Creamed at the Coffee Cabana: A Cozy Mystery (Sweet Home Cozy Mystery Series Book 1)

Creamed at the Coffee Cabana

by

Constance Barker

Copyright 2015 Constance Barker

All rights reserved.

Similarities to real people, places or events are purely coincidental.

Chapter One

“Here they are,” yelled my Aunt Esther, also known as Aunt Essie, as she, her sister, and my other aunt, Hilda, walked through the door of my coffee house. “The sweets with the sweets!” I would beg to differ on the first use of sweets. I adore my aunts, but sweet is probably the last term that comes to mind when I think of them. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my aunties, but they come in one flavor, crusty.

My name is Lily Parker and I own the Coffee Cabana here in Sweet Home, Florida with my two aunts. I’ve lived here all my life and we just recently bought the coffee shop when the owners decided to move away. I’d had it up the ying-yang with spreadsheets and answering ringing phones, so together with my aunts we invested in the Coffee Cabana. While I do most of the work, which is fine by me since I’m sort of a control freak, my aunts help out by supplying muffins, cupcakes, cookies and the occasional fried pies.

Aunt Hildie, as she is often referred to, placed two boxes of muffins on the counter and looked me square in the eye as I scooped fresh grounds into one of the huge coffeemakers. “Lily, did you even try to rake a comb across your head this morning?”

Now my aunts are quite the fashionistas. In their sixties, they look quite classy in their pantsuits, capris and tops, or flowing dresses. No jeans for these ladies. And every grey hair in place, thank you very much. I swear they must use an entire bottle of hairspray every day to keep those strands where they need to be. Back when Hurricane Andrew stormed through Florida and I was a young squirt, I watched as my mother and her two sisters hurriedly rammed our family van with suitcases. Not one hair moved on their heads…and this was in 40 mph winds. Unfortunately, I wasn’t gifted with immovable hair. My short blond tresses had a mind of their own and it wasn’t pretty. I had fine hair, which is difficult to rule even on a wind-free day. And today was just like the others. Limp, lifeless hair…I could be the before on a shampoo commercial.

“Yes Aunt Hildie I did,” I mumbled, still trying to embrace the day at 5am. “You know my hair doesn’t take orders like yours does.”

Aunt Hildie began placing the goodies into the glass display shelves. When she opened the boxes, the heavenly smell of blueberry muffins and raspberry fried pies wafted up my nose, instantly giving me a sugar high.

“You ought to let me give you a perm,” Hildie remarked as she used waxed paper to remove the baked goods and place them into the display.

“My hair is bad enough without frying it to a crisp,” I sighed.

The door to the coffee shop opened and Aunt Esther entered with her arms full of several more boxes. “Thanks girls for all your help! Oh no, I can get it…don’t bother yourself!” Essie slammed the boxes down on the counter.

I filled my coffee grinder with chocolate coffee beans. “What’s got you in a mood?”

“Oh she’s PO’d about Francine,” Hildie said closing the display case.

“Hold on,” I said as I turned the on switch to grind the coffee beans. My aunts hated the loud noise, but I wanted fresh ground coffee for my customers. Wait until the new cappuccino maker gets here. After the short spurt of noise and my aunts making their usual annoying faces from it, I asked what was going on.

“Fannie is being her usual ugly self,” remarked Essie.

My aunts and my mother grew up with Francine Diddlemier, but that didn’t make them friends. In fact, they were sworn enemies if I believed the tales around town. Seems that Francine had the hots for my now deceased uncle Joe who was married to Essie. Of course, this was when they were all young and carefree. Seems that Joe and Francine were an item and my aunt Essie broke them up. Now Fannie, as my aunts liked to call her, would say that Essie lured Joe away with her feminine wiles, but Essie says Joe had already left Fannie weeks prior. Regardless of what the real story was, Joe and my aunt Essie were hitched and married for 30 years before he died of a massive heart attack.

However, Fannie was never the same after Joe left her and blamed her miserable and lonely life on Essie. What she should have done was moved on. Joe made his choice and despite Fannie’s interference and downright nasty behavior towards my aunt and uncle, she only succeeded in making herself along with everyone around her miserable. Over the years, her hostility grew, not just toward my aunt, but to other townspeople as well. She decided it was her duty in life to uncover secrets within the small town of Sweet Home and expose people for their unsavory behavior.

