Murder at the Lemonberry Tea

Book 6: Beacon Bakeshop Mystery

by Darci Hannah

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Ghost; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

Lindsey Bakewell’s iconic lighthouse bakeshop in beautiful Beacon Harbor, Michigan, is hosting a celebrity cookbook author from the UK—but the notorious diva is now DOA . . .

Lindsey’s patrons have a new outdoor patio where they can eat their treats in the glorious summer weather. But even more exciting is that the Beacon Bakeshop is going to host British celebrity chef Vivi Lemonberry—and what could be a more appropriate event than a tea party?  

What Lindsey didn’t realize is that Vivi is here to put some distance between herself and her recent professional and personal scandals. Despite assurances that Vivi is as sweet as a chocolate-dipped strawberry, Lindsey is cooling rapidly toward the culinary icon . . . especially after she banishes Lindsey’s beloved dog, Wellington, from the bakeshop and then flirts outrageously with Lindsey’s boyfriend. 

She’s not the only one feeling hostile, though. While Vivi’s in the middle of making a tart in front of the cameras, a woman runs up and slaps her. Soon, Vivi’s nowhere to be found, and folks are speculating on whether she’s run off with her secret lover or just laying low due to embarrassment. That is, until Lindsey finds a body bobbing near the surface of Lake Michigan. It’s a sour ending for the diva, but Lindsey is determined to squeeze the truth out of every clue until she finds the killer . . 

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

The sun felt glorious on my face. I closed my eyes and let the blissful, radiant heat beat down on me as I lay on my beach towel in the sand. Living in northern Michigan, and having survived two Beacon Harbor winters, I had learned to never take the sun for granted. Or the pure, blue, lapping waters of Lake Michigan. Summer was officially here, and I was determined to embrace it.

I took another deep breath of the refreshing, lake-scented air as I tried to meditate. I had heard that meditation could do wonders for a person, and I wanted in. I wanted to understand what a calm mind felt like. I wanted to better manage stress and increase my attention span. I wanted a little of that meditation magic, yet clearing my overactive brain was more difficult than I had imagined. But I, Lindsey Bakewell, was up for the challenge, or so I told myself. All I had to do was concentrate on the rhythmic pounding of the waves as they rolled on shore. Whoosh . . . Whoosh . . . Whoosh . . . Waves were so cathartic. If I wasn’t careful, I’d fall asleep. Every night the sound of waves put me to sleep, and I had to fight the impulse. I will not fall asleep, I told myself. I will lie still and listen to the nature around me.

Waves, the cries of seagulls, and the sound of happy voices from down the beach floated past my ears. I caught the words delicious, donuts, and Beacon Bakeshop. Reflexively I smiled, then reminded myself not to focus on the distant, private conversations of others. I was meditating. With a little effort, I turned my mind from the conversation. That’s when a scrumptious lemon bar recipe floated to the surface. It was summer, the perfect time to offer a truly delicious, tangy lemon bar, with just a dusting of powdered sugar on top. And if I was making lemon bars, why not make some lime bars as well? Bright and citrusy, they were perfect for a hot summer afternoon . . . Urgh! What was I doing? I was meditating! I put the tempting recipes on a time-out.

No recipes. No worries. No thoughts. Just me, the sun, and the waves. However, the one thought I let float through my mind as pure, yummy, life-giving sunshine beat down on my winter-pale skin was that I deserved this. I deserved this ten-minute reprieve from my busy life. My bakeshop was in good hands. I had just finished my second scuba diving lesson with my hunky, ex–Navy SEAL boyfriend, Rory Campbell; and Wellington, my giant Newfie, was at the pet salon for a much-needed grooming. I had eight minutes left, and I was determined to enjoy every nanosecond.

One second after my bold declaration, the sun went away. Dang clouds, I thought. They were robbing me of my glorious sunshine. Then I remembered that it was a cloudless, blue-sky day. My eyes flew open.

“Good. You’re awake.” The sun-blocker plopped down on the blanket beside me, still dripping cold lake water from his swim. “I was afraid you’d fallen asleep. You should never fall asleep under the full light of the sun, babe, especially since you’re so pale. You’ll wake up red and blistered.”

I looked at my handsome boyfriend, and grimaced. I then raised myself to my elbows. “I’ve been here two whole minutes. Three now,” I corrected, glancing at my watch. “I’m trying to meditate and get warm again after our half-hour jaunt in the lake. It’s chilly out there. I now have seven minutes before I have to go inside, take a shower, pick up Welly, and drive to the airport.”

