Fatal Brouhaha

Book 5: Ground Rules Mystery

by Emmeline Duncan

Genres: Mystery; Female Sleuths; Animal Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Twentysomething master barista and owner of Portland, Oregon’s popular Ground Rules coffee cart, Sage Caplin is ready to celebrate her growing business at a weekend long maker’s festival, complete with live music, a cornhole tournament, 4th of July fireworks—and murder . . .

In addition to her beloved coffees, Sage is thrilled to be expanding her offerings in collaboration with the local whiskey company that is throwing the festival. And how better to launch their new product than with fellow entrepreneurs. But among the crowd of artists and creators, Sage is surprised to spot Left Coast Grinds owner Mark Jeffries, who has it out for Ground Rules. The distillery didn’t invite Mark and they apologize. But nothing can make up for the glare Mark aims at Sage and her co-owner, Harley. And that’s just a taste of what’s to come . . .
 
Soon Mark incites a loud argument with Harley and is ousted from the property. But later that night, Sage finds Mark's body by the Ground Rules Subaru. She knows that when investigators learn that Harley and Mark had a history of butting heads, Harley will be a prime suspect—and she’s right. But Mark rubbed many people the wrong way, and several are at the festival. Now Sage will have to filter through secrets, grudges, and blackmail to get to the bitter truth—and as her sleuthing heats up, the closing fireworks won’t just be the ones in the sky . . .
 

Release date: April 29, 2025

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 240

Sample

It’s always fun when decisions from over a year ago come to fruition. My coffee empire, Ground Rules, had partnered with a local company, Doyle’s Oregon Whiskey, to create a canned Irish coffee. We provided the coffee grounds and expertise; they distilled the whiskey, procured the locally sourced cream, and managed the canning part of the manufacturing process. Doyle’s Irish-To-Go tasted smooth, with the perfect balance of coffee and Irish-style whiskey distilled by the Doyle brothers, Tierney and Shay.

We were celebrating the product launch with a makers’ fair-slash-festival at the distillery over the Fourth of July weekend, on the Doyles’ property in the Columbia Gorge with a view of the mighty Columbia River. Twenty local companies were set up, all selling locally made products, with a collection of food carts and the Ground Rules coffee cart stationed on the edge of the paved parking lot. We had a busy schedule of cornhole tournaments, a Connect Four tournament for children, a series of bands performing on the stage in the meadow, and everything would finish with a holiday barbecue leading to the annual fireworks display.

In addition to our cart, Ground Rules partnered with Hannah Clyde at Stonefield Beach Teas to run a booth in the makers’ fair. So I’d scheduled a selection of baristas to staff either the cart or our booth.

But as everyone knows, even on sunny days, you might see storm clouds approaching. And I saw a big thunderstorm swaggering my way.

Mark Jeffries. If I had main character energy, he’d be the wannabe antagonist in my coffee journey. I do my best to never think of Mark, and I hadn’t seen him for a few months.

And here he was, bearing down on me, during the setup of a festival he’d applied to attend but had been turned down for. He’d tried to complain, but I’d been in the Doyles’ distillery when Tierney had bluntly told him they had one coffee vendor and didn’t need a second.

Mark looked the same as he had for years, with a moka pot tattoo on his right ropey forearm. A trucker’s cap with the name of his coffee company, Left Coast Grinds, reminded me of the hats that Ground Rules had introduced earlier in the year. I’d been hesitant, but two of my baristas had insisted they’d be big sellers, so I’d trusted them.

And once I had one of the trucker hats in my hands, or rather on my head, I liked the laid-back hat, especially in the summer.

The blue collapsible wagon Mark pulled behind him detracted from his usual air of hipness.

Mark smirked when he saw me. “You didn’t think you’d be the only coffee company here, did you?”

I straightened my back as I glared at him. “Actually, that’s what I thought.” It had been part of my agreement with the Doyles, and it was logical. We were partners in the canned cocktail, after all.

“Sorry, Princess.” Mark walked past me. The wheel of his wagon caught on a divot in the grass, and the boxes in his cart rattled. He soldiered on.

Glass? Why was Mark here with glasses?

I shot Tierney Doyle a quick text. Did Left Coast Grinds sign up for a booth after all? I’d vetted the vendor applications with Tierney and was sure he would’ve contacted me if someone dropped out and he’d needed to fill a last-minute spot.

