Steamed Secrets
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Synopsis
Welcome to the Bean Hive Coffeehouse where the gossip is as hot as the coffee!
Killer Coffee Cozy Mystery is a series about small town gossip, family, friends, and putting differences aside when troubles brews.
Do you love to read about family and friendships?
Do you enjoy holidays, festivals, and celebrations?
What about when life isn't always rosy?
This series has all of that and more along with twisty turn mysteries that will have you rooting for the entire town of Honey Springs.
Release date: January 26, 2025
Publisher: Tonya Kappes Books
Print pages: 222
Reader says this book is...: action-packed (1) entertaining story (1) escapist/easy read (1)
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Steamed Secrets
Tonya Kappes
Chapter One
The warm, nutty aroma of freshly roasted coffee beans filled the air, wrapping around me like a hug on a chilly morning. The roastery, tucked behind the Bean Hive’s bustling kitchen, was my sanctuary. This was where the magic happened. The place where I turned tiny green beans into liquid joy, one roast at a time. I wiped my hands on my apron, already stained with a kaleidoscope of coffee-hued smudges, and leaned over the roaster, inhaling the toasty, caramelized scent wafting up from the drum. Heaven.
“All right, beauties, let’s see what you’ve got,” I muttered, twisting a knob to release a test scoop of the beans. They rattled against the metal like tiny marbles as they spilled into the cooling tray. My eyes scanned their color, which was a rich, medium brown with just the hint of an oily sheen starting to surface.
Perfect.
At least, I hoped.
I jotted down the time and temperature in my coffee journal, the leather-bound notebook that rarely left my side. The page was already filled with scribbles, arrows pointing to crossed-out roast levels, and notes like “too sharp, reduce heat in second crack” and “nuttier than expected, so shorten development time.”
Coffee roasting was as much science as art, and sometimes I felt like a mad scientist chasing the perfect brew. Not really much different than my past career as a lawyer, only I enjoyed this so much more.
The hum of the roaster vibrated through the room, steady and soothing, a rhythm I’d come to love. I turned the cooling tray and watched the beans dance as the fan blew over them, their earthy scent mingling with the warm, toasty air. The aroma made me want to close my eyes and just breathe.
Grabbing a small silver scoop, I measured out just enough beans for a pour-over. Testing a roast was the final and most rewarding step in the process. I filled the kettle with water and turned it on, the faint hiss and burble adding to the symphony of the roastery.
While the water heated, I ground the beans, listening for that soft, familiar crackle as they fell into the ceramic filter.
“Oh, you’re going to be good,” I whispered, smiling at the fragrant, chocolaty smell that rose from the grinder. “I can feel it.”
The water came to just the right temperature. Not too hot or it’d scald the grounds, too cool and it wouldn’t extract the full flavor.
I poured in a slow, steady stream, watching the coffee bloom. Little bubbles danced on the surface, releasing the essence of the roast. The first notes hit my nose.
A deep caramel, a hint of citrus, and something I could only describe as cozy. That was the thing about coffee.
It wasn’t just a drink.
It was a feeling, a memory, a moment.
It was the sound of laughter over a steaming cup, the comfort of quiet mornings, the start of a conversation you didn’t know you needed to have.
I took a sip, letting the liquid roll over my tongue. Bright, but not too sharp. Sweet, with just the right amount of nuttiness to balance it out. A soft, chocolatey finish lingered, warm and inviting. Yes, this was the one.
Now for the hard part.
Naming it.
I sat back in my chair, pen tapping against my notebook, and stared at the list of potential names I’d been jotting down for the past week. “Caramel Dream” was too obvious. “Morning Bliss” sounded like a shampoo. “Boardwalk Roast” felt right, but it lacked the spark I wanted. I chewed the end of my pen, the taste of plastic faintly bitter against my lips.
What was it about this roast that made it special?
“Something with love,” I murmured, flipping the page in my notebook.
Love was at the heart of everything I did here at the Bean Hive. From the way we greeted customers to the way we baked every muffin, we poured love into everything. That was why people came here. Not just for coffee, but for the warmth, the connection, the way it brought people together.
“A Latte Love,” I said aloud, testing the words on my tongue. A grin spread across my face. The name was simple, sweet, and just a little cheeky, just like the Bean Hive itself.
I scribbled the name at the top of the page and underlined it three times for good measure.
“That’s it,” I declared, raising my mug in a small toast. “To A Latte Love.”
The roaster gave a loud beep, reminding me that I wasn’t done yet. There were batches to finish, bags to seal, and orders to prep. But for now, I let myself savor the moment. The warmth of the mug in my hands, the scent of freshly roasted beans in the air, and the quiet hum of the roastery all reminded me why I’d left behind my old life for this one.
This wasn’t just a job. I poured my heart and soul into every cup, every roast, and I cherished the smiles of every person who walked through the Bean Hive’s door. And if I could share even a little of that love with the world, then it was worth every early morning and every late night.
Just as I was about to make an even bigger batch so I could start offering it in the coffee shop, I heard Bunny Bowowski, my eighty-something-year-old employee, fussing with someone. Her voice carried through the swinging door that separated the roastery from the main kitchen, sharp and full of indignation.
“I said, you can’t go in there! It’s against the health department code!” Bunny’s words were punctuated by the solid thump of her orthopedic shoes against the tiled floor, a sound I’d come to recognize as her personal stomp of disapproval.