“Really? I have an hour before my next scuba class arrives at the Aquatic Adventure Center.” Rory owned the Aquatic Adventure Center and had put his heart and soul into the place. He flashed a mischievous grin. Grinning was his superpower, making me forget that I was a little miffed at being interrupted while trying to get warm, and trying to meditate. Meditate. I shook my head at the thought. Who was I kidding? I didn’t have time to meditate. Rory knew this too. He leaned over, pulled me to him, and gave me a cold, wet hug. He released me and brushed a lock of my long, ash-blond hair off my face. My hair was still damp.

“Sorry for the interruption, babe, but I’ve been thinking. I’m going to move my things out of the lighthouse.”

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at him. “Really?”

“Believe me, it’s for the best.”

“For the best? Best for who?”

“Everyone. But mostly me. You might think this is a selfish move, but it’s not. It’s merely self-preservation.” He had the gall to look serious as he said this.

“Are you forgetting something?” I hit him with a bold, questioning look. Being a former Navy man, Rory knew how to mask his emotions. He was doing it now, his crystal-blue eyes blankly staring into my light green ones, while a placid, unconcerned look sat on his face. He was so still it was like staring into a painting of a man lost in thought—deep thought. My heart began beating faster, louder, making me a little frantic, if I was being honest. I then blurted, “You’ve rented out your cabin for the next two weeks! Where will you go?”

With a nonchalant shrug, he replied, “Uncle Finn’s offered me his guest bedroom. Tuck’s offered me his futon. Love my uncle, babe, but I’m leaning towards the futon.”

“Seriously?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“I’ve slept on worse.”

“No. I mean you’re seriously moving out of the lighthouse?”

“Babe,” he uttered tenderly. I got the feeling he was misconstruing my concern for romantic separation anxiety. It might have been a little of that too. Rory and I had been dating ever since Welly and I moved from our fancy New York City apartment to the old, rundown Beacon Point Lighthouse in Beacon Harbor, Michigan. Rory was my nearest neighbor, and after a bit of a rough start we began dating. Rory Campbell was the love of my life. We’d been talking about taking our relationship to the next level, engagement. The thought was both exciting and scary at once. Because of my early-to-bed-early-to-rise baking schedule he spent most of his nights at the lighthouse with Welly and me to optimize our time together. And now he was moving out? The thought was making me panic. Rory continued. “It’s just for a week. I’ll see you every day. I love you, Linds. You know that. But I just can’t . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“But . . . but you’re doing so well with Kennedy staying here at the lighthouse.” He really was. Kennedy Kapoor, my best friend, was back from New York for the summer. Because she was like a sister to me, my best guestroom at the lighthouse was exclusively reserved for her. Kennedy and Rory loved each other, but they bantered and argued like siblings. That’s because they were worlds apart when it came to backgrounds and personalities. Kennedy came from a wealthy, cultured English family. She was a fashionista, a social media influencer, a podcaster, co-owner of my mother’s clothing boutique, Ellie & Co., and had never met a pair of high heels she didn’t love. Posh was a term often associated with Kennedy. Rory, on the other hand, was a tall, strong, strapping, hunk of a man who preferred the woods to a shopping mall. Although his late mother was Irish, Rory had been born and raised in Michigan. Strong, competent, accomplished, and resourceful were words often associated with Rory Campbell. However, I was beginning to sense a weakness in his manly armor.

“I’m used to Kennedy,” he admitted. “Kennedy and I have a mutual understanding. I’m fine with Kennedy staying here. However, in just over one hour, five women will be staying at the lighthouse. Five, Linds! I’m sorry, but that’s just too much confined estrogen for one man to handle. Tuck agrees.” He would, I darkly mused.

“So, you’re abandoning me?”

“No,” he said, pulling me into his arms again. I leaned against his broad chest as he kissed the top of my head. “I would never abandon you, Bakewell. I will always have your back. It’s just that I can’t be your lifeline if I’m trapped in the viper’s nest with you.”

“Viper’s nest? You’re a chicken!” I said, smiling at his comment. Rory was going to be way out of his element this week. I really didn’t blame him for not wanting to stick around. Thanks to Kennedy and her big, scheming heart, my lighthouse was soon to be the scene of the next British invasion.

Leaning against Rory’s chest, I closed my eyes and lifted my face one last time to the sun. Someday I’ll learn to meditate, I promised myself, but I had picked a bad week to start. Just as I was feeling warm, radiant, and relaxed in Rory’s arms, a familiar voice called out to us, shattering the mood.

