A Dear Abby Cozy Mystery – Book 2

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Chapter One

 

“Are you mad? If you print this, the whole town will rise up against you and then I’ll have to write your obituary. Abby Maguire, who would have guessed you’d turn out to be such a killjoy?”

Abby waved at a passerby and then looked at Faith. The young Eden Rise Gazette office assistant sat at her desk scowling.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said,” Faith complained.

Abby swung her feet off the desk and sat up. “I have been listening and every word in that article I wrote is true. The world is running out of cocoa beans putting the production of chocolate at risk. I’m merely reporting a scientific fact.”

Faith gave a slow shake of her head. Tapping her computer screen, she said, “This is irresponsible reporting. I’m afraid I’ll have to put my foot down. I know I’m only the office assistant here, but I have a say in what is included in the weekly paper.”

“Faith, you play a pivotal role in the Eden Rise Gazette and I wouldn’t be able to do my job without your valuable assistance, but the story will go ahead.” Abby tried to keep a straight face. “People need to know.”

Faith looked around the office. When her gaze landed on the storefront window, she grimaced. “People will throw stones through the window. I can picture the mob, armed with pitchforks and crying for your blood.”

“Nonsense. You underestimate the average person’s desire to be kept informed.”

Faith pursed her lips. “The writing is atrocious.”

“What?” Abby leaned forward and looked at her computer screen. “The delicate cacao plant is under threat as rising temperatures are sucking moisture from the soils where the trees grow.” She looked up. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s morbid.” Faith threw her hands up in the air. “Experts believe the cacao plant will be impossible to grow after the year 2050. That’s within my lifetime. How could you?”

Abby could barely contain her laughter. “I’m sure we’ll all find a substitute for chocolate. Did you know there’s a fruit that tastes like chocolate?” Abby did a quick search online. “The Black Sapote, otherwise known as the chocolate pudding fruit. It grows in Florida, the Philippines and there’s an Australian variety called Bernicker. See, all’s well. In fact, it’s even better than that because you get to eat healthy chocolate.”

“Are you quite finished?”

“You feel really strongly about this.” Abby cocked her head in amusement. “I read the article to Doyle last night and he seemed to like it.”

“Doyle? He’s a dog and he doesn’t eat chocolate. What would he know?” Faith wagged her finger at Abby. “The ink on your contract with Sebastian Cavendish is not dry yet. I’m sure there’s a cooling off period and once he hears of this—”

Abby laughed. “You think this is grounds for dismissal?” Sebastian Cavendish owned one of the largest newspapers in the country as well as a few international ones. Abby would be lucky if he spent two minutes thinking about the Eden Rise Gazette, a small town weekly newspaper he had inherited from his grandfather. They were lucky he’d chosen to keep it running…

“Fine. Run the article, but don’t blame me when you’re chased out of town. We’ve taken you in, we’ve accepted you and treated you as one of our own and this is the thanks we get. You’re asking for trouble, Abby Maguire.” Faith continued muttering under her breath as she got busy working on the layout for the next edition of the Eden Rise Gazette.

“Coffee?” Abby offered. “I’m headed down to Joyce’s Café.”

“Throw in some cake and I might decide to forgive you. Oh, and hurry back. We still need to put the finishing touches to the annual picnic announcement. The posters are going up tomorrow but I think it’ll be a great idea if we run it first.”

The timing could not have been better, Abby thought. The town was still recovering from the recent loss of one of its most prominent members. The owner of the Gazette, Dermot Cavendish, had been greatly admired by everyone. Instead of fading, his memory was kept alive. Not a day went by when she didn’t hear his name weaving into a conversation.

Grabbing Doyle’s harness she strode out of the newspaper office only to stop and say, “I suppose this isn’t the best time to let you know I’ll be doing a follow up article about the possible extinction of bees. That means no more honey…”

Growling, Faith muttered something about fire and brimstone raining upon her.

 

* * *

 

Abby drew out her cell phone and checked the time. “In ten, nine, eight…” The town clock struck the hour and her cell phone rang. “Hi, mom.”

“I can’t see you.”

Ever since Abby had landed in the small town of Eden, 8,000 plus miles away from her previous home in Seattle, her mom had insisted they video chat at least once a week. If it were up to her, they’d be connected 24/7. Then again, her mom lived in Iowa, the safest state in which to live and she couldn’t help worrying about Abby who’d uprooted her life to trek half way around the world for a job. Strangely, her mom had never worried when Abby had lived and worked in Seattle.

Abby bobbed her head from side to side as she thought Seattle didn’t have the world’s deadliest critters crawling around the place. Although, she had yet to encounter any of them here…

Adjusting the angle of her cell phone, she asked, “Can you see me now?”

