Frosted Frappe Felony
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Synopsis
Murder, gossip, and freshly brewed suspense await in this charming small-town cozy mystery!
Welcome to The Bean Hive Coffeehouse in Honey Springs, Kentucky, where the coffee is hot, the pastries are fresh, and the gossip could make the strongest espresso seem weak. Roxanne Bloom, a spunky lawyer-turned-barista, has swapped legal briefs for brewing beans, opening the town's first coffeehouse on the newly revamped boardwalk.
Release date: January 17, 2026
Publisher: Tonya Kappes Books
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Frosted Frappe Felony
Tonya Kappes
Chapter One
January might’ve been the quietest month in Honey Springs, but it sure knew how to make an entrance.
The wind off Lake Honey Springs whipped across the boardwalk, sharp enough to sneak under my Bean Hive sweatshirt and chase me back toward the Bean Hive Coffee Shop—my coffee shop.
Pepper, my salt-and-pepper schnauzer, trotted ahead on his light-up leash, his little nails clicking over the planks. He looked so cute in his little winter sweater.
The boardwalk stretched ahead, quiet and silver under a dusting of snow. Across the lake, trees stood bare as broom handles, and patches of thin ice winked under a pale sky. Honey Springs in winter had two speeds, quiet and quieter. Most of the tourists had gone home, leaving the locals to pull their coats tighter and keep the coffee flowing. My job was to make sure the Bean Hive stayed warm, hopeful, and alive.
As Pepper and I hotfooted it closer to the coffee shop, I spotted Mayor Callie Hartwell and Gordon Liles down at the end of the pier near the Bait and Tackle shop.
Callie’s sleek chestnut twist was flawless even in the wind, and her fitted navy coat was cinched with authority. Gordon, tall and broad-shouldered in his wool trench, held a rolled-up set of blueprints beneath one arm. Their breath came out in white clouds as they leaned close over the papers.
“Just a few walls, Mayor,” Gordon was saying, his voice smooth as lacquer. “We tear down what’s rotten so we can build stronger.”
“Stronger doesn’t mean uglier,” she replied. “And not one loose board on this boardwalk gets touched until we vote.”
I kept Pepper’s leash short and my pace steady. Folks got skittish when they realized that the coffee woman could hear better than a microphone—or possibly they remembered I was a lawyer in what felt to me like another life. Or in this case, they remembered that Cane Construction—my husband, Patrick’s, company—had done a renovation to the boardwalk almost eight years ago, and it still looked good to me.
But not to Callie. She’d spent the last six months going to the town council meetings with all sorts of proposals for what she called the Revive Project.
Gordon glanced my way and gave a civic smile.
“Roxy.” Gordon greeted me.
“Gordon,” I said, polite as buttered toast. Pepper pranced ahead, ready for fireplaces and pastries.
The Bean Hive squatted snug and square in the middle of the boardwalk at the head of the pier, its big front windows framing the lake. The moment I pushed open the door, the bell jingled.
The warmth hit me, and the smell of roasted beans, cinnamon, and vanilla cream twined through the air while the espresso machine hissed. That smell told me that Bunny and Birdie had successfully opened the Bean Hive that morning while I took a much-needed morning off.
I shut the door behind us and stomped snow from my boots onto the mat.
Pepper waited for me to take his leash off before he beelined for his bed beside the fireplace, circled three times, and flopped with a sigh. The fireplace’s flickering orange flames licked the grate and kept all the customers happy as they snuggled up on the couches, chatting with mugs in hand in front of the fireplace. The Bean Hive had become exactly what I had imagined—a place to gather and enjoy our community, especially during these cold, dreary winter months when we spent most of our time holed up in our homes avoiding the slick, curvy, country roads.
Weaving in and out of the café tables, I headed back toward the counter where my crew was already in full swing. Birdie Bebe stood at the espresso machine, steam rising around her like a halo, and one of the new girls was refilling the bakery case with quiche wedges and sugar-dusted scones. The warm hum of conversation carried over the steady hiss of milk frothing and the faint clatter of plates.
“Hi, Birdie,” I called, slipping behind the counter. “Where’s Bunny?”
“The Cocoon Hotel called and they’re out of your Bold Mountain blend again,” Birdie said without looking up. She angled the frothing pitcher, her red-polished nails catching the light. “She ran a carafe over and said she’d be right back.”
The machine sputtered and sighed, and Birdie gave the wand a practiced twist.
“I’m finishing a Frosted Snowcap Cappuccino,” she said, a hint of pride in her voice. “Half hazelnut, half white chocolate. Smells delish.”
I laughed. “As long as it tastes good.”
Birdie flashed me a grin, dusting a pinch of cocoa over the foam before sliding the mug across the counter to a waiting customer. The rich scent of espresso and melted sugar hung in the air, wrapping the whole café in something that felt like warmth and forward motion, exactly what the Bean Hive needed that morning.
Passing the coffee bar, I adjusted a couple of the six thermoses lined up like little soldiers at the self-serve bar.