“Lindsey, darling! There you are! What are you doing, wallowing in the sand with Sir Hunts-a-lot when you’re supposed to be getting dressed? My mother, grandmother, and sister will be arriving at Cherry Capital Airport in less than an hour. And we can’t be late. Mummy hates it when I’m late.”

“Urgh,” I grunted. “I’ve gotta go. Mind picking Welly up for me?”

“Not at all,” Rory said, releasing me. “I’ll take him to the marina with me and drop him off later. Poor Welly. The British are coming, and he’ll be helpless to do anything but sit there and look cute and fluffy. They’re going to eat him alive.”

I stood and rolled my eyes at him. “They’re excited to meet Welly. He’s a bit of a celebrity, you know, thanks to Kennedy and her Instagram account. He might not love wearing all those silly Ellie and Company outfits, but he does love the attention.”

“Tolerates,” he corrected. “Welly tolerates the attention because, like me, he loves you, and wants you to be happy. However, if he had hands and car keys, he’d be outta here too.”

“Lovely!” exclaimed Poppy Kapoor, as she walked into my lighthouse for the first time. “I’ve heard so much about this place from Kennedy. I thought you were losing your marbles, dear, when you turned your back on your brilliant Wall Street career and headed for a dilapidated lighthouse on a lake, but I must admit that this is quite a charming home, if a bit unorthodox.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the backhanded compliment in stride. Poppy was Kennedy’s mother. Although she and her eldest daughter shared the same proper English accent, the same forthright attitude, and the same hint of hauteur in their tones and the tilt of their heads, Kennedy didn’t look a thing like her mother. Poppy was six inches shorter, green-eyed, and fair complected. She had bouncy, shoulder-length hair that was more red than blond, although now, with an invasive crop of gray moving in, it reminded me of cinnamon-sugar. Unlike my gracefully aging mother, Ellie Montague Bakewell, a former ’80s supermodel, Poppy wasn’t battling her grays. She was embracing them, and I commended her for it. Yet given all these physical differences, there was something about the shape and features of both women’s faces that hinted at the fact they were indeed mother and daughter. Poppy rolled her suitcase against the stairs like a seasoned pro, kicked off her heels, and then headed for my cozy lighthouse living room. “You have tea, dear?”

I did. Boy did I have tea. Knowing the Kapoor women, I had stocked up on their favorite brand. However, before I could reply, Pippa, Ken’s younger sister, sauntered in. Roving a skeptical eye around the lighthouse’s interior, she declared, “Nice place. Ken says it’s haunted.” She flashed me a private grin and sent her Gucci suitcase rolling in the direction of her mother’s. She then lowered her voice so that Kennedy, who was still outside helping Granny Gladstone manage the few front steps, wouldn’t hear. “I’ve also heard there’s a hot cop in this town that was infatuated with Kennedy. Fascinating. Can’t wait to meet him.” I didn’t like the way she winked as she said this. Pippa Kapoor was short like her mother, with a rosebud mouth, a pert little nose, and the same large, black, doe-like eyes as her sister. Yet where Kennedy was tall, statuesque, and classically beautiful, Pippa was cute. Very cute with a shapely figure. Her hair was just as long and black as Kennedy’s but with straight-cut bangs. Her rounded, petite features she’d inherited from her grandmother. Her rebellious nature was all her own. For the first time since inviting the women to stay at my lighthouse, I thought there might be a little trouble brewing on the horizon between the Kapoor sisters. It was going to be a busy week, and that was the last thing I needed.

“About those brownies you promised. Need any help with them?” According to Kennedy, Pippa was the spoiled one in the family, and that was saying something. Her offer to help was polite yet utterly insincere.

“Nope. I’ve got them. As soon as we get your grandmother settled, I’ll bring them out along with a few other baked goods we make in the bakery that I think you’ll like.”

“Lovely,” she replied, then added, “I’ve never stayed inside a lighthouse before. I can’t wait to climb up the light tower. Ken says it’s amazing up there.”

“It is. And we’ll do that soon,” I assured her, then excused myself and went to help Kennedy escort Granny Gladstone up the front steps.

“So nice of you to invite us to your home, Lindsey,” Granny Gladstone said, entering the lighthouse. “What a charming place to live. Right on the edge of the sea.” As I took her bag from Kennedy, the older woman paused, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. “There’s good energy here,” she told me sincerely. “I also smell something delicious.”

