed some light on Nana’s strange mission.

* * *

The Davenport and Sons office was directly across the street from the town hall. Taffy didn’t feel like going to the end of the block to the crosswalk. She slid on her sunglasses and looked both ways before striding into the street. About halfway across, she heard a police siren. She scurried across the road and out of the way. A police cruiser drove up and double-parked outside the lawyer’s office. The siren stopped blaring, but the red and blue lights continued to spin.

Taffy heard a car door slam. “Stop right there, Ma’am.”

She turned to see what was going on. The uniformed police officer, carrying a holstered gun and wearing aviator sunglasses and a cap that held back her curly black hair, was looking Taffy’s way.

“Can I see your driver’s license please,” said the cop.

“
Excuse me
?”

“ID, please.” The cop stood in front of Taffy and held out her hand. Taffy couldn’t see her eyes through her reflective lenses.

Flustered and annoyed, Taffy pawed through her purse. “I don’t see why you—”

“Just the ID, please.”

Taffy frowned and handed over her license.

“But on what grounds are you—”

“Glasses off, please.”

Taffy gaped. Not even twenty-four hours in this town and she was being harassed by the police.

“Why don’t you take
yours
off? I should warn you I’m on my way to see my lawyer.”

The cop ignored her and was looking down at her license and then up at Taffy, comparing the image to the real thing.

“Taffy Belair?” said the cop.

“At least you can read,” Taffy sniped. She glanced at the cop’s name tag. Salinas. A common enough name, which was probably why it sounded familiar.

The cop shook her head and muttered something under her breath. Then she headed back to her cruiser taking Taffy’s license with her.

“Hey!” Taffy stood on the sidewalk, powerless. And then she got mad and stormed over to the cruiser. The cop got out of her car again. She handed Taffy back her license along with a ticket.

“For jaywalking. You can pay it at the town hall.”

Taffy looked at the ticket. “I can’t afford this!”

The cop smirked. “Taffy Belair short on funds? Cry me a river.” She got back in her cruiser. “You’d better get back on the sidewalk, or I might have to cite you again.”

Taffy skittered through the parked cars. She glared at the departing cruiser and then turned on her heel and stomped into the offices of Davenport and Sons.

Mr. Lionel Davenport was waiting for her in the outer office, which was a small waiting room with a vacant receptionist’s desk. Had he just seen everything through his large front window? Taffy donned her New York Cool façade and pretended nothing had happened. She shook the hand he offered.

“How are you getting on in Abandon?”

“I’m not.”

He led her into his private office, saying, “It’s really quite a friendly town.”

“I’ve noticed the police in particular are very welcoming.”

Mr. Davenport nodded and smiled, the sarcasm completely lost on him. Maybe he hadn’t seen the interaction in the street. Maybe his glasses were for reading and not distance.

“Lieutenant Salinas and her team keep us mighty safe. Abandon is a safe, prosperous little town.”

“Seems a little down on its luck to me.” She’d seen several ‘for lease’ signs and a couple of empty lots as she drove into town.

“Ah, but Abandon’s luck is changing. We have big plans to improve tourism and boost local business.”

“Whatever. I won’t be here long enough to be bothered by it.”

“Oh?” Mr. Davenport sat down behind his desk and gestured to Taffy to take the seat opposite. “I was under the impression you were settling here for good.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” said Taffy, snort-laughing. Davenport winced at the sounds.

“Your purchase of the Harken residence.”

“Purchase? I did no such thing.”

He sorted the papers on his desk and pushed a few toward Taffy. “It’s all right here. Everything’s been paid for by a Mrs. Grayson Belair, but the property is in your name.”

“There has to be some mistake. My grandmother wouldn’t have bought a house where someone was killed.”

Mr. Davenport coughed and smoothed down his polka-dot tie. “If you are referring to the passing of Janet Harken, that death was accidental. No foul play.”

“Really? How does a bowling ball fall on someone’s head?”