Plus, I’d heard the phone call between them, which had been on speaker. Tierney had sounded firm with Mark, like he’d never budge.

There wasn’t anything I could do about Mark right now, so I continued checking out the booths at the craft fair. The leather booth that specializes in cosplay had a suite of armor in their tent, along with chest plates and gear that was sure to make fans of franchises like The Lord of the Rings and The Witcher drool. I waved to the owner of a local one-woman business that made bags out of Pendleton fabric, canvas, or leather and showed her that I was carrying one of her bags. One of my favorites from her shop, with an owl print that was perfect for summer. I also knew that if I stopped at her shop, I’d buy another one of her bags, despite already owning three. Or was it four? My friend Zarek was hard at work setting up his booth with artisanal vegan energy bars, so we only waved hello, as we’d have time to catch up later.

I halted.

Mark was adding a display of bottles on one side of a booth. The sign on the other half of the table said DULCINEA CHOCOLATES & GOURMET CANDIES, and their display case was empty. Like most vendors, they’d set up the booth to encourage customers to walk inside, under the shade, instead of browsing at a table along the front.

The name of the company jogged a memory. I remembered reviewing the owner, Dulcie’s, festival application; she’d just launched her chocolate shop last winter. She already had shelf space in several local grocery chains and opened a small storefront in Southeast Portland. After we’d offered her a spot in the makers’ fair, I’d dropped by and purchased a mix of her products and left a Ground Rules sample behind, in case she decided to start offering coffee in her tiny chocolate café. I hadn’t known she had any sort of connection to Left Coast Grinds.

My phone beeped. Tierney. No, of course not.

I texted back. LCG is setting up in the Dulcinea booth.

On it.

I wondered how Dulcie’s chocolates would fare in the summer heat, but then I noticed the coolers on her side. But that had to introduce a whole new host of problems, because if moisture ends up trapped with the chocolate, like in a fridge, the sugar in the chocolate can “bloom.” Which results in a white coating on the chocolate that’s safe to eat but looks terrible and can also affect the taste. Which is one of the reasons I prefer working with coffee. Coffee can be temperamental, but chocolate is a whole different, melty, but delicious ball game.

My eyes wandered back to Mark’s setup. The bottles he was lining up were small, maybe eight ounces. He’d also added a few products, like coffee mugs and beanies, all branded with Left Coast Grinds’s logo.

Mark’s smirk my way could count as a reason for justifiable homicide. “It’s my newest product. It’s the newest, hippest alternative to cold brew.”

“Hmm,” I said. Hippest didn’t always mean the best, although I was curious where he was going with this.

“You just need to add one tablespoon to water or milk to get the best cup of coffee in your life.”

“Interesting.” I moved on like I was bored. But Mark’s presence did rankle, like a seemingly inconsequential blister waiting to ruin an entire backpacking trip.

I paused by a local soda company’s booth, because I saw Tierney heading my way, decked out in an official Doyle’s Oregon Whiskey T-shirt, which featured the text in a retro script over a line drawing of the Cascade Mountains.

“Left Coast Grinds took over Dulcie’s booth?” Tierney asked. He knew some of the history between Mark Jeffries and my business partner, Harley, and me.

“It looks like he took over half of the booth. Dulcie’s also selling chocolate, supposedly.” Maybe the empty case held invisible truffles.

“Is Left Coast Grinds selling drinks?”

I shook my head. “Just bottled coffee juice and gear.”

Tierney’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Juice?”

“Coffee concentrate, if you want to be precise.” On a normal day, one of Dulcie’s chocolates would’ve sounded like the perfect afternoon pick-me-up, at least once she was set up and ready to sell. But seeing Mark next to her would turn me off of her products, showing my petty side.

“Do you want me to kick him out?” Tierney asked.

“The idea is tempting. If he stays, Mark is just making a fool out of himself. But if you kick him out, you’ll let him play the victim,” I said. A weekend of him watching Ground Rules’s success would be more of a punishment. He’d be jealous when he saw customers browsing the craft fair with cups of Ground Rules cold brew in their hands.

Although I’d love to see him forced to leave with his tail between his legs, pulling his cart of rattling bottles of coffee juice behind him.