“Yes, now show me the rest.”

Abby sighed. Her mom needed to know Dermot Cavendish’s death had been an isolated incident.

“It’s just a regular day here in Eden, mom. We had some morning frost but the sun is out now. People are looking forward to the annual picnic by the lake. I’ll be headed there later on to take some photos.” She turned the corner into the main street and saw Joyce Breeland outside her café holding a straw hat and…

“What? What’s happened?” her mom asked. “Your eyebrows just shot up.”

“Oh… well. Remember Joyce?”

“Yes, of course I do. She’s lovely and I simply adore how she dresses. You should get some tips from her.”

A walking fashion statement. Joyce Breeland loved her costumes. “She’s…” Abby searched for the right word. “Thrusting a hat at someone.” As she came closer, Abby recognized the man with Joyce. Bradford Mills, Joyce’s fiancé and the owner of the local antique store, Brilliant Baubles. “What’s the name of those hats worn in the 1920’s?” Abby clicked her fingers. “They’re boating hats. I’m sure they’re also worn by students at Oxford and Cambridge.”

“A Spencer boating hat,” her mom said.

“That’s it.” Why would Joyce use one as a weapon?

“What’s happening now? Show me,” her mom demanded.

Joyce just hit Bradford with the hat…

Abby ran the words through her mind and tried to imagine her mom’s reaction. It wouldn’t be good. “I think Joyce is trying to make a point. I’m too far away to show you.”

“Well, walk faster.”

Abby looked down at Doyle and nudged her head. “Come on, Doyle. The suspense will make my mom jittery.” When she got within earshot of the couple, Abby sighed. “Mom, I think they’re just having a friendly discussion about proper boating attire.” And Bradford Mills appeared to be dead set against wearing a ridiculous straw hat.

“Are you attending this picnic?” her mom asked.

“Yes, of course,” Abby confirmed. “I have to write about it.”

“And what are you going to wear?” her mom asked.

Abby hadn’t given it any thought.

“Are you going with someone?”

She really hadn’t given it any thought.

“What about that lovely detective? You could ask him. After all, this is a charity event. He should be prepared to do his bit.”

Abby didn’t want to read too much into her mom’s suggestion. Although… Did she actually see her as a charity case? “Joshua is busy.”

“What with? Has someone else been murdered?”

“No, of course not. He’s busy with other police duties. You know… maintaining law and order.”

“But he’s a detective. They only deal with serious crimes.”

Abby didn’t want to mention the recent case of arson or the sudden rise in car thefts in the next town.

Seeing her, Joyce beckoned her over. “Abby, just the person to weigh in on this.”

Abby smiled at Bradford who gave her a small nod of acknowledgment and said, “I bet anything Abby is not going to dress up for the picnic. Hello, Mrs. Maguire.”

“Please, call me Eleanor,” her mom said, “I hear you’re all going on a picnic.”

“Yes,” Joyce chirped. “And I have the perfect outfit for it. It’s a pleated skirt with a sailor sweater, all in eggshell white. Bradford is wearing eggshell white trousers with a matching sweater and a straw hat.”

“No, I’m not,” Bradford Mills grumbled.

“Then why did you dig up this old hat from your trunks?” Joyce demanded.

“As you can see, mom, it’s just another day in Eden.” Abby backed away from the feuding couple and went in to get some coffee. “I’m going to have to say goodbye now, mom. I promised Faith I’d get her some cake and I have Doyle with me,” Abby said as she strode past another couple arguing.

Oddly enough, the heated discussion appeared to be about appropriate attire to wear for the picnic.

The charity event had been running for a couple of years. Joyce had been the one to suggest reviving an old tradition of auctioning picnic baskets to raise money for the local hospital but only after learning it had all started back in the 1920s. Inspired by the fashion of the time, she’d insisted everyone had to dress accordingly.

Abby was about to order her coffee when she saw the poster hanging behind the counter advertising the picnic.

 

Proper 1920s attire Non Optional.

No exceptions – for anyone.

That means you, Abby Maguire.

 

Abby looked down at Doyle. “Don’t give me that doggy grin. If I have to dress up, then you have to dress up. We’re in this together.”

Doyle sighed.

 

* * *

 

Back at the Gazette, Abby found Faith busy at her computer, still grumbling about the possible scarcity of chocolate.

Faith looked up and pushed out a breath that spoke of frustration. “I’m going to have nightmares about this. All thanks to you.”

“Cheer up. It might never happen.” Abby set the coffee and cake down. “Sorry to be the bearer of more bad news. Joyce beat you to it. She’s already put up a poster for the picnic.” Abby leaned against the desk. “Did you know proper attire for the picnic is non negotiable?”