“When it’s kept on a high shelf and rolls off. It’s all in the medical examiner’s report. Knocked out by a blunt instrument, in this case the instrument was a bowling ball. One of our good citizens, Randall Swain, came forward. He knew she stored her bowling ball on the high shelf in the hall closet. He and Janet were bowling buddies, you see. They’d been out bowling the night she died. Randall was terribly upset by the accident. Blamed himself for encouraging her bowling. Kept saying over and over, ‘If she’d never bowled she’d never have died,’ and other irrationalities. Thing is, she’d bowled her whole life. It wasn’t Randall’s fault at all.”

“I had no idea it was such a dangerous game.” Actually, Taffy hadn’t given bowling a second thought, and she wasn’t about to start.

He pushed some papers across the desk toward Taffy.

“I just need you to sign here and here.” He slid a pen her way.

“But…” She held the pen over the papers. She didn’t want to own a dead woman’s house on the opposite side of the country, in a town where the police gave out tickets for jaywalking—it was like a bad dream, and she just wanted to wake up in her fluffy white sheets on the right side of the continent.

Then she had an idea.

“This house. It’s all paid for?”

Davenport nodded. Taffy smiled a secret smile as she realized her idea just might outwit her grandmother.

She touched the pen to the paper and wrote her name in swoops and curls.

When she set the pen down, Davenport said, “Congratulations! You’re now the proud owner of one of the most beautiful heritage houses in all of Abandon.”

He grinned, and Taffy saw a glint of gold on one of his back molars.

“Thrilling. Now, can you recommend a good real estate agent?”

Davenport’s smile froze in place. “You want to buy another house?”

“Uh, no. I want to sell this one.”

The ink was still wet on Taffy’s signature.

“Seriously?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Somebody was
murdered
there. Aren’t you supposed to disclose stuff like that?”

Davenport coughed and looked flustered as he scratched at his ear. “There are no murders in Abandon.”

Taffy snort-laughed again. The sound made Davenport twitch. He quickly regained his composure and folded his hands in front of him.

“Miss Belair. I realize you’re new here. Fresh from the
big city
, where murders I’m sure are quite
common
. But you’re in Abandon now.” He retrieved his smile. “We’re the Sweetest Town on the Coast.”

Taffy smiled diplomatically.

“I have to get back to New York as soon as possible, so I have to sell the house. If it’s mine now, as you say, then there’s nothing to stop me.”

“Actually, there is.” He sifted through the paperwork on his desk. “There happens to be a condition on the deed that makes it impossible to sell, at least for a short while. The good news is that it expires in ninety days.”

He nodded and smiled as if this really was good news.

Taffy calculated on her fingers. Her grandmother’s seventy-fifth birthday was just under three months away. What a crafty old thing. She had intentionally trapped Taffy here until her birthday.

“I’m guessing I know who set the condition.”

“And I’m guessing she doesn’t want you to give up on Abandon without a fair chance.”

Forced exile didn’t seem like a fair chance.

“Oh, I’m supposed to give you this.”

Davenport dug around in a drawer and pulled out another manila envelope. Taffy wished, but doubted, that it was full of hundred dollar bills. She picked at the sealed edge until Mr. Davenport handed her a filigreed letter opener.

Slicing open one end of the envelope she tipped out several pages. Forms. Employment forms. Most of the lines had been filled in for her. Even her social security number. Only a date and signature were required. She looked more closely at the top half of the first page.

“The Sweet Abandon Candy Factory? Is this another joke?”

Mr. Davenport broke into a wide smile. “It’s our town’s pride and joy. We make all kinds of delicious confections, but we’re best known for our saltwater taffy. We supply all the best shops and tourist locales up and down the West Coast.”

Saltwater taffy? This had to be the punch line of Nana’s joke. Send Taffy to work in a taffy factory. If her Nana had wanted to put her in her place, she’d done a fine job of it. Taffy started to laugh loudly, almost hysterically. Mr. Davenport’s eyes widened at the shocking sound, and he started fidgeting in his chair.

Her snorting giggles subsided when she read the third page in the envelope. It listed an address as well as a time and date. She was due to start work at nine on Tuesday morning. That was tomorrow! In Manhattan, her Tuesday mornings usually consisted of a yoga class, a spirulina smoothie, and a blowout at Lorenzo’s Salon. She’d never had a real job before.

Maybe Mr. Davenport picked up on her chagrin. He said, “It’s a great place to work. A friendly staff. A friend of mine’s the manager. They give all their employees a great discount.”

