Scone Cold Dead

Book 13: Country Store Mystery

by Maddie Day

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

After a body is found in a local farmer’s field, country store and café owner Robbie Jordan suspects that a newcomer in South Lick, Indiana, may not be a stranger to everyone in town . . .

Robbie is just weeks away from giving birth. While her husband Abe scrambles to get the house ready for their baby’s arrival, Robbie makes last minute arrangements to keep her shop and restaurant, Pans ’N Pancakes, up and running when she’s on maternity leave. And it seems Robbie and Abe aren’t the only ones grappling with anxiety—a stranger is causing a stir in town and Robbie’s Aunt Adele appears unusually preoccupied at the baby shower . . .
 
But when someone finds a body in the ram field on Adele’s sheep farm, it’s Robbie’s turn to be worried. Especially after Chief Buck Bird uncovers a troubling link between Adele and the possible murder victim. Robbie has no choice but to knit the clues together and solve this mystery before anything else gets flocked up . . .
 
Includes Recipes for You to Try!

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

As I walked—well, waddled—to South Lick’s First Savings Bank that mid-November morning, I was still aglow from the surprise baby shower our friends and family had thrown for my husband, Abe O’Neill, and me last evening. Our little one was due in two weeks, pretty much on Thanksgiving, and we had most of the basics. The fun, personalized gifts we received yesterday from our loved ones more than completed the list of what we needed and desired.

I had nothing to do before the due date except to stay calm and healthy. I also wanted to make sure my country store restaurant kept running smoothly, and hopefully I wouldn’t get dragged into solving any more murders. I’d somehow become something of an amateur sleuth in the last few years, but South Lick and surrounds hadn’t had a homicide on the books since May. I crossed my fingers that it stayed that way.

After I deposited the considerable till from the weekend and yesterday, I headed for the exit. My trajectory took me past the bank manager’s office. In the open doorway, a man with short-cropped hair stood speaking with manager Carter Kingsley. Kingsley had started at the bank in the last year or two, and I basically only knew him from the name plate on his desk. I was sure he hadn’t been a bank employee when I’d opened my business and personal accounts over five years ago.

The short-haired man looked near Kingsley’s age, maybe in his early sixties, with plenty of gray in his hair, and the back of his neck was tattooed. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him before. He certainly wasn’t a regular in Pans ’N Pancakes, the popular country store breakfast and lunch place I own and run. Being a curious person, I slowed to watch their interaction.

Kingsley knit his brow and pressed his lips into a flat line. He shook his mostly bald head.

The visitor opened his hands to the sides. “I think it’s something you should do.” His voice was low and gentle.

“Not going to happen, Sheluk.”

The man shrugged and turned. I whipped my face forward and resumed my waddle, pretending I hadn’t stopped to take in their interaction. From the glare Kingsley shot me, I doubted I fooled either of them.

Sheluk nodded at me. “Let me get the door for you, ma’am.” He hurried to the century-old Art Deco door, original to the building, and pulled it open.

“Thank you so much.” I smiled at him.

He followed me out and let the door ease shut. He had a weathered look about him, as if he’d been through tough times. His work boots were well-worn, as was his navy pea coat. He didn’t smile, but his kind eyes did. “Looks like you’ll be a mama soon.”

“Yes.” I couldn’t help wrapping my hands around my beach ball, otherwise known as a baby. My coat didn’t close, but luckily the weather hadn’t turned too chilly yet. “In a couple of weeks, more or less. It’s our first.”

“Good. I can tell you’ll take good care of that little child,” he murmured.

“I’m planning on it, sir.”

He opened his mouth, then shut it, giving his head a little shake. “You have a good day, now.”

“You, too.” I watched him trudge away. What had he been about to say? I’d found, ever since becoming visibly pregnant, that total strangers seemed fond of giving unsolicited advice. Perhaps this guy had wisely stopped himself before he did the same. At least he hadn’t reached out to touch my belly as others had, which was totally unacceptable.

I would be glad for many reasons to have our little one safely born and in our arms. But one reason was so people would stop thinking it was okay to lay a hand on my body and by extension my baby’s.

What request from Sheluk had Kingsley been refusing to honor? I’d probably never know. I had found Sheluk’s wording curious. He’d said he could tell I would take good care of my baby. How could he know that?