“I’m not a customer. I’m here to see someone,” a woman replied, her voice tinged with annoyance but unmistakably familiar.
My hand froze mid-scoop, coffee beans spilling across the counter. That voice… I knew I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t place it.
“I don’t care if you’re the Queen of England,” Bunny huffed. “You’re not going past this door without permission.”
I sighed, setting the scoop down and brushing the spilled beans into my hand. Bunny was always in fine form when she decided someone needed a good scolding. With her ever-present shawl draped over her shoulders, her slow, deliberate movements, and her chin-length steel-gray hair framing a face that had seen decades of determination, she was a formidable opponent to anyone who crossed her path. Even now, her sharp voice carried the weight of her no-nonsense demeanor.
“Bunny,” I called, pushing through the swinging door into the main kitchen, “what’s going on out here?”
Bunny stood her ground, arms crossed over her floral apron, her shawl slipping slightly down one shoulder. Her eyes darted to me with that same exaggerated look she gave when she thought I was about to side with the enemy. “This woman,” she said, pointing a slightly crooked finger at the intruder, “thinks she can just waltz back here like she owns the place.”
I turned my gaze to the woman in question and froze. She stood tall and poised, her honey-blond hair swept into a sleek ponytail, her emerald-green eyes locking onto mine. She wore a designer trench coat, the kind you didn’t find in Honey Springs unless someone got lucky at a boutique sale in Lexington. Her heels gleamed with the kind of polish that practically screamed big city.
“Roxy?” she said, her voice softening and a smile spreading across her face. “It’s me—Vanessa.”
“Vanessa?” I stepped forward, my own wild curls falling in front of my face. Pushing the dark, springy strands back, I blinked, trying to match the polished woman in front of me with the memory of my college roommate. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Bunny, who hadn’t moved an inch, muttered under her breath, “I told her she couldn’t come back here. Rules are rules, Roxy.”
I placed a hand on Bunny’s shoulder, feeling the comforting texture of her shawl under my palm. “Thanks, Bunny. I’ll take it from here.” I couldn’t stop the smile or the excitement from deep inside of me bubbling up.
With an exasperated sigh, Bunny finally stepped aside, but not without shooting one last disapproving glance at Vanessa. “Fine,” she said, her slow shuffle signaling her retreat. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you if she brings trouble.”
Vanessa’s heels clicked against the tiled floor as she stepped into the kitchen, her radiant smile softening as she wrapped her arms around me. The faint scent of something floral and expensive clung to her, as polished as the rest of her.
“It’s so good to see you! It’s been… what? Ten years?” she asked.
“Closer to fifteen,” I said, pulling back to get a better look at her. Her face hadn’t changed much, except for maybe a bit more confidence etched into her features. “Because you left right after our sophomore year to pursue this modeling gig.”
I was pretty sure the morning humidity had already caused my curls to rebel, framing my face in a way that felt anything but polished.
“What are you doing in Honey Springs? I thought you were living the high life in New York,” I said, letting her know I did follow my famous roommate on social media.
“I was, but life has a funny way of throwing you curveballs.” She gave a laugh, but there was something in her eyes, a flicker of unease, quickly masked by her usual charm. “I’m here for work. My modeling agency booked me as the face of Celeste Essences’ new spring campaign, and they’re shooting the perfume ad right here in Honey Springs.”
“Here? In Honey Springs?” I raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the humble kitchen around us. “I didn’t know our little town was on the radar for something so big.”
“Oh, it is now.” Vanessa’s laugh was light, but her hand fidgeted with the strap of her designer purse. “Actually, it was my idea. I showed the creative director your social media pages and the photos of the Bean Hive, the boardwalk, the marina… They thought it was the perfect backdrop for the campaign.”
Bunny, still lurking just within earshot, snorted. “Can’t imagine why anyone’d pick this place for perfume,” she muttered. “Smells like fish half the time.”
Vanessa ignored her, turning her full attention back to me. “I was hoping we could catch up, Roxy. It’s been too long. And… well, I could use a friend right now.” She smiled and tilted her head.
Something in her voice tugged at me. A vulnerability I didn’t associate with the confident, larger-than-life Vanessa I’d known in college.
“Of course,” I said, motioning toward a stool by the counter. “Sit down, and I’ll make us some coffee.”
“Oh, no need,” Vanessa said quickly, glancing at her watch. “I can’t stay long. I want to walk around and scout out some good locations to suggest when the photographers and magazine come into town tomorrow. But maybe tonight? Dinner? Drinks? You can tell me all about this adorable coffee shop of yours, and I can fill you in on my very dramatic life.”
“Sure,” I said, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was here at all. “You’re staying at the Cocoon Hotel?”
Vanessa shook her head. “No, the agency rented me an Airbnb near the park. Something about needing space for all my luggage,” she said with a wry smile. “But honestly, I am in town a day early, which means it’s not ready today. So staying with you sounds perfect. One night. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is,” I said, already imagining how Patrick and I would rearrange the cabin to make her comfortable. “I’ll meet you after work and we will catch up.”
Vanessa’s smile softened, and for a moment, she looked almost… relieved. “Thank you, Roxy. I knew I could count on you.” She hugged and squeezed me hard before she turned and headed out the swinging door, her heels tapping out a farewell.
Bunny turned to me with a skeptical look. “You sure about this?” she asked. “She seems… fancy.”
“She’s just Vanessa,” I said, though even I wasn’t entirely sure if that was true anymore. “It’ll be fine.”
end of excerpt
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