Sweet Farewell

Book 27: A Sweet Cove Mystery

by J.A. Whiting

Genres: Mystery; Craft & Hobby Cozy Mysteries; Culinary Cozy Mysteries

Synopsis

This is book 27 in the Sweet Cove paranormal cozy mystery series by USA TODAY Bestselling Author J.A. Whiting.

A cozy mystery with recipes.

When beloved librarian Marion Talbot passes away unexpectedly, the Roseland sisters are heartbroken—but not prepared for what she leaves behind.
Among Marion's personal papers is a handwritten notebook marked “To be opened if anything happens to me.” Inside are the confessions of a woman haunted by a tragedy she rarely spoke of aloud—the suspicious death of her best friend, Lillian Green, more than fifty years ago. Though long ruled an accident, Marion believed someone in Sweet Cove was responsible.
Now, with Marion gone, the Roseland sisters and Mr. Finch take up her quiet quest for justice. As they unravel a decades-old mystery buried beneath years of silence, secrets, and faded memories, they discover that someone in their peaceful town still wants the truth to stay hidden.
Will the Roseland sisters, Mr. Finch, Chief Martin, and two fine felines find the answers to a mystery that never faded with time?

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Release date: August 31, 2025

Publisher: J A Whiting Books and Whitemark Publishing

Print pages: 238

Sample

Chapter 1

The morning sun shone over the brick sidewalks of Sweet Cove as the usual cheerful
bustle of summer tourists filled the air. Despite the merriment of vacationers, a quiet sadness
hung over the small seaside town like morning fog. Seagulls called overhead as they circled the
harbor, their cries emphasizing the melancholy.

At the Victorian mansion on Beach Street, the Roseland family moved through their
morning routines with unusual quiet. Angie stood at her bedroom window, brushing her honey-
blond hair and watching the hydrangeas in the front garden sway in the ocean breeze. Today felt
heavy. Even the flowers seemed to droop a little.

“Are you ready?” Jenna, Angie’s fraternal twin sister, appeared in the doorway, already
dressed in a simple black dress. Her long brown hair was pulled back in a soft bun, and her blue
eyes held a heartache that matched the day.

“Almost.” Angie turned from the window and smoothed down her dark blue dress. “I
can’t believe she’s really gone.”

“I know.” Jenna stepped into the room. “Mari seemed like she’d be at that library forever.
She was only seventy-two. That’s not old these days.”

Downstairs, the rest of the family was gathering in the front hall. Ellie, the middle sister,
wore a black linen dress that made her long, straight white-blond hair look even paler than usual.
She stood by the mirror, adjusting a simple pearl necklace with hands that trembled slightly.

“You okay, sis?” Courtney asked, walking up beside her. The youngest Roseland sister
had chosen a navy dress similar to Angie’s, and her honey-blond hair caught the light streaming
through the foyer windows.

“I’m fine,” Ellie said, but her voice was tight. “Just... I don’t know. Everything feels off
today.”

Mr. Victor Finch, the Roselands’ adopted family member, appeared from his apartment at
the back of the house, wearing his best black suit and a black bow tie instead of his usual colorful
ones. An older man, Victor Finch had attended more funerals than he cared to count, but his lined
face showed genuine sorrow.

“She was a good woman,” he said quietly, adjusting his tie. “Mari Talbot had a kind
heart.”

“She sure did,” Angie agreed, coming down the stairs with Jenna. “Remember how she
always saved the newest mystery novels for us? She’d call the minute they came in.”

“And she never charged late fees,” Courtney added with a small smile, “even when I kept
books for weeks.”

The family’s cats, Euclid and Circe, sat by the front door as if they understood the somber
mood. Euclid’s fluffy orange fur seemed less bright than usual, and Circe’s black coat blended
into the shadows by the coat closet.

“They know,” Mr. Finch observed, watching the cats. “Animals always sense when
something important is happening.”

Betty Hayes, Mr. Finch's girlfriend, arrived just as they were preparing to leave. The
successful town realtor wore a dark gray dress and carried a small purse. Her usually perfectly
styled hair was simpler today, and her ambitious energy was replaced by quiet respect.

“Victor,” she said softly, taking his arm and kissing him on the cheek. “I brought flowers
from my garden. White roses. Mari always admired them when she walked by my house.”

“That was very thoughtful,” Ellie said.

The walk to the chapel took fifteen minutes along Sweet Cove’s tree-lined streets. Other
townspeople were making the same journey, all dressed in dark colors and moving with the slow,
respectful pace of mourners. The Roseland family walked together, with the men offering their
arms to their wives and everyone lost in their own thoughts. Josh, the owner of the Sweet Cove
Resort, walked hand in hand with Angie; Tom, a carpenter and owner of a home renovation
company, linked arms with Jenna; Jack, an attorney, had his arm around Ellie’s waist; and Rufus,
originally from England and also a lawyer, walked with Courtney with their arms around one
another.