When a gust of cold wind blew a strand of hair in my eyes, I smoothed it back into my pony tail and tucked my hands into my pockets. I might have wrongly assessed the weather, I thought, as I began my waddle back to my livelihood.

Business was bustling in Pans ’N Pancakes an hour later, just how I liked it. It wasn’t yet noon, but the early rush kept today’s crew of Danna Beedle and Turner Rao busy, one at the grill, one delivering plates full of lunch and busing tables after diners left.

I was busy, too, although I’d stopped taking a shift cooking. I couldn’t easily belly up to the hot grill and stay safely away from the sizzling oil of an occasional popping sausage or sputtering beef patty. Instead, I took and delivered orders, poured coffee and kept the carafes full, accepted payment, and checked with diners to be sure they were happy.

In September we’d celebrated five years since I’d first opened to the doors to the country store, where I sold antique cookware plus local food and craft items, and the breakfast and lunch restaurant filling the rest of the space. I found it hard to believe we’d been open for half a decade.

I’d already been working as a chef here in the hills of Brown County, Indiana, but I’d dreamed of owning my own restaurant. When my aunt Adele brought me to this rundown country store that winter during my grief at the sudden death of my mother, we noticed it was for sale. I used money my cabinetmaker mom had left me to buy the store, and I employed the carpentry skills I’d learned from her to fix up the building. We opened later in the year.

The business now operated in the black and had also become a real community gathering place. People came not only to enjoy a delicious hot meal but also to socialize, share news, play board games, and more. Our awesome online reviews often lured in busloads of tourists from neighboring states as well as visitors from other countries. The three B&B rooms I’d created upstairs were popular, too.

Danna had been my right-hand person since the beginning, and Turner had come on about six months later. Len Perlman now helped out a few days a week, especially subbing in on weekends. They were a good team who worked well together, and I felt comfortable leaving the place in their hands so I could take a couple of months of maternity leave.

Right now I was still on the job, though. My seventy-something aunt wandered in holding a big cloth bag that looked full. I hurried over to greet her and kissed her smooth but lined cheek.

“Morning, Roberta.”

“What’s in there, Adele?” I gestured at the bag.

“Skeins and mittens. Folks are already shopping for Christmas, you know.” She headed over to the display where she sold the yarn and knitted items made from the wool of her own sheep.

What was up with her? She hadn’t smiled or asked how I was. She was one of the few with permission to lay her hands on my belly. She loved touching the baby and feeling it kick and squirm about in the increasingly tight space. My aunt hadn’t reached out to touch my midsection upon greeting me, either. She frowned now as she arranged the new merchandise in the retail section of the country store.

I followed her. “What’s up?” I murmured, sidling in close.

“Nothing.” She didn’t meet my gaze.

I shrugged. She’d tell me when she was ready. I started to make my way back to the kitchen, but when the door opened anew, I detoured in that direction. The newcomer was Frederica O’Neill, otherwise known as my mother-in-law. An energetic cellist in her early sixties, Freddy had organized last night’s baby shower, with Adele’s help. Now she beamed and held out her arms for a hug.

“Wasn’t last evening fun?” She stepped back, blue eyes bright.

“It was. Thank you so much for putting it together, Freddy.”

“Gifties for my first grandbaby? It was my pleasure. And there’s my partner in crime. Hey, Adele.” Freddy moved to Adele’s side.

Again I followed. “Are you both here for lunch?”

Adele nodded without speaking.

“I’m absolutely starving.” Freddy had an amazing ability to put away food despite being petite and shorter than my five foot three.

“You can grab that two-top near the kitchen area.” I pointed. “It’s one of the last free tables.”

“Thanks, hon,” Freddy said. “Shall we, my friend?” She took Adele’s arm.

They hadn’t known each other before Abe and I started spending time together, but now we often had joint family gatherings. The two, both independent-minded and interesting older women, had found much in common. Adele might open up to Freddy. Maybe I could quiz her later on what was troubling my aunt. Or ask Adele myself.

Two hours later, Turner pointed to our big soup pot. “Just ran out of the curried lentil soup special, boss.”

I checked the big wall clock, which had formerly told time in an elementary school. “That’s okay, it’s already one thirty. I’ll erase the soup from the board.”