“Are you sure you can’t talk my Nana out of this silly setup?”

He shook his head. “Mrs. Belair was quite explicit in her instructions, I’m afraid.”

Then he sniffed, replaced his glasses, and stood up.

“I think we’ve covered everything. Do you have any other questions?”

She had a million, but none for him.

Standing on the sidewalk outside Davenport and Sons, Taffy fleetingly wished she’d been named after a pair of shoes instead of a piece of candy. A discount on shoes would have been far more practical.

She glanced up and down the street to make sure the police cruiser was not in sight. She really could use a second cup of coffee right about now, and so she went looking for the local coffee shop.

She drove past a hardware store, pharmacy, grocery store, garden center, and an optometrist along one side of the street. On the other side she saw a swanky dentist office, a dry cleaner’s, a couple of boarded-up storefronts, and a secondhand bookstore-slash-tea-slash-curio shop, but no coffee shop.

Frustrated, she drove up and down the main street, but when her sleuthing yielded no results, she headed back to the house.

Her
house. She shivered, even though the sun had warmed the air and the fresh ocean breeze was now balmy. She shivered because she now owned a dead woman’s house.

What was her Nana thinking? Why had she set Taffy up like this? It was maddening.

She pulled into the driveway. Ethan’s pickup truck was still parked off to the side. As she turned off the ignition, he stepped out onto the porch and tossed a bucket full of water over the railing and into the bushes. There was a wild yowl as a streak of black fur tore across the grass.

Ethan yelled, “Dang it, Midnight!” But the black streak was long gone.

As Taffy got out of the car, he said, “That’s Janet’s cat, Midnight. I was afraid he’d been eaten by a coyote.”

“That yowling creature freaked me out the other night.”

“You should feed him. I bet there’s canned food in the pantry.”

“Maybe you should adopt him? I’m not very good with pets.” A few of her friends back home had Chihuahuas and Pomeranians, tiny things that could fit in their Louis Vuitton handbags, but Taffy couldn’t be trusted to take care of living things. Not since age five, when she’d fed her one and only goldfish silver glitter because she thought it would make him sparkle from the inside out. She’d been allowed no pets after that. Her father toured too often, and her mom had allergies to cats and dogs.

“If you can get a hold of him, feel free to bring him to my place,” Ethan said, setting the bucket down. “And you’re just in time.”

“For what?”

“All traces are gone.” He grinned. Taffy liked his big warm smile. It matched his big warm presence.

Joining him on the porch, she looked up at him and said, “I have something serious to ask you.”

His smile faded. “Oh?”

“Where in this gawdawful town is that coffee shop?!”

“What coffee shop?”

“You said it was ‘just up the road.’” She flapped her arms in frustration. “I looked everywhere and can’t find it. I’m dying for another cup.”

He laughed. “I made it. By up the road I meant my place. It’s just up the road.” He pointed. “The town is between coffee shops right now. Did you notice a boarded-up storefront? The Vallee brothers are setting up a new business there, but it’s not open yet.”

Why did small-town people always refer to each other with such familiarity, as if everyone should know everyone else? Taffy was clueless when it came to all the new names: Bill, Davenport, Janet Harken, Salinas, Randall Swain, the Vallee brothers.

And Ethan McCoy, who, it turned out, made mighty fine coffee.

Taffy’s lips curled into a smile.

“Any chance I could get a second cup?”

* * *

A few minutes later they were sitting together in Ethan’s sunny but crowded kitchen. It was crowded because of the elaborate contraption Ethan had built to make his exquisite coffee. Beakers and bowls and tubes and valves took up the entire rectangular table, so they sat at a small bistro table near the open French doors leading onto a weedy brick terrace overhung with grape vines.

“Why aren’t you the one opening the coffee shop?”

He frowned. “I tried. My permit got shunted. Austin Vallee and his brother Mick apparently have friends in high places.”

Taffy held her cup to her lips. “No matter how many friends they have, I doubt they’ll be able to whip up brew like this. It’s better than anything I’ve ever tasted. And I’ve been to the best of the best in Manhattan.”

Ethan accepted the compliment, smiling proudly. “One point for Abandon.”

“No point keeping score. I simply can’t live in a house where someone died.” Taffy shuddered.