“That’ll be the bakery,” Kennedy told her. “It’s in the other half of the lighthouse, the part Lindsey doesn’t live in.” She then reminded her grandmother that the vast body of water outside the lighthouse was not a sea, but Lake Michigan.

“That’s right,” she said, her merry green eyes sparkling with memory. “We saw it on the map, only it looks much bigger in person. How remarkable. You were right, dear,” she said, addressing her granddaughter, “this place is perfect.” I had always liked Granny Gladstone. She was petite, lively, intelligent, and a touch whimsical as well.

Once the women were settled in the living room, and tea, coffee, and pastries were brought out and set on the coffee table, the excited conversation we’d been having in the Jeep continued.

“I can’t believe she’s coming here!” Poppy said, then clapped her hands together with excitement. “Vivi Lemonberry! A British icon and lifestyle expert. What are the odds?”

“Quite good, actually, Mummy,” Kennedy replied, looking at her mother over the rim of her teacup. She uncrossed her legs and set the cup back in its saucer. If there was a topic that excited Poppy Kapoor more than Vivi Lemonberry, I didn’t know what it was. Kennedy had known it as well. “After hearing about her little scandal last year, and learning about her new cookbook and cooking show, Nibbles from Across the Pond, and learning that she was planning to film the show in the US, I simply reached out to her producer and proposed the Beacon Bakeshop as the ideal place to make the first episode and relaunch her career. After all, it worked for Lindsey.”

“I . . . I wasn’t involved in any scandal,” I protested. Also, it was the first time Kennedy mentioned that Vivi Lemonberry was involved in a scandal. I pushed that thought aside and explained, “I’ve always wanted to own my own business.”

Kennedy stared at me with impatience before mouthing, Hello? Jeffrey Plank, reminding me why I had left New York City in the first place. It wasn’t exactly a scandal, but she was right. I had been engaged to an up-and-coming celebrity chef who, as it turned out, was cheating on me. It was just the catalyst I needed, that and the fact that I had mistakenly purchased an old, run-down lighthouse in Michigan on the internet. I was very upset at the time. Also, I’d been drinking wine while internet shopping. Not very wise. However, in my sad, sorry, inebriated state I had made the largest purchase of my life. Because of cheating Jeffery, I had decided to embrace my folly and go through with the purchase of the Beacon Point Lighthouse. I’ve never looked back. The old lighthouse was just what I needed to start a new life. Maybe Kennedy was correct. Maybe the Beacon Bakeshop was the perfect place to breathe new life into the waning career of Vivi Lemonberry too. I hoped so. Because she was set to arrive tomorrow. It wasn’t just the Kapoor women either. The entire town of Beacon Harbor was buzzing with excitement for a chance to glimpse Vivi Lemonberry.

I had just popped into the kitchen to put another pot of water on for tea when Rory and a very clean and fluffy Wellington came through the back door.

“There’s my handsome boy!” I said, looking at Wellington.

“Thank you, but I’m no boy, babe. I’m a man.” Rory flashed a naughty grin and came over to give me a kiss.

“I’m sorry,” I apologized, giving him one last hug. “You’re handsome too, but you hardly need to be told that by me. Besides, Welly looks so clean and fluffy and presentable.”

“It might have been best to leave him stinky, sandy, and covered in drool. His fluffiness will be his undoing,” he teased. Then, with a tentative look in the direction of the living room, he asked, “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” I said, giving Welly a hug and a cheesy Beacon Bite, one of his favorite treats. He had earned it. Addressing Rory, I added, “In fact, you’re just in time for tea. Come along and say hello to Kennedy and her family.”

With a mug of hot, black coffee in his hand, Rory brought Welly into the living room. The moment Welly appeared the Kapoor women, true to Rory’s prediction, went crazy over him, squealing and cooing with delight. Welly, knowing a good thing when he saw it, trotted over to Kennedy, and put his giant head in her lap so that she could better fawn over him and rub his ears.

“You’re a real prophet,” I whispered, coming beside Rory as he stood on the threshold, observing the women while sipping coffee. He replied with a don’t I know it shrug and allowed me to introduce him to Kennedy’s family.

Tall, broad-shouldered, fit, with crystal-blue eyes and espresso-colored hair, Rory was a man who drew the eye. And just like Welly, the ladies were enthralled with him.

“Such a pleasure to meet you,” Poppy said, blushing a little as she shook Rory’s hand. “Kennedy has told us so much about you.”

“Well, don’t believe everything she’s told you,” he teased, flashing a knowing grin at my friend. He then smiled at Kennedy’s mother and welcomed her to Beacon Harbor.