We tried to offer a special dish at breakfast and lunch every day, but our regular menu was a good one. It wasn’t a big problem when we ran out of the day’s addition, although today’s creation had been a tasty one, thanks to Turner. I had grabbed a bowl when I returned from the bank. My team was nothing if not good at reminding me to sit down and eat during lulls.

The antique cow bell on the door jangled. I glanced over. And blinked. It was the man from the bank. I ambled in his direction.

“Welcome to Pans ’N Pancakes.” I smiled.

“We meet again, miss.” He smiled slightly but didn’t show his teeth, and he sounded a bit out of breath, as if the work of climbing the front steps had been taxing. “My, it smells good in here.”

It did. The air was fragrant with the scents of onions and meat browning on the grill, along with apple fritters crisping in the deep fryer. The mildly spicy smell of curry also lingered.

“Thank you,” I said. “Did you come to eat?”

“If I might.” He unbuttoned his pea coat, revealing a plaid flannel shirt under a brown sweater. He pulled off a watch cap and stuffed it in one coat pocket.

“Of course. We’re open until two thirty.” I turned and surveyed the restaurant. “There’s a table right there.” I gestured to one at the near side of the restaurant.

“Ah. I would rather sit at that table in the back, miss.”

The one he pointed to was the two-top where South Lick Police Chief Buck Bird liked to eat. It let him sit with his back to the wall and afforded him a good view of anyone coming and going. But Buck wasn’t here.

“That’ll be fine. I’m Robbie Jordan, by the way.” I folded my hands over my now-ample midsection. I didn’t like to shake hands while I worked with food.

“My name is Ivan Sheluk, Ms. Jordan.”

“Good to meet you, Ivan. Please call me Robbie, and you’re welcome to that table. The menu is on your place mat, and I’ll be over in a minute to get your order. Would you like to start with coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

He moved gingerly to the table, as if something hurt. I hadn’t noticed him walking like that this morning. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on the back of the chair, then sat facing the room. Just like Buck.

It took me a couple of minutes to get to the newcomer, what with taking diners’ cards or cash and pouring from two full carafes. Ivan asked for a grilled cheese sandwich on whole wheat, a biscuit with vegetarian gravy, and a glass of chocolate milk.

“You got it.” I began to turn away.

“Robbie,” he said. “Your last name is Jordan. Would you happen to know an Adele Jordan?” His tone was casual but had an edge to it.

“Yes.” Aunt Adele was my only living relative on this continent, not counting Baby Jordan-O’Neill. My mom’s older sister, the former South Lick mayor, lived outside of town proper on her sheep farm, which surrounded her cottage.

“Do you know how I can contact her?” he asked.

This dude was a stranger to town. If he’d come in earlier, he would have encountered Adele, but she and Freddy had eaten and left, unfortunately without my learning what was troubling Adele. I wasn’t about to give out my aunt’s phone number or the location of her farm. It was public knowledge. If he really wanted to find her, he would.

“I can tell her you were asking, though,” I said. “Do you want to give me your cell number or email address?”

He winced when I said the word “cell.” Why?

“Thank you.” He relayed an email address but not a phone number. “Please tell her I am in the area and would like to speak with her at her convenience.”

If he wanted to speak with her, why didn’t he let me know how she could call him? Unless he didn’t have a phone, but someone walking around without a cell was too crazy to contemplate. I jotted down his email address on my order pad and stuck the slip in my back pocket.

“I will,” I said. “Let me go put your order in.”

He clasped his hands on the table and closed his eyes. Praying? Possibly. Or meditating. Maybe just resting his eyes. Whatever he was doing, I left him to it.

Buck Bird drifted in ten minutes later. The cold wind must have picked up, because his cheeks were pink under a navy knit police-issue hat. I headed over to greet South Lick’s chief of police.

“You haven’t been in all day.” I smiled up at him. Way up, since the skinny man was more than a foot taller than me. He sometimes ate two meals a day here. And they were never small ones.

“Been busy. And busy means I’m hungrier than a elephant being starved by a tapeworm.”

I groaned at the latest in a long string of exaggerated descriptions of how famished he was. “That’s a particularly unpleasant image, my friend.”