The chapel sat on a small hill overlooking the ocean, its white clapboard siding and
simple steeple a familiar landmark. Built in 1889, it served the old cemetery that held
generations of Sweet Cove families. The graveyard spread out behind the chapel, its weathered
headstones and modern markers creating a patchwork of the town’s history.

“Look how many people came,” Jenna murmured as they approached the chapel. Cars
lined the narrow road, and people were walking up the hill from all directions.

“Mari touched a lot of lives,” Angie said, feeling a warmth in her chest despite the sad
circumstances. “She helped so many children learn to love reading.”

Inside the chapel, polished wooden pews gleamed in the colored light from stained glass
windows. Someone had filled the altar area with white lilies and roses, their sweet scent mixing
with the old wood smell of the building. The Roseland family found seats near the middle, with
other familiar faces all around them.

Chief of Police Phillip Martin and his wife Lucille sat two rows ahead. Lucille had often
chatted with Mari about the romance novels they both enjoyed. Behind them, Frank, postal
worker, wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. Mari had always asked about his grandchildren
when he delivered mail to the library.

“She’s here,” Jenna whispered suddenly, her hand gripping Angie’s arm.

“What?” Angie looked around the chapel, confused.

“Not physically,” Jenna said, her voice so low only Angie could hear, “but Mari is here. I
can sense her.”

Angie felt a chill run down her spine. Jenna’s ability to sense spirits was never wrong. “Is
she... upset?”

“No.” Jenna’s eyes were unfocused. She was seeing something beyond the physical
world. “Mari’s peaceful, but there’s something else. Like she’s waiting for something.”

Before Angie could ask more questions, Reverend Thomas stepped up to the simple
wooden podium. He was a kind man in his sixties who had served the Sweet Cove community
for over twenty years. His gentle voice carried easily through the small chapel.

“We gather today to remember and celebrate the life of Mari Elizabeth Talbot,” he began.
“For forty-three years, Mari was the heart of our library and a friend to countless members of our
community.”

The reverend spoke about Mari’s dedication to literacy, her quiet acts of kindness, and her
love for the written word. He told stories shared by townspeople about how Mari had helped
struggling readers, recommended the perfect book for every mood, and never turned anyone
away who needed help.

“Mari believed that books were doorways to understanding,” Reverend Thomas said.
“She opened those doors for thousands of people over the years, young and old alike.”

Angie found herself remembering her first visit to the library as a child. Mari had been
there even then, a librarian with dark hair and a ready smile. She had helped Angie find books
about baking when most children her age were reading picture books.

Beside her, Ellie sat very still, but Angie could feel tension radiating from her sister.
Ellie’s jaw was clenched, and her hands were folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles
showed white.

“What is it?” Angie whispered.

“I don’t know,” Ellie murmured back. “Something doesn’t feel right, like there’s more to
this than just a funeral.”

In the same row, Mr. Finch shifted in his seat. His weathered hands gripped his cane
tighter than usual, and his eyes were alert, searching the chapel as if looking for something that
shouldn’t be there.

The service continued with hymns and readings, but an undercurrent of unease seemed to
flow through the small group. Courtney kept glancing at her sisters with concern.

When the service ended, the congregation filed out slowly to gather in the cemetery for
the burial. The morning had grown much warmer, and the ocean breeze carried the salt smell of
the sea along with the scent of summer flowers.

Mari’s grave was in the newer section of the cemetery, where modern headstones stood in
neat rows. The simple gray granite marker bore her name, dates, and the words “Beloved
Librarian and Friend.” A surprising number of people gathered around the grave site, forming a
large circle of mourners.

“I didn’t realize she knew so many people,” Courtney said softly as they found a place to
stand.

“She knew everyone,” said a voice behind them. They turned to see Harold Wickham. He
was a thin man in his eighties, with white hair and kind eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Mari
made it her business to know every person in Sweet Cove.”

“She had a gift for remembering details about people,” Betty added. “She always asked
about my real estate business and remembered which properties I was working on.”

As the reverend said the final prayers, Angie noticed how many people were crying. Mari
had never married, had no children or close relatives that anyone knew of, and yet the entire
town seemed to consider her family.

“She had a quiet sadness to her sometimes, didn’t she?” Mel Abel said as the ceremony
concluded and people began to move away from the grave. “Always seemed like she was
carrying some old hurt.”

“I noticed that too,” said the owner of the flower shop. She was a plump woman with
gray curls and a motherly face. “Whenever anyone asked about her past, she’d change the
subject really quickly.”

“Maybe she just liked her privacy,” Ellie suggested, but her voice lacked conviction.

Betty stepped closer. “Mari always had a book recommendation for everyone,” she said,
her usually sharp business voice softened by genuine affection, “even for people who claimed
they didn’t like to read. She’d find something that interested them.”

“Remember when she got Old Pete to read those fishing magazines?” Courtney asked
with a small laugh. Pete ran the bait shop and had declared books “a waste of time” until Mari
found magazines about deep-sea fishing techniques.

“She never gave up on anyone,” Mr. Finch observed, leaning on his cane. “That’s a rare
quality.”

