Prologue
The night of the Beauregard gala, two things happened in the small town of Magnolia Grove.
First: a robbery.
Second: a murder.
But before we dive into that piping-hot mess, let me introduce myself. I’m Parker Hayes, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from my podcasting days, it’s that you can’t brew a good story without first grinding the beans.
Picture this … Magnolia Grove, a charming Southern town where sweet tea flows like water and gossip spreads faster than butter on a hot biscuit. Enter yours truly, a former true-crime podcaster trying to reinvent herself as a cafe owner. Throw in a cast of colorful characters, each with their own secret recipe for trouble, and you’ve got yourself a right fine setup.
Oh, and did I mention the murder? Yeah, we’ll get to that. But first, let me pour you a cup of my signature blend and tell you how I, Parker Hayes, went from serving up true-crime stories to serving lattes in a town where the secrets are as rich as my espresso. Trust me, this tale is best savored slowly, just like a good cup of joe.
Now, where should I begin? Ah yes, the day after I rolled into Magnolia Grove with nothing but three suitcases and a dream ...
Chapter 1
In the heart of the charming storybook town of Magnolia Grove, the square buzzed with activity, the air was alive with the chatter of locals and the rustle of shopping bags. The scent of fresh-cut grass drifted in the warm breeze as I strolled through town. Hope and determination fueled my steps. After all, I was starting a new chapter in my life. Just the previous day, the Greyhound had unceremoniously dropped me and my three bags at the edge of town, the bus’s exhaust was a final farewell to my old life.
I recently hung up my microphone as the host for my popular podcast Criminally Yours, Your Daily Shot of Murder, and left the big city to relocate to the slower pace of Magnolia Grove, North Carolina. Just a blip on the map nestled near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where crime was non-existent, and the tree-lined streets radiated with charm. Their motto: “Where Our People Are as Sweet as Our Blossoms.” I poured my life savings into a worn-down corner store located in a historical building once known as Elliot’s Drugs, a bustling pharmacy and soda fountain back in the day, to fulfill my dream of opening a coffee and dessert cafe, Catch You Latte. My reason for taking such a huge leap of faith? Peace of mind. I wanted to shift gears from the fast lane into a slow mosey. My big plan was to sell specialized coffees and scrumptious desserts to the community. According to my research, what was lacking from Magnolia Grove was a neighborhood cafe. And the closest thing to passable coffee was the Dunkin’ Donuts in the next town over. Despite the enormous decision to uproot my life and plunder my savings account, I couldn’t wait to get started renovating the location for my future cafe.
I’d been dreaming of a fresh start for several years. The wear and tear of doing the podcast and living in the big city had finally taken its toll, and my nerves were shot. As I said, I longed for a simpler life where I could brew coffee, serve yummy desserts and pastries and have light-hearted conversations with regular folks that didn’t involve, well, crime. I pictured my shop as an inviting haven where locals could meet up and share quality time together. I could see myself in the early morning hours, mixing ingredients for my easy-to-bake, yet tasty treats—blueberry muffins, my grandmother’s famous cinnamon rolls, and of course my favorite, chocolate chip cookies. I could already smell the enticing aromas of sugary sweets filling the place, coupled with the aroma of my favorite coffee blends. And after the last customer strolled off to do whatever it was people did in Magnolia Grove, I’d commute to my cozy and welcoming apartment right upstairs, above the shop. That was my plan, anyway.
These thoughts lifted my weary soul as I walked through town. But as I approached the vacant building, I felt a pang of fear and doubt. The crumbling facade and cracked windows evidenced years of abandonment.
“Uh-oh.”
Suddenly this project of whipping the building back into shape appeared colossal and daunting, if not impossible.
Think positive, Parker. Look beyond the decay and glimpse the possibilities.
Yes, it would take serious hard work, but it would be worth it in the end. That’s what I hoped, anyway.
I crossed the street and headed to the entrance, where an older man stood waiting in front of the chain-locked door. He wore baggy jeans, a faded tee and a raggedy baseball cap that looked like it had been around for quite some time. His puffy white beard was a bit unkempt and gave him a slight resemblance to Santa. He seemed like the kind of man who could hug you and remind you that everything would be okay. He smelled like fresh soap and sawdust. I liked him immediately.
“You must be Parker Hayes.” He extended his hand and widened his smile. “Clyde Honeycutt, your handyman extraordinaire.”
I reached out and put forth a hearty shake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Honeycutt.”
“Aw, you can call me Clyde, sweetie. No pretense here.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Clyde.” I looked at the neglected building. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”
He tipped back his cap, gazed up at the building and whistled. “She’s a beauty, though. Well, she was in her heyday.”
I dug around in my bag and pulled out a key for the chain lock. “I’m excited to see the inside and start working on a plan of attack.”