“Sorry, hon. But can I get me a hearty lunch sometime soon?” He looked around the room. “Why, lookie there, you up and gived away my table.” He gave Ivan Sheluk a careful once-over with his gaze. Ivan didn’t glance up.

“We’ve been through this, Buck. You never want me to put a Reserved sign on your two-top. The table is fair game, and this customer wanted to sit there.”

“Looks to be a newcomer to town, am I right?” He gestured with his chin.

“Seems that way. I’ve never seen him before today.”

Buck seemed extra interested in Ivan, but I couldn’t figure out why he would be. We had lots of visitors to our scenic village, including tourists who stopped by and people from the state’s flagship university in the next county who often wanted to explore our area.

“About lunch,” I said. “A few other tables are open. Take your pick.”

“Will do, Robbie.” He switched his focus to me. “Hey, you feeling in the pink?”

“I feel great, thanks. Does a double cheeseburger, a biscuit with sausage gravy, fries, and two apple fritters sound good?” I knew his legendary appetite well.

“Just about heaven. And a cocola, if you please.” Buck had grown up right here in Indiana near the Ohio River, but he loved using phrases from farther south.

“You got it.”

He raised his index finger. “Happen to have any brownies on hand or them chocolate cookies?”

I wrinkled my nose. “We might have run out. Hope was supposed to bring more but she hasn’t been in yet.” Exhausting our dessert supply was why Turner had whipped up the apple fritters so we had at least one sweet on offer.

“Hope’s the new baker lady?”

“Yes.” My regular dessert guy and friend had moved away last spring. Abe’s teenage son Sean, who loved cooking and baking, had filled in over the summer, but he was now back in school and living in Italy as an exchange student.

I was lucky to find Hope Morris. A local woman, she’d been an occasional customer in the restaurant for the last several years. One day last summer when she’d complimented the brownie she ordered, I mentioned my baker was leaving. Hope said she wasn’t a half-bad amateur baker and was looking for additional work.

At around the same time, someone had recommended her when Sean was packing to leave for his year abroad. After a session sampling her wares, it didn’t take us long to work out a satisfactory arrangement. So far she’d brought tasty brownies and cookies every other day as planned and hadn’t presented any kind of problem with either quality or prompt delivery—until today.

As if summoned, Hope backed through the door carrying a covered half-sheet pan. A woman in her late fifties with auburn hair that probably came from a bottle, she always met the world with eyebrows drawn together and deep furrows between them.

“Ah. I spoke too soon,” I said. “It looks like you’ll have your brownie.” I took his order to Danna at the grill.

“I see Buck finally got his hungry self in here.” Danna flipped a turkey patty and pushed around a pile of golden onions on their way to being nicely caramelized.

My mid-twenties co-chef today embodied the season in a long rust-colored sweater, leggings patterned with yellow and orange leaves, and a green scarf tying back her reddish-gold dreadlocks. At six feet, she was hard to miss, but I liked her style. The blue store apron over it all almost spoiled the look. I still tied an apron on every morning, but it was kind of ridiculous, since the strings barely tied around me.

“You’re dressed as Fall, am I right?” I asked.

“How’d you guess, boss?” She grinned. “Can you plate up those two cheeseburgers, please?”

“Sure.” I glanced at the slip and added a scoop of potato salad to one plate and fries to the other, plus pickle spears for both. I hit the ready bell for Turner to deliver the order and smiled at my longtime right-hand person.

Hope reached our area and set her pan on the counter. “Sorry I’m late. Car trouble.”

“It’s okay.” I pulled back the plastic wrap to see a double layer of rich, dark brownies that smelled better than heaven and made my mouth water. Buck would be happy.

Hope muttered something about having more in the car and hurried away. I headed to the door to hold it open for her return. She stepped through holding two big trays, one stacked on top of the other, and I let the door close behind her.

Hope’s face paled as she stared into the restaurant. I twisted my head to see what she was looking at. Ivan stood at his table, an empty plate in front of him. He shrugged into his coat.

Hope swore under her breath. The desserts started to wobble. I extended my hands in a dessert-rescue move, but she gripped the trays again.

“What’s he doing here?” Her voice rasped.

“He ordered and ate lunch,” I said. “Do you know him?”

“I used to. Here.” She shoved the trays at me and disappeared back outside. . .