“Mark being here annoys me. And I’m trying to remember what, exactly, we said about subletting space in the rental agreements for the festival.” Tierney’s lips scrunched up slightly as he thought. Both of the Doyle brothers look similar. Both are fairly tall, about six feet, with brown hair, blue eyes, and sturdy builds. Tierney is the taller of the two and more gregarious. Shay was more taciturn, but when he said something, I knew I should pay attention. Shay was also the distiller, while Tierney handled the business side. He could schmooze with the best when needed, but he was always honest, and I never felt like he was trying to get something over on me.

My thoughts clicked together into a decision, and as I spoke, I wondered if I’d regret it. “Don’t kick Mark out of the festival on Ground Rules’s behalf. Like I said, I don’t want to turn him into a victim. You don’t need the drama during your product launch.”

“I’ll warn him to be on his best behavior.” Tierney looked like he wasn’t happy with his decision. “But I’m annoyed he’s here. You heard me tell him the decision to deny his application was final.”

One of the festival bouncers swaggered up, wearing one of the official bright-orange T-shirts that said DOYLE’S on the front and SECURITY on the back. He wore a headset with a black receiver on his hip. He’d finished off his look with black cargo pants and heavy boots with a law enforcement air that must be murder in the summer heat. The other bouncers I’d seen had been more casual with less military cosplay.

“Problem, boss?” the security guard said. I would’ve guessed he was in his early forties. He looked muscular with a slight belly and rocked a close-trim haircut.

“Sort of, Trevor, and in a moment, I’ll need you to come with me. Right after I introduce you to Sage Caplin, one of the Ground Rules owners and coffee purveyor extraordinaire. Sage, this is Trevor, our head of security for the festival.”

“Hi,” I said. We awkwardly shook hands. Then Tierney led Trevor away toward Left Coast Grinds’s illicit booth, and I continued on my roundabout way through the festival, meandering toward the joint Stonefield Beach Tea and Ground Rules booth.

I scanned the lineup of businesses in the second row. Tierney had stationed a local cheese company next to a vegan cheese operation. I wondered if they’d rumble later.

A collection of local artists shared a booth, and the mix of paintings and illustrations caught my eye, so I told myself to come back later. Ditto the booth for a local hot sauce company and the local refugee organization selling baked goods, which were stationed side by side. And the artisan ginger beer stand almost made me detour.

Then I reached my destination.

The Ground Rules half of the booth was fully set up. Our coffee bean displays were stocked, along with the merch selection of camp mugs, tumblers, pour-over cones, and other quality coffee gear, plus hats and T-shirts. We’d last-minute added a bucket hat perfect for sunny days that, fingers crossed, would appeal to festivalgoers spending the long weekend in the sun.

Hannah mumbled to herself as she set up the Stonefield Beach side of the extra-large corner booth. She carefully put her rather fancy folding knife down in a wooden tray before turning and picking up a large box and rummaging through it.

Hannah had a vintage-looking apothecary unit with carefully labeled drawers on one side. She’d create on-the-spot tea blends based on someone’s taste using words, feelings, or even fandoms as inspiration. A display of ready-made tea blends was stacked on a table with movable shelves that looked like they were made of reclaimed pipe and old wood. The artwork on her tea canisters was top-notch. A sign on one end of the table highlighted how Hannah and her sister, Josie, grew or foraged for tea ingredients at their family farm on the Oregon Coast.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“I’m good,” Hannah said. Her eyes were focused on the box she was rummaging through. She pulled out a white card reader and then sighed, like she’d been afraid she’d left it behind. She finally made eye contact with me. “Your barista offered to help me finish my setup, but I sent her away. I appreciate that both of you offered to help. That’s kind of you.”

Hannah’s curly brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her striking green eyes caught my attention, as they always did. She was tall, about five foot ten, with a sturdy build and a love of vintage-looking baseball tees. Today’s was medium gray with red sleeves, which she’d pushed above her elbows, showing off the small tattoo of a teapot pouring stars into a cup and saucer on the inside of her elbow.

She paused and picked up her stainless-steel water bottle, which had a sticker with her tea company’s logo on the side. “I hope this festival is as busy as you claim.”

“The advance ticket sales are strong, which will hopefully lead to strong craft fair sales, although I can’t make any promises,” I said. Attendees had to buy tickets to enter the festival’s fenced-off music zone, although the craft fair was open to everyone, and we hoped to attract shoppers who hadn’t bought a ticket in addition to regular festivalgoers.

The distillery’s tasting room, which had bottles of Doyle’s Whiskey for sale plus the new canned cocktail, was open to everyone old enough to drink. The distillery had one side patio open to all, but their primary, and enormous, patio facing the meadow, and therefore the bands, required a festival ticket.