I slipped the key into the lock, and Clyde helped me unwrap the clanking metal chain. When I couldn’t get the door to budge, he used the better half of his weight to force the wooden door open with a loud crack. I winced as some of the wood splintered and fell to the ground.
“It’s fixable,” Clyde said, kicking a large piece of the splintered wood to the side.
I would come to know the words “it’s fixable” were Clyde Honeycutt’s mantra.
Inside the abandoned shop, the first thing that hit me was the decades of mustiness and mildew. The dank air was thick and permeated the place. It didn’t help that my sense of smell was borderline superhuman. A blessing and a curse. I kept the door propped open in hopes of letting some of the stale air escape.
Clyde removed a flashlight from his pocket and searched the wall for a light switch. When he flicked the switch a few times and nothing happened, he took out another flashlight from his pocket and handed it to me. Another thing I would come to know was that Clyde Honeycutt was a walking toolbox.
I aimed the beam of light through the darkness. “I notified the utility company and paid them, but I guess something must be broken.”
Clyde chuckled. “I reckon a lot of things are broken.”
I felt the weight of despair fill my chest. “It’s pretty bad, huh? It didn’t look this messed up in the pictures online.”
That got Clyde rolling with laughter. “That sounds about right.” When Clyde detected my sinking hope, he said, “Aw, don’t let it get you down, sweetie. It’s fixable.”
I was grateful for Clyde’s faith in fixing things because in that moment mine was waning. But he seemed to know what he was talking about. My “expertise” in these matters came solely from home renovation TV shows. They made it look so easy to just knock down a few walls, redo the floors, add some built-ins and new fixtures, then decorate with some eclectic pieces of furniture and doodads and voila … perfection.
As I surveyed the dilapidated space, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Mom’s smiling face lit up the screen. I stepped outside to take the call.
“Hi, Mom,” I answered, trying to inject some enthusiasm into my voice.
“Parker, honey! How’s the big move going? Your father and I are so excited for you!”
I sighed, looking back at the run-down building. “It’s … going. The place needs a lot more work than I expected.”
“Oh, honey, remember when you were little, and I’d create those challenging puzzles for you? You’d sit there for hours, determined to solve them. This is just another puzzle, and I know you’ll figure it out.”
I remembered those quiet afternoons spent at our kitchen table, the scraps of Mom’s latest quilt project scattered about and the scent of animal dander from Dad’s veterinary scrubs. They had always supported my penchant for problem-solving, nurturing it in ways that led me to where I am today.
“Thanks, Mom. I needed that reminder.”
“Hold on, your father wants to say hello.”
There was a brief shuffling sound before the top half of Dad’s head appeared on the screen. “Hey there, Sherlock! How’s my favorite pod-show host doing?”
I chuckled. “It’s podcast, Dad. And I’m not doing that anymore, remember? Can you move the phone down so I can see your whole face?”
“Right, right. Well, how’s my favorite ex-pod-show host doing then? Solved any local mysteries yet? Found out who stole the town’s last can of coffee, perhaps?”
“Dad,” I groaned, but I was smiling. “I’m okay, just feeling a bit overwhelmed.”
“Well, kiddo, you know what they say—when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. And if you can’t make lemonade, well, at least you’ve got some lemons for those scones you love to make!”
I shook my head but felt lighter. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Listen, Parker, you’ve got the sharpest mind I know. Whether it’s solving puzzles, making a pod-show, sniffing out crimes—literally and figuratively. Hahaha … You’ll be just fine renovating that building. The key is patience and persistence. You’ve got this, Sherlock.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
After exchanging a few more words and promising to call soon, I hung up. As I stared at my phone, I thought about the last time my parents had visited me in the city. The mugging had shaken us all and deterred them from ever visiting again. It was one of the reasons I’d decided to move to Magnolia Grove—a place where they might feel safe enough to visit me once more.
I inhaled, squared my shoulders and headed back inside. Mom was right: this was just another puzzle to solve. And solve it I would, one piece at a time.
“Everything hunky-dory?” Clyde asked as I re-entered.
“Yeah.” I felt a renewed sense of determination. “Just got a pep talk from my mom and dad. Now, where were we?”
Clyde looked past me and grinned. “We’re fixing to have a tornado.”
I was about to ask what he meant when in swept a woman wearing a flower-patterned tunic, which was billowing around her as if she’d ridden in on a gust of wind. She flipped her long cascade of honey-blonde waves over her shoulder.
“Heavens to Betsy!” she exclaimed, her voice filling the dusty space. The scent of sticky sweet gardenias drifted through the musty room.
“Morning, Nellie,” Clyde pointed to me. “This is Miss Parker Hayes, Magnolia Grove’s newest resident.”