Just past the counter, beyond the swinging kitchen door, Patrick and his construction crew were already setting up. Today they were opening the storage wall to install my new frappé station. If I was going to sell cold coffee in cold weather, it had better be the best cold coffee anyone had ever wrapped their hands around.
The kitchen door swung open, and Patrick, the official reason the word handsome was invented, came through. His deep brown eyes crinkled when he smiled, the streaks of silver in his hair catching the shop lights. He wore his heavy brown construction coat over flannel and jeans, and his boots were still sugared with snow from his truck bed.
“Did you have a good morning, sweetheart?” he asked before he planted a sweet kiss on my lips.
“Yes,” I said with a smile and nodded toward Pepper. Patrick shook his head. “Sassy and Pepper played all morning. But in Sassy style, she didn’t want to come.”
Sassy was our other dog. She was a black standard poodle, and she didn’t love coming to the coffee shop like Pepper did. She liked riding around with her daddy all day instead.
“What’s going on back there?” I pointed toward the wall between us and the kitchen.
“Crew’s ready to start cutting into that wall if you still want it done today,” he said and looked at me like I needed to think about it.
“Go for it,” I said. “I’ve been waiting for this new machine a few months now.”
If I was going to do this little renovation, winter—without the tourist crowd—was the best time to have a mess.
Patrick chuckled, brushed a few snowflakes from my shoulder, and disappeared into the back with the sound of tools clanking behind him.
I took off my coat, hung it on the coat rack next to the counter, and exchanged it for my apron.
The bell jingled just as I started stacking scones in the display. Aunt Maxi swept in, trailing a wave of perfume and enough color to make the gray morning blink. Her short, spiky hair, today a daring shade of flaming red, had been teased and lacquered into place by what I could only assume was half a can of Aqua Net. She wore her Dolly Parton “coat of many colors,” a sequined top, and leopard-print leggings tucked into pink fur boots. Every finger sparkled with a chunky ring, and her red-framed rhinestone readers perched on the end of her nose.
“Lord love a duck, it’s cold enough to freeze the words right outta your mouth,” she declared, slamming the door behind her. A few customers looked her way. “If I don’t thaw out soon, you’ll have to serve me over ice.”
Pepper perked up and ran over to her, tail wagging. Aunt Maxi bent to give him a kiss, leaving a perfect lipstick mark on his fur.
“Don’t you look handsome,” she cooed. “Roxy, you oughta get him one of those little puffer vests. A black one, very slimming.”
“He’s got a sweater from Morgan,” I told her, reminding her that Morgan Keys, the owner of Walk in the Bark, brought him things all the time. “His sweater will do just fine.”
“Honey, there’s no excuse not to look your best, even when you’ve got paws.” She fluffed her hair higher.
Before I could reply, the door jingled again, and Bunny Bowowski waddled in, bundled like an overstuffed snowman. Her heavy coat nearly swallowed her pink shawl, and her pillbox hat sat askew atop chin-length gray hair. She stomped her brown comfort shoes on the mat, sending snow scattering like salt.
“If this wind gets any worse, I’ll blow clean off the boardwalk,” Bunny announced, clutching her brown pocketbook like an oxygen tank. “And if I do, I expect you to name the next pastry after me.”
“The Bunny Bun—it’d be half air and all complaint.” Aunt Maxi snorted.
“Don’t make me remind you,” Bunny said, shooting her a look that could curdle cream, “who fixed your last hair disaster when you turned your head into a purple pom-pom.”
“That was lavender-silver, thank you kindly,” Aunt Maxi said, batting her lashes. “And it was a look.”
Bunny rolled her eyes and unbuttoned her coat.
“How was Camey?” I asked Bunny.
“She’s great of course. And that little Amelia is so happy to be off for Christmas break. She’s a cutie,” Bunny sighed. “Youth.”
She hung up her coat, and I wasn’t surprised to see that she wasn’t wearing the Bean Hive shirt I’d asked all the employees to wear.
Before I could teasingly say something to her, the bell jingled again, and Mayor Callie Hartwell walked in. She always carried herself like a woman who ran a town and expected it to mind its manners. Which was probably why she always won.
“Morning, Roxy,” she said, already half out of breath. “Two large dark roasts for City Hall, and let’s be daring—make one of those frappés for me.”
“Call the paper! The mayor’s gone wild.” Aunt Maxi laid her hand on Callie’s arm as she joked, since Callie’s usual order was just a black coffee from the self-serve coffee bar.
“Honey-Vanilla or Mocha?” Birdie asked Callie as she took the order.
“Surprise me.” She took a sip of the drink Birdie handed her and blinked.
“I love that.” Birdie’s voice lifted as she placed a hand on her chest and tilted her head slightly to the side.
It took everything in me not to ask Callie about what she and Gordon were discussing. If it was Honey Springs business, I should know about it since I was the town’s lawyer, though they rarely needed me. But accepting the opportunity when she’d asked me had been good for me—it kept me in the loop of the world of lawyers, that world that I’d left professionally a long time ago even though I continued to keep up my license.