“I wish I could’ve gotten Josie to join us, but she’s in full recluse mood at the farm on the coast. In her defense, the weather is much nicer.”

“It’d be lovely to meet her. It’s, what, supposed to be sixty degrees on the coast this weekend? I can’t blame her for staying away from the heat,” I said. Summers on the Oregon Coast are frequently hoodie weather, which is always a relief when the Willamette Valley has a heat wave.

“High of sixty-five, so it’s basically tropical.” Hannah grinned.

“I’ll let you get back to work, but let me know if you need help. We’re happy to assist.” I adjusted my crossover bag so it felt more secure against my hip.

“Yeah, I know, but I have to organize this so I know where everything is, or else I’ll be confused all weekend.” Hannah turned to her boxes of tea leaves, like she was reading the future.

I left and finished scoping out the last row of the craft fair before finishing my circle, which took me back to where I started.

As I walked up to the Ground Rules cart, Kendall and Sophie were sitting in camp chairs outside. I was about to call out to them when a voice said my name.

I turned.

Dulcie the chocolate maker. She hustled up to me. She was a few years younger than me, which I knew because one of the articles about her business in the local paper had highlighted how she was only twenty-three when she launched her company last winter. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a high bun. The straps of a cheerful yellow sundress peeked out under her retro flowered apron, with DULCINEA embroidered on the front.

“You’re Sage, right? We’ve met,” Dulcie said.

“Yep, at your shop.” The last person I’d known to wear an apron like Dulcie’s while working had hidden a dark side under her craft-loving exterior. But I shouldn’t let that affect my opinion of the chocolatier.

“I can’t wait to try your collaboration with the Doyles,” Dulcie said. “It sounds delightful.”

“Canned cocktails are still on the upswing.” As beer lost some of its luster and some of its sales, drinkers switched to cocktails. So, the market for canned cocktails was expanding, at least for now. Something else would be trendy in a few years, but hopefully, the canned cocktail would be established enough to be a trend-proof classic by then.

“It was smart to diversify. It must be fun seeing your logo on the drinks,” Dulcie said. “Are coffee sales consistent in general? I’m still debating adding coffee drinks to my café.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked Mark, since he’s sharing your booth,” I said. My tone was acerbic, and Dulcie’s eyes widened slightly.

“That sounded mean. What’s your problem with Left Coast Grinds, anyway? It’s a totally good coffee company, but I can understand if you just don’t like hanging out with your competition,” Dulcie asked.

My tension with Mark Jeffries was more than just being competitors. Should I tell her that Harley and I had worked there as college students, although I’d quit when Mark had propositioned me? Or how Harley had become his primary roaster, only for Mark to steal the glory and, more importantly, credit for her award-winning blend at the regional coffee championships? Or how he’d blackmailed one of my former baristas into spying on us? She hadn’t sabotaged us, although if we hadn’t found out about the blackmail when we did, who knows how far it would’ve gone?

Simple is always best. “It’s a long story.”

“I hope Mark being here isn’t stepping on your toes. My assistant manager had to leave town unexpectedly, and she’s so organized that I knew I’d struggle to run the booth alone all weekend. So when Mark offered to take over half of my booth, it seemed like a great chance to get coverage so I could use the bathroom and leave the booth in his hands part of the time. I’m so worried I won’t make a profit. I didn’t think through the logistics of bringing chocolate to a festival when it’s this sunny and hot.”

“Chocolate and the heat are tricky.” It was supposed to be in the upper eighties all weekend, which was relatively mild compared to the end of July and August, when we’d most likely have a few odd 100-degree stretches. Although we’d had a few early heat waves in the past few years, including a handful of miserable heat domes. So this weekend’s weather felt lucky.

“I should stick to indoor events, like Crafty Wonderland. It’s much easier to plan for,” Dulcie said. She tilted her head slightly and looked at me. “Have you tried Mark’s new coffee product?”

I shook my head.

Dulcie pulled a small bottle out of the pocket in her vintage apron. “Here, this is on me as an apology. It’s a bit harsh for my taste, but Mark thinks this is the wave of the future for coffee drinkers that want an affordable option at home but don’t want to deal with brewing their own coffee.”

Something told me Dulcie’s words were a direct quote. And why had she brought the bottle with her? As I took the bottle from her, I wondered if Mark had sent her my way. If he wa. . .