Nellie sashayed over, offering a butterfly of a handshake. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m Nellie Pritchett, the head of Magnolia Grove’s welcoming committee. My official job is town clerk. I advise the mayor and town council on all matters.”
I could see that Nellie was a force of nature in her own right. “Nice to meet you.”
Clyde nudged me. “She also knows where all the bodies are buried.”
“Well, I do have access to all the old documents and records, Clyde.” While her sparkling eyes reflected joy and optimism, beneath the surface I detected a hint of something shrewd about her. I concluded that Nellie Pritchett was the town’s official busybody.
Nellie swept her long hair over her shoulder again and retrieved a flyer from her oversized and jam-packed tote bag. “I just came by to say welcome. If you ever need anything with records or permits, come see me. I’ll get you squared away in no time flat.”
“Thanks. I’ll do that.”
“Oh yes, and I want to extend an invitation to the gala being held at the Beauregard mansion this evening.”
I took the flyer with some reluctance. I wasn’t prepared for a gala, not only because of my gala-free wardrobe. I really wanted to focus on the cafe. This was evidently shaping up to be an around-the-clock project for me.
Nellie continued twittering away. “It’s the event of the season! The Magnolia Rose necklace will be on display for the first time in decades. Along with other family heirlooms. The Beauregards have graciously invited everyone in town to partake.”
I exhaled and motioned around me. “I’d love to go, but I think I’ll be burning the midnight oil trying to figure out how to tackle this beast of a project.”
Nellie waved the air. “Nonsense! Work can wait. Trust me, Miss Hayes, you don’t want to miss it. Doing so would be an unfortunate mistake.”
Yikes. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Nellie sure knew how to apply the pressure.
I quickly thought of another out. “Oh, um … Unfortunately, I don’t have any gala-appropriate clothing with me.”
Nellie let out a soft chuckle and fluttered her hand about. She was not one to be deterred. “Just stop by Maggie’s. She’ll get you all fixed up. It’s a hop, skip, and a jump away. Walk out your front door, go right past the jewelry shop, Sparkle & Shine, then pass the flower shop, Blossom and Bloom. Cross the street towards Henderson’s Hardware—Maggie’s shop, Boutique Chic on Main, is right down the block on the corner.”
Nellie could navigate the town’s shops blindfolded. I looked to Clyde for some backup, but my handyman moved away from the conversation to measure the location where the new counter would go at the back of the shop.
Finally, I threw out my last-ditch effort. “I appreciate the invite, but to be honest, I prefer not to go alone.” I hoped this last excuse would get the busybody Nellie Pritchett off my back.
It didn’t.
“Nonsense. Clyde, honey, why don’t you swing by the Garden Inn—I’m assuming that’s where you’re staying, Parker, since it’s the only decent place in town—and pick up Miss Hayes on your way this evening.”
Part of me was grateful to have this complete stranger inviting me to a social gathering on only my second night in town. The other part of me felt unprepared to hobnob at a gala event. I had planned to ease my way into the community, not be thrown into the deep end.
“Sure thing. I’ll pick you up, Parker,” Clyde said.
I shot him a glance. He winked back and continued measuring. The double-crosser.
Nellie clapped and gave me a sugary beam. “It’s settled then. We’ll see you tonight! I’ll make certain you receive a warm welcome. I know you’ll come to love the folks of Magnolia Grove in a very special way.”
As she swooped out of the shop, I thought her parting words sounded a bit odd. A very special way?
Clyde ambled over, carrying a clipboard. “Why don’t you go over yonder to Maggie’s and get situated while I finish up in here.”
Dress shopping was not on my agenda, nor was I in the mood for it. There was too much work to do!
“Shouldn’t I stick around to help?”
He shook his head. “Not much to help with at this here juncture. I’m just getting a read on the place and gathering details.”
“But that’s my specialty. I love gathering details.”
“Appreciate it, but I’m good. Now you get on down to Maggie’s.”
I gazed around the run-down space. The dinginess, dust and debris along with the scuffed floors didn’t match my vision of a cozy and welcoming atmosphere. This was the backdrop of a horror movie.
Clyde tapped me with the clipboard. “Everything’s going to be okay, Parker. We’ll get this place fixed up faster than a NASCAR pit crew.”
I grinned at the jovial handyman. “Honestly, Clyde, I don’t like shopping. Or parties.” I didn’t go into my reasons—Clyde didn’t need to know about my quirks.
“Try not to overthink it.”
“What time is this thing?” I looked at the flyer.
“Starts at six o’clock. I’ll pick you up at the Inn at quarter till.”
***
The pastel pink siding storefront of Maggie’s Boutique Chic on Main had a large, inviting bay window displaying dresses and gowns. Outside the entrance, cascades of flowers draped over the sidewalk sign, which announced a fifty-percent-off sale.