“Of course. Everyone knows that. Including Bradford Mills.”

“That’s an odd remark to make.”

Faith shook her head. “I just got off the phone with Eddie Faydon who told me she saw Joyce and Bradford arguing outside the café.”

“I can’t believe Eddie beat me to it. I saw them too.” Like everyone who lived in Eden, the redheaded co-owner of the pub Abby had been staying at had her finger on the pulse. “It almost makes the Gazette redundant.”

Faith sighed and took a bite of her cake. “Your scaremongering articles might take care of that.”

Abby grabbed the digital camera from her desk and checked to make sure it had been charged.

“Kitty Belmont stored the props at the boatshed,” Faith said. “We just need a photo of Kitty and her boyfriend, Gordon.”

“Props?”

“A picnic basket. Kitty belongs to the Eden Thespians so she’s also organized the costumes. Let’s hope Gordon is a willing participant. She’s super efficient and a bit of a control freak. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s already set everything up for you.”

Abby sipped her coffee. “How’s the cake?”

Faith tilted her head in thought as she stared at her chocolate cake. “There’s a strange aftertaste. I suspect this is what a last meal tastes like.” She set her fork down. “It reminds me of the time the stores stopped stocking Delta Creams. They’re an Australian version of Oreos. Suddenly, they disappeared from the shelves. I made my last cookie last for as long as I could, nibbling on it a bit at a time. When I got to the end, I wept.”

“And?” Abby prodded. “Did the earth stop spinning on its axis?”

“A year later, I visited friends in the city and discovered they were back in store shelves right along with Oreos.”

“All’s well that ends well?”

Faith frowned. “I find scarcity stories scary and disturbing. They play havoc with my peace of mind.”

Abby laughed under her breath. “Are we still friends?”

Faith took another bite of cake and gave her a toothy grin. “Of course. Now… go and bring back a fabulous photo and a new angle to promote the picnic that doesn’t involve the extinction of chocolate.”

 

* * *

 

Abby drove along the main street and wasn’t surprised to see Joyce only now going back inside the café while Bradford Mills was striding back to his antique store, the straw hat in his hand.

“He doesn’t look happy.” Right on cue, Bradford punched the air… with the hat. “I guess it could be worse.” He might have used the hat as a punching bag. “Oh, to be in love.”

Doyle sighed and rested his chin on his paws.

“Is that a ‘wake me up when we get there’ sigh? Don’t get too comfortable. The lake isn’t far.” Only a five minute drive away, almost within walking distance, Abby thought.

They left the township behind and, driving at a sedate pace, Abby took in the pretty scenery of the rolling hills and farms with the mountains as a backdrop.

The annual picnic had been rescheduled and brought forward a month. This had been Joyce Breeland’s idea, saying everyone needed something to keep them busy.

“We need to heal,” Abby said under her breath quoting Joyce.

This would be her first trip out to the lake. She’d been told there were several designated picnic areas for people who enjoyed swimming and boating. While it had comfortable amenities, it remained an exclusive spot for locals, only occasionally attracting tourists trekking out from the city.

Following the road sign, Abby made a turn into a winding road. “Okay, we’re heading into the forest. Just thought you might want to know.”

Doyle stirred and yawned in response.

“Not interested? I’m told we might encounter wombats.” Doyle remained disinterested. “That’s right, you’re a local and I’m not. Well, let me tell you, there are no wombats in Seattle, but we do have rain.” She leaned forward and peered up to catch a glimpse of the blue sky. “Do you realize it hasn’t rained since I arrived? I’m almost beginning to miss it.”

She wove her way through the forest until finally the road straightened. “There’s a clearing up ahead.” Slowing down, she caught the first glimpse of the lake. Then, she reached the picnic area entrance and had a full view of it. “Wow. It’s actually bigger than I thought it would be.” She drove in and parked next to another SUV. “Okay, this is it. Get ready to stretch your legs. Come on, no grumbling. You’re an honorary reporter. You need to be ready to leap into action and catch that scoop.”

Abby smiled. When she’d first arrived in Eden, Joyce Breeland had told her the locals liked to create their own excitement. Not much happened in a small town, so they had to make the best of it.

As a new arrival, Abby had become the main attraction, in a good way, Abby thought. She knew she’d been given a ‘fair go’. Almost like a trial period to see how well she’d fit in.

So far, she’d managed to skate around any subject that might become controversial. From the start, she’d realized the Lamington saga would require delicate handling. Taking Joyce’s lead, she’d remained impartial, sticking with facts and doing a write up about the history of the chocolate and coconut covered sponge cake without divulging her preferences. Although, secretly, she preferred the varieties with strawberry jam in the centre and she’d drooled over the ones with marmalade filling, a variety most purists frowned upon.