After greeting all the women, Rory took a seat and continued to make small talk. He gently broke the news to them that he was not going to be staying at the lighthouse with us.

“Where will you go?” Kennedy asked, visibly tickled by the notion. “You’ve rented out your lakeside log home to the production crew for the next two weeks.” She knew this because she was the one who had persuaded him to do it. Once word had gotten out that Vivi Lemonberry was coming to Beacon Harbor, and that she was filming a baking segment at the Beacon Bakeshop and putting on a tea party for the town at my new Boathouse Event Center, all the hotel rooms and vacation rentals in town had been snapped up.

Yet before Rory could answer her, the doorbell rang. Welly bucked his way out of Pippa’s tight grasp and ran to the door. I excused myself and followed him.

“Lindsey, m’dear!” Finn O’Connor proclaimed the moment I opened the door. Still grinning, he added in his booming Irish brogue, “I’ve come to rescue me nephew.” Finn was Rory’s Irish uncle. He and his daughter, Colleen, had moved from Ireland to open the Blarney Stone, an Irish gift shop and micropub in Beacon Harbor. Bailey, Finn’s beautiful white Great Pyrenees dog, was with him as well. Bailey and Welly were very special friends. As Finn talked the two dogs met nose-to-nose and showered one another with wet muzzle kisses. Finn lowered his voice, and confided, “I hear ’tis going to be a real hen party in here this week, and that poor lad’s quakin’ in his boots at the thought of it. He’s staying with me at the new house. ’Tis the least I can do. After all, he let Colleen and me live in his house until we found one of our own.” Since moving to Beacon Harbor, Uncle Finn had done surprisingly well for himself.

I thought Rory was staying on Tuck’s futon, but he must have changed his mind. I ushered Finn in and introduced him to my guests.

After meeting the lovely Kapoor women, Finn pulled up a chair and poured on the charm.

“Ye say your name is Rose, m’dear?” he asked Granny Gladstone. Tittering, she nodded. “Why, bless me, Rose, and Poppy! Mother and daughter. Beautiful flowers, they are, and fitting names for such beautiful ladies. Ye must come to the Blarney Stone. I run a micropub there, and pretty ladies always get a drink on the house.” He added a cheeky wink for good measure.

“You have an Irish pub here?” Pippa found this intriguing. “I’ll come for a pint.” She flashed a grin at her sister.

“And a gift shop,” Finn reminded. Yet before he could offer any more Irish hospitality, another knock came at the door. The dogs and I went to answer it.

“Hey, Linds. Welly! Bailey!” Tuck McAllister ruffled Welly’s ears as he walked through the door. Welly loved Tuck nearly as much as he loved Rory. Bailey, not to be ignored, pushed her way in for a loving pat on the head as well. Due to his summer-sky-blue eyes, sun-kissed blond hair, and boyishly handsome good looks, Tuck McAllister was Beacon Harbor’s hottest man in uniform. His very fitting nickname was Officer Cutie Pie, although no one called him that to his face. “I’ve come to pick up Rory,” he informed me, entering the lighthouse. “He’s staying with me for the week. I don’t blame him, you know, under the circumstances.”

Tuck had dated Kennedy and had been infatuated with her. He’d been heartbroken when she decided to break off their relationship because she needed time to figure out what she wanted out of life. Kennedy was still on that journey, but now she was back in Beacon Harbor. It wasn’t easy for Tuck, especially since Kennedy had firmly placed him in the friend zone. Tuck, however, was still under her spell. Everyone who knew him could see it. He denied it, of course, and fought the accusation. However, Rory and I knew that for Tuck, fighting his feelings for Kennedy was a losing battle.

And he was losing that battle again at the sound of her laughter. Kennedy’s melodic trill floated out of the living room and must have tickled his ear, because the moment he heard it his head swiveled in the direction of her laugh.

“He told me to meet him here,” Tuck explained. “I’ll just pop in and say hi.” Before I had the chance to warn him against it, he was gone, heading for the living room and the Kapoor women.

What in the world was going on? Why was Tuck here? Was Rory staying with him or Uncle Finn? I was very confused. However, the moment I followed Tuck into the living room I realized that Rory looked confused as well. Then Tuck introduced himself and the room fell silent. Pippa, Poppy, Kennedy, and Granny Gladstone were staring at him in different states of wonder. For instance, Kennedy was clearly wondering what he was doing there.

Granny Gladstone stared at the hands. . .