“Hi, Tate.” I greeted the customer behind Callie. “Are you staying warm out there?”
“It sure is a chilly one today, and I think the snow is not going to stop anytime soon,” he said with a crooked grin.
Tate Fenwick’s corduroy jacket had elbow patches, and his hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb since vinyl was king. “Do you mind if I tack up a flyer on your corkboard? I’m looking for a Wesley Dane record, Honey Springs’ own trumpet man. Folks say he vanished mid-song.”
He said it casually, but something in his tone tugged at the edges of my curiosity.
“Well, if you find it, I’ll play it right here in the shop,” I told him because I didn’t know a whole lot of local history or any of the stories that had already vanished from Honey Springs.
The thing I’d loved most as a child was visiting Honey Springs every summer and staying with Aunt Maxi. Honey Springs was where all my fond childhood memories had taken place, and it was where I’d run to for comfort when I quit that big-time lawyer job and ended a sloppy marriage.
“Deal.” Tate tipped an invisible hat.
Another of my employees stepped up to take his order before he hurried over to the corkboard where he tacked up a flyer.
I grabbed a towel from behind the counter and moved around the coffee shop cleaning off tables, picking up trash, and clearing dishes for folks.
At the far window, a woman I didn’t recognize sat with a laptop open and papers spread across the bar top. She wore a gray sweater and black jeans, and a pencil tucked behind her ear caught the light.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
“I have a question,” she said and twisted around to look at me. “Do you mind if I ask who owns this building?”
“That’d be my Aunt Maxi,” I said and pointed toward the counter. “Flaming red head. I just own the coffee shop. Roxanne Bloom,” I told her. “But my friends call me Roxy.”
“Delaney Hurst. My friends just call me Delaney,” she said, offering her hand and a friendly smile. “I’m with the Kentucky Heritage Review. I’m writing about original structures from the seventies, and this one has quite the history. Did you know a jazz musician named Wesley Dane disappeared here?”
“Must be fate. I’ve been chasing this story for weeks. I think I’m getting close.” Delaney laughed softly.
“Well, if you find anything interesting, you let me know.”
“I always do,” she said with a wink, turning back to her notes. “Can you introduce me to your Aunt?”
“Roxy? You might wanna see this.” Patrick’s voice came from the back.
I turned around to see him standing in the pass-through that leads to the kitchen.
“I’ll tell her to come back here,” I told Delaney then held up my finger. “If you’ll excuse me, my husband and his construction crew are building me a fancy frappé station in the back, and I’d better go see what he wants before he tears down an entire wall.”
I meandered through the café tables, taking the opportunity to clean tables, pick up dishes, and say hello to the customers as I made my way back toward the counter where Aunt Maxi was still talking to customers.
“Do you mind walking back to the window bar to talk to that lady with the laptop? Her name’s Delaney,” I said to Aunt Maxi over my shoulder as I wiped my hands on a towel. “She’s from Kentucky Heritage Review and writing something about your building here.”
Aunt Maxi loved a good article about herself. That’s why she started her gossip column, Sticky Situation, in the Honey Spring Tribune.
Before the pass-through door closed behind me, I heard Aunt Maxi’s cheerful voice echoing over the chatter of the coffee shop. “Hi do!” she called from clear across the room on her way to Delaney. “I’m Maxine Bloom.”
I met Patrick on the other side of the swinging door, where the cozy scent of fresh coffee beans gave way to the tang of cold plaster and sawdust. His crew stood near the far wall, the one that had always looked slightly off. The bricks were just a shade darker, but it was nothing I wouldn’t expect from an older building.
Patrick ran his gloved hand over a faint seam.
“Hear that?” He knocked twice—solid, then hollow. “Someone patched this wall. Newer mortar, uneven brick. Not your standard repair.”
I stepped closer, my fingertips brushing the rough surface. The chill sank into my skin. “You think someone sealed something off?”
“Could be storage. Could be old damage. We can open it slowly.” He shrugged and looked at me with a curious eye, which always tickled my own curious side.
“Take pictures as you go.” My heart kicked faster. “I love those good before-and-after photos.”
He nodded. “You okay?” he asked, his eyes softening.
“Yes.” I kissed him and headed back to the coffee shop.
Back in the café, the sound was all laughter and clinking mugs. I slid behind the counter and grabbed a couple of the order tickets on the counter to help out.
Outside, snow flurried sideways across the lake. Inside, the espresso machine hissed, the fire popped, and the air smelled of nutmeg and fresh-ground beans. Everything looked calm, but beneath that calm, something felt a bit restless.
From the back, Patrick’s hammer struck the wall once.
Twice.
Hollow. Hollow. Hollow.
Pepper’s ears perked up. Aunt Maxi stopped mid-sentence. Even Bunny froze at the register as she was cashing a customer out.
“Funny,” I murmured, watching snow catch on the windowpane. “Feels like something’s about to thaw.”
Behind me, the wall waited.
end of excerpt
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