As the crowd began to thin, people sharing final stories and memories, the Roseland
family stood near the chapel. Other mourners were doing the same, but the conversations had
shifted from sadness to warmer remembrances.

“The new head librarian seems overwhelmed,” Jenna observed, nodding toward a young
woman with red hair who stood near the chapel steps. Grace Mallory had been Mari’s assistant
for two years, but taking over the entire library operation was clearly weighing on her.

“Maybe we should offer to help with something,” Angie suggested.

Mr. Finch cleared his throat. “Actually, Grace mentioned that Mari’s personal papers and
journals were donated to the library. The Historical Society wants to create a small memorial
exhibit, possibly at the library.”

“That’s such a nice idea,” Ellie said, though her voice still carried that strange tension.
“Mari loved local history.”

“Grace could probably use some help sorting through everything,” Mr. Finch continued.
“There are boxes of materials, apparently. Mari kept journals for decades.”

“I could help with that,” Ellie offered quickly.

“And I can bake some desserts for the exhibit reception,” Angie added. “Mari always
liked my shortbread cookies.”

Courtney agreed. “Remember how she’d stop by the shop sometimes just to buy a few?
She said they reminded her of her childhood.”

The family began their slow walk home through Sweet Cove’s familiar streets. The town
was full of its normal summer rhythm as tourists emerged from hotels and bed-and-breakfasts,
but the Roselands remained quiet and thoughtful.

“You know,” Courtney said as they passed the library, its windows dark in respect for
Mari’s funeral, “I always had the feeling Mari had a story she never told, like there was some
kind of secret in her past.”

“What makes you say that?” Jenna asked.

“Just little things. The way she’d get this distant look sometimes, like she was
remembering something sad. And she never talked about growing up here, even though she lived
in Sweet Cove her whole life.”

“Maybe she had her heart broken when she was young,” Betty suggested. “That would
explain why she never married.”

“Or maybe her family had some kind of tragedy,” Ellie said, “something she didn’t want
to discuss.”

Mr. Finch walked slowly, his cane tapping against the brick sidewalk. “Mari was a
private person,” he said thoughtfully, “but privacy and secrets are different things. I believe Mari
held a secret, or a worry, very close.”

His words sent a small shiver through the group. Mr. Finch’s intuition was rarely wrong.

“I remember one time,” Ellie said slowly, “I was at the library doing research for the bed-
and-breakfast’s advertising. Mari was at her desk, but she wasn’t working. She was just staring
out the window toward the harbor. She looked so sad, like she was seeing something the rest of
us couldn’t.”

“When was this?” Angie asked.

“Last fall, maybe October. When I asked if she was okay, she just smiled and said she
was thinking about old friends. But the way she said it...” Ellie shook her head. “It sounded like
she was thinking about someone who had died.”

They reached the Victorian as the sun was beginning to slant lower in the sky. The house
looked welcoming after the somber morning, its wraparound porch and colorful flower gardens a
cheerful contrast to the cemetery.

As they climbed the front steps, a summer breeze stirred the pages of a book someone
had left on one of the wicker chairs. The pages fluttered like butterfly wings, and Euclid, who
had been waiting for them on the porch, let out a low rumble that was almost like a growl.

Jenna stopped abruptly, her hand on the porch railing. She turned to look back toward the
center of town, her eyes distant and unfocused.

“What is it?” Angie asked, recognizing the expression that meant Jenna was sensing
something beyond the normal world.

“Mari,” Jenna said softly. “She’s still there. At the cemetery.”

“Isn’t that... normal?” Courtney asked. “For someone who just died?”

“Sometimes,” Jenna replied, still looking toward town. “When they have unfinished
business.”

The women’s husbands went inside, knowing it was best to leave them to themselves
when they were beginning to sense things.

The book’s pages continued to flutter in the breeze, and Circe appeared from behind a
potted plant to sit beside Euclid. Both cats were staring in the same direction Jenna was looking,
their ears forward and alert.

“It doesn’t feel like the end,” Jenna whispered, and as if in response, the wind picked up,
rustling the leaves of the old oak tree that shaded the Victorian’s front yard.

Angie felt a familiar tingle of anticipation mixed with unease. After all their adventures
helping Chief Martin solve crimes, she had learned to recognize the signs that something was
about to begin. The way Jenna sensed lingering spirits, the way Ellie’s and Courtney’s intuition
was pinging with warnings, the way Mr. Finch was picking up on secrets, and the way both cats
were on high alert.

“Maybe we should go inside,” Angie suggested. Part of her wanted to stay on the porch,
to see what the universe was trying to tell them.

“In a minute, Miss Angie,” Mr. Finch said, settling into one of the rocking chairs despite
the serious mood. “Sometimes the best thing to do is sit still and listen.”

They sat on the Victorian’s porch, each lost in thoughts about Mari Talbot and the feeling
that her story wasn’t quite finished. The summer afternoon stretched around them, peaceful but
charged with possibility, like the moment before a thunderstorm.

In the distance, church bells chimed the hour, and somewhere in Sweet Cove, Mari
Talbot’s worry waited to be discovered. ...