I entered the shop, and the citrusy fragrance of peonies tickled my nose and brought on a sneeze. The racks of frilly and colorful dresses and crammed shelves of accessories added to the sensory overload.
Behind the counter stood presumably Maggie Thomas, a slender woman with wild red curls and a glamorous magazine-ready face. Her colorful patterned dress with its puffy sleeves screamed trendy. I quickly concluded that Maggie was the town’s authority on all things fashion and elegance. I also suspected her shop was the hub the social crowd frequented. One could undoubtedly find something for any occasion within this enchanting boutique.
She looked up from the counter, which was cluttered with papers and envelopes stamped “past due.”
I approached.
Her eyes assessed me with curiosity. “Hello!” Maggie exclaimed in a sing-song voice. “You must be Parker Hayes, the woman who bought Elliot’s Drugs.”
Maggie’s overzealous greeting, coupled with the fact she already knew about me, was both fascinating and mildly alarming. Information traveled at warp speed in Magnolia Grove.
“Yes, I am. Nice to meet you,” I said.
“You sure got yourself into something with that building. It’s been vacant for decades.”
I tucked my hair behind my ear. “It will undoubtedly take some elbow grease.”
Maggie let out a sultry laugh. “I’d say about ten tons worth! What brings you in today? Let me guess … you need something fabulous for the Beauregard gala tonight?”
“How’d you know?”
Maggie reapplied some gloss to her plump lips and came out from behind the counter. “This is a small town. Everybody knows everything about everyone. You’ll get used to it. Come on, I’m sure I have just the thing! Something simple and refined, just like you.”
I didn’t consider myself refined. Simple, maybe, but more in a sporty and casual way. I leaned more toward low-key but presentable. But I could tell it would be impossible to rein in the likes of Maggie Thomas. Her face sparkled with palpable excitement as she led me toward a row of elegant gowns. I stood back a bit and watched the enthusiastic artistry with which she whipped through the selection.
“Let’s see …” Maggie gazed over her shoulder and sized me up. “I’m sure I have just the thing!” she chirped again.
“I’m not exactly the gown-wearing type.”
Maggie ignored me and continued flipping through the dresses. “Don’t you worry about that! I’ll get you all set up. This is my specialty.”
“Sounds good. I guess. I mean … I’ll leave it to you.”
“So, have you met any of the Beauregards yet? They’re an interesting bunch. Filthy rich. They own most of the town.” Her tone had slipped from boisterous to a tad conspiratorial.
“Not yet. But I’m sure by the end of this evening I’ll have the entire backstory on everyone in town …”
“You just might. So, I heard you have a podcast about crimes. That’s exciting. What’s your biggest story? I love a good mystery!”
I forced a smile, careful not to reveal my weariness over a past I had moved on from. I certainly didn’t want to share my innermost thoughts on this topic with Maggie Thomas. Sure, she seemed nice, but …
“I’ve closed that chapter in my life and have moved on. I’m looking forward to settling into my new crime-free existence here in Magnolia Grove. Fresh starts and all that. I’m excited about my cafe.”
“Oh, aren’t we all! I don’t think this place even knows what a decent cup of coffee tastes like. You have a name for it yet?”
“It’s going to be called Catch You Latte.”
“Isn’t that delightful!” Maggie continued shuffling through the dresses. “Well, you’ve certainly come to the right place for a slower pace. And don’t worry, I won’t pry into your business … too much. Ahh … here we go!”
She pulled out a violet gown from the rack and held it up against my chest.
“Oh, this is perfect. Such a great color for you. Brings out your eyes. And it’ll look perfect with your dark shade of brown hair.”
I looked at myself in the tall mirror and admired the scooped neckline. She was right, the color did suit me.
“This is beautiful, but do you think it will be … over the top?” I took the dress and held it up against myself.
Maggie beamed with pride. “Everything about the Beauregards is over the top. It’s perfect for the occasion. Trust me on this one.”
Not having a clue what to expect at the gala, I had no choice but to trust Maggie Thomas. From what I’d gathered about the Beauregards in just a few minutes with her, it seemed safer to be overdressed than underdressed. After all, fitting in was crucial—no one wants to be a walking fashion faux pas on their second night in town.
I purchased the gown along with a pair of shoes and some simple yet sparkly earrings Maggie had picked out. She gave me fifty percent off, plus a newcomer discount, which I appreciated. I had a decent chunk of change from selling my condo in the city along with royalties from the podcast, but those funds were dwindling. And based on the condition of the building I’d purchased, I would be broke in no time.
“Thank you, Maggie. I really appreciate your help.”
“Don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead. See you tonight!”
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2026 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