Twenty years ago, Francine started a tiny newspaper using an old printing press her grandfather owned. The paper seemed harmless enough at first with newsy items like births, deaths, and the local happenings like an ice cream social or what time the choir was to congregate for practice at the Baptist church. But then it changed. I believe she had this in her mind the entire time. Get people hooked to her nice little weekly paper and then start throwing jabs at the same brethren. No one was immune, not even the preacher at the Methodist church who Fannie claimed was stealing from the offering plate. The deed was never substantiated but the harm was done by planting the seed in the congregation’s mind. The poor preacher left after a few months with a cloud of doubt hanging over his head. However, he wasn’t the only one run out of town.

If you dared to cross Fannie, she would set her mark on you and it didn’t matter if you had a squeaky-clean reputation; she would find a way to tarnish it. Like unsuspecting widow Gertie Price. She won the grand prize ribbon each year for her made from scratch apple pie at the county fair until one year Fannie hinted at seeing cans of apple pie mix in Gertie’s trash barrel. Now I’d hate to think of Francine rummaging around in Gertie’s trash, but I wouldn’t put it past the old girl. And that’s how Fannie operated. She didn’t outright say a neighbor was cheating on his wife, or a preacher was stealing from the offering plate, or a little widow lady was cheating on her prized apple pies. She’d simply hint at the discretion and let the town’s tongues do as they may with the information. She hurt numerous townspeople, but instead of not buying her little weekly paper, everyone would clamor for it on Monday morning, either wanting to see who the next victim was or making sure it wasn’t them. Since this was Monday morning and Fannie’s name had been taken in vain, I figured Essie was under attack again.

Essie search in her large tote bag of a purse for the paper. When she brought it forth, it was crumpled every which way but Sunday. Guess I know what Auntie thought of today’s news.

“That she-devil has put my name in print for the last time. I’m gonna lasso her hiney to the hitching post!”

“Wow, she put the paper out early this morning.” I poured us all a cup of morning brew.

Hildie added cream and a drip of honey to her coffee. “Now she didn’t put your exact name in there.”

Essie squinted at Hildie. “Everyone knows it’s me!” She smoothed the crumpled paper on the counter and proceeded to read. “And what is going on with our most fashionable starlet in town?”

“How the heck do you know she’s talking about you?” I asked taking a sip of the black gold and letting it awaken my senses.

Essie wasn’t happy at being interrupted which is why I did it. I loved to rattle her cage as much as she enjoyed doing it to me. “Be quiet,” she said not looking up from the paper and continued with her reading.

“It was told to me by a little bird that the lady with the best coif in town is getting it from a bottle. Now who pray tell uses bottled hair dye to turn her hair grey? Perhaps she thinks she’s onto a new trend. Go grey naturally I say.”

Hildie took a seat at one of the shop’s tables. I covered the tables with blue and white plaid tablecloths. I wanted to use red and white but Essie said people would think it was a pizza shop and I had to agree. The blue offered a calming quality against the backdrop of a caffeine explosion. Something we all needed at the moment.

“But you do use bottled grey hair dye,” Hildie replied.

Essie tossed the paper into the trash. “That’s not the point Hildie. It’s nobody’s beeswax what I do. Besides, my hair is grey…just not the color grey I want it to be.”

I set my coffee mug on the counter. “You know there is this new trend of young girls dying their hair grey.”

Essie stared at me with vacant eyes. “And what’s that got to do with me?”

I looked down at my coffee. “Um…nothing.”

Essie sighed. “I’m sorry Lily. You know how she gets me going.”

“You need to ignore her,” Hildie remarked as she added more honey to her coffee.

“Easy for you to say,” Essie replied. “She hasn’t bothered you for almost five years.”

Essie turned to Hildie. “And why is that?”

Hildie shrugged. “Guess I live a boring life.”

“Maybe it was the cease and desist letter,” I replied.