“Just forget it ever happened,” he said, topping up her mug.

“I don’t think I can. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“You slept last night didn’t you? After climbing through the kitchen window?” He smirked over his coffee mug. “I’m just trying to picture it.”

“It wasn’t graceful. And it was really dark. And I went straight upstairs to find a bed because I was so exhausted. I hadn’t slept for two nights.
And I didn’t know
I was in a dead woman’s house.”

He put his coffee mug down next to a plate of digestive biscuits.

“It’s a good woman’s house. Janet was a pillar in the community and helped more people than anyone knows. She never looked for praise or acknowledgment, just did stuff behind the scenes. She seemed to sense the suffering of others and felt compelled to do something about it.”

“You make her sound like a saint.”

“I suppose if Abandon were to consecrate anyone, it ought to be her. Just ask Bill.”

“The moody utilities guy?”

“You’ve met him already?”

“No, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed he’s in a good mood and will hook up the power today.”

“I’ll give him a call and tell him you’re a friend of mine.”

Taffy smiled. “You have friends in high places, too, I see.”

He nodded. “It’s wise to be on the good side of certain people in this town.”

Taffy sighed. “I wish you’d told me that sooner. It seems I’ve already pissed off a lunatic she-cop.”

“Not Maria? She’s a good nut.”

Did he really just call someone a ‘good nut’? She was definitely not in Manhattan anymore.

“Seems to me she should be focusing on suspicious deaths rather than hassling pedestrians.”

“Why are you so keen on seeing Janet’s death as suspicious?”

“Because I think it is.”

Ethan scratched his chin. He had one of those sexy two-day-growth beards, but Taffy had a feeling he wasn’t trying to look like a celebrity on the cover of
People
, but kept it that way because it was easier to care for day by day.

“How well did you know her? I mean personally, apart from all the saintly business.”

He shrugged and looked through the French doors into the small overgrown garden.

“I helped her out with small repairs. I delivered and chopped her firewood, and I always brought it up to the porch so she didn’t have to haul it in herself.”

“Did you know what she was she planning to do? I mean, obviously she had some sort of plan after selling her house and most of its contents. Was she going somewhere?”

“She was planning to move in with friends in Arizona. Said her retirement in Abandon wasn’t turning out to be as retiring as she’d hoped.”

Taffy couldn’t imagine a slower-paced town. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully.

“Davenport said someone named Swain found her body.”

Ethan shook his head. “It was Bill actually. He came to check on some wiring. Found her lying in the foyer. I think he was suspicious at first. But Randall was the one who knew about the bowling ball. Confirmed it was just an accident.”

Taffy leaned back. “Still seems suspicious to me.”

“Listen, death and suspicions aside, Janet was a lovely woman, and you should feel honored to be the owner of her house.”

Taffy looked around. Ethan’s house was a little like Janet’s but smaller, more shabby, and suffering from manly neglect, though Taffy had no doubt that the wiring was up to code.

“If you like the house so much, why didn’t you buy it?”

Ethan took a slow slip of coffee. “I tried. In the end, money talks. No one could compete with the secret New York bidder.”

He raised his mug to her.

“It wasn’t
me
. It was Nana—my grandmother—who bought the place. All as some joke on me.”

“Expensive joke.”

“She’s got money to burn.” And she was refusing to give Taffy any more of it. She was actually going to make Taffy
work
for it. At a candy factory of all places. Taffy tossed back a mouthful of coffee as if it were tequila.

“I have an idea. I can sell the house to you.” Taffy grinned.

Ethan shook his head. “I couldn’t afford what your grandmother paid.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. For whatever you could afford. I don’t need the money. I mean, I do, but not that much. The house should belong to someone who loves it. Someone who loves living in Abandon.” And that someone was not Taffy.

Ethan poured her a little more coffee. “Maybe you’ll come to love it. Maybe you should give the whole joke a chance.”

Taffy sipped her coffee and watched the dappled light on the terrace. It was nice sitting here with Ethan, but it was a far cry from life in the Big Apple.

“I have to hold onto the house for three months. But when that deadline expires, you’re welcome to it.”

Ethan lifted his mug to her. “Here’s to the next three months and the possibility of falling in love with Abandon.”