Living so far away from her friends and family would take some getting used to. However, the locals were making it easy for Abby. Everyone she’d met so far had been friendly and most had surprised her with their unique quirkiness and… kookiness.

“And these ones are no exception,” Abby murmured as she spotted the couple who’d volunteered to pose for her photo.

They were both dressed in period costume from the 1920s. Kitty Belmont had an eggshell colored outfit. She’d matched a skirt cinched at the waist with a blouse with a sailor style collar. “That must have been a trend back in the day. I’m sure I heard Joyce describe her outfit in a similar way.” Kitty also wore a cream colored hat shaped like a helmet, something else that had been quite fashionable at the time, Abby thought remembering seeing photos of her great grandmother wearing a similar hat.

Gordon Fisher looked quite comfortable in his cream trousers and sweater. Unlike Bradford, he didn’t seem to have a problem with his straw hat.

Abby waved to them.

Kitty had set up the picnic blanket and basket on a light slope near the shore with a low hanging tree in the background.

“I thought this might be a good spot,” Kitty called out. “Gordon tied a couple of boats to the tree. I hope you can get them in the shot.”

“I’ll do my best.” Faith hadn’t been wrong. Kitty was all efficiency.

“You’ll have to tell me how to position my parasol so I don’t block any of the pretty scenery. Gordon is about to strike a pose and look at me with adoring puppy eyes.”

Without looking down at Doyle, Abby sensed him rolling his eyes. She watched as Kitty tucked her feet under her and sat primly, her back ramrod straight, while Gordon stretched out beside her, his head slightly tilted up as he gazed at Kitty with adoration.

“How’s that?” Gordon asked.

Abby was about to answer, when the sound of another car pulling up drew everyone’s attention.

“No. No. No.” Kitty’s exclamation struck like a lightning bolt. “How dared Miranda Hoppers show up here?”

Gordon tried to soothe her. “Calm down, Kitty. You don’t want this to blow out of proportion.”

“Calm down? Look at her. She’s even wearing the same outfit I am. And who’s that with her?”

“I don’t recognize the gentleman,” Gordon said.

Abby smiled at Gordon’s tone. Hearing him fully embrace his role, she suspected he too belonged to the Eden Thespian theater group.

“An outsider. She’s brought an outsider.” Kitty surged to her feet and stormed toward the new arrivals.

Gordon mouthed an apology. “Kitty will have this sorted out in no time.” He rose to his feet and strode toward Abby.

“I take it there’s some sort of rivalry between them,” Abby said.

“It’s a McCoy/Hatfield feud,” Gordon explained. “At least it’s headed that way.”

“With or without the mortality rate?” Abby asked.

“So far, there have only been shouting matches and snubs. Miranda Hoppers is a new Eden Thespian member. We have rules of precedence. As a founding member, Kitty retains first right of refusal for any leading role that comes up. Now Miranda is trying to undermine her authority… Excuse me, I think I need to break them up before it gets out of hand.”

Abby stood back and watched the altercation unfold. Fingers were being pointed, parasols waved, but the two women were keeping an arm’s length distance.

Losing interest, Doyle trotted off, his nose to the ground as he sniffed out new smells. Abby followed him along the shoreline toward the rowboats that had been tied up. “That looks like an expert sailor’s knot. Gordon must have been a boy scout… or a sailor. I’m guessing boy scout.” She took a couple of photos and managed to talk Doyle into hoping on. “Smile for the birdie.” She laughed as Doyle lifted his chin and his paw. “Ahoy there. You look like a seasoned seafaring captain.”

Looking into the distance, she saw houses on the opposite side of the lake. Someone had mentioned Eddie Faydon lived there with her fiancé. A compatriot, Abby thought and tried to recall which state he hailed from when a piercing screech broke her concentration.

“You poked me with your parasol. You all saw that. She poked me,” Miranda yelled. “I will have you removed from the Eden Thespians. They will strip you bare and have you paraded along the main street…”

“Wow, talk about histrionics.” Doyle shifted and leaned against Abby. “Yeah, she’s scary. I thought Kitty’s reputation preceded her, but Miranda is giving her a good run for her money.” Abby raised her camera only to hesitate. “What do you think? Should I. This is a scoop of sorts. We could start a gossip column.”

Doyle whimpered.

“No? You don’t think I can compete with the Eden grapevine? Are you a betting dog?” She took a couple of extra shots, snatching one just as Kitty’s parasol swooped through the air. “Priceless,” Abby murmured. “And since we’re the only witnesses, I think I stand a good chance of being first in with the news. How does Battle of the Thespians sound?”

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