When my aunts and I went in together to purchase the Coffee Cabana, Fannie took it upon herself to try and squelch the deal by suggesting we didn’t have the funds to buy it or to get a loan. It was humiliating and unnecessary and I was tired of her shenanigans so I contacted a lawyer in Orlando and had him send the letter. We never heard or read another word about it. Luckily, Hildie and I were ignored from then on, but Fannie’s hatred for Essie didn’t allow that good fortune to spread to her. Fannie knew my Aunt Essie tried to look her best and she was determined to undermine her at every opportunity.

“I’d give my left thumb to get her paper shut down,” Essie seethed.

I walked over and put ones, fives and tens into the cash register. “After twenty years I doubt it can happen, otherwise someone would have done it by now.”

“Just ignore her Essie. You play right into her hands when you get upset like this.”

“Fine for you to say little sister.” Essie threw up her hands. “I know you’re both right. Let’s forget it and get on with the day.”

Hildie and I knew Essie well. She just needed to vent and get it out of her system. Essie could blow hard but once it was over, she be as calm as the morning dew. Hildie and I would weather the storm knowing gentle breezes were on their way. We were the anchor in Essie’s stormy pattern. Unfortunately, the calm atmosphere was deceiving. We were only in the eye of the hurricane.

Chapter Two

My busiest time in the Coffee Cabana was in the morning from 6am until 9am when most of the work people stopped by for a coffee and muffin to go. Sometimes we’d sell out of muffins before eight bells. By a little after 9 am, the crowd thinned out and the rest of the day filled with stragglers, usually from the retired communities that surrounded Sweet Home, Florida. Most of the retirees showed up in golf carts, their favorite mode of transportation around the retirement villages, and to the chagrin of vehicle owners, downtown Sweet Home as well.

Honestly, I loved roaming around in my Aunt’s golf cart in which they had decorated into a tropical paradise including painted palm trees on the front hood and pink flamingos on the sides. Strings of lights hung from the golf cart roof. My aunts weren’t the only ones with a colorful transportation…most of the carts you saw had some type of distinguishing marks on them. People loved decorating or painting their golf carts, with some painted into a police car, ambulance or even tiny seashells glued to the entire surface of the cart.

One of my auntie’s friends was a widower. His name, Harvey Davis. His golf cart had a shark fin on top and was promptly named, Land Shark. Every morning around 10am he showed up at the Coffee Cabana in his shark cart for his usual large coffee black with a chocolate chip muffin. Since we usually sold out by then, Hildie always held one back for him.

Promptly at 10am Harvey strode into the shop. He was wearing his usual knee length tan shorts, a blue polo shirt and brown sandals. He wore a Tampa Bay Buccaneer’s cap to protect his ever-growing bald head. He still had some hair but it was slowly but surely dwindling. He was 5’8” with a slight bulge over his belt. Not the most sought after bachelor in the senior community but a sweetheart all the same. I tried to fix one of the aunts up with him but they would have none of it. They liked their single life and didn’t want a man mucking it up for them.

“Hey Harve,” I called out as I cleaned the almost empty muffin displays.

“How are my favorite girls today?” He asked as he took his usual seat at one of the front tables next to the large window facing the street.

“Hildie and I are just peachy, but Essie might still be smarting from today’s Weekly Reporter.”

Harvey reached into his back pocket and pulled out the small paper. “Yes I read what Francine printed and I thought of Essie.”

“Harvey!” Essie barked as she emerged from the back area of the store. “How could you bring that piece of trash into my shop?”

Harvey looked confused. Why is it men appear confused most of the time around women?

“I thought you’d like to know what it said about you.”

“How do you know it’s about me?” Here we go again. “It could be about any of the women in town.”

Harvey opened the paper and pointed at one of the sections. “Well it says a prominent resident with a flair for the….”

Essie grabbed at the paper. “I know what it says old man!”

Harvey pulled the paper away from her. “Then you know she’s talking about you.”

Good grief, the poor man was clueless.

“Of course I do!”

“Then why did you say it could be about any woman in town?”

Hildie walked up with Harvey’s coffee and chocolate chip muffin. “Here Harvey, stick this in your mouth before it gets you into more trouble.”

Hildie and I ushered Essie back behind the counter as she continued to stare daggers at Harvey as he sat devouring his muffin and reading Fannie’s paper.

“Don’t get all stirred up again,” Hildie said to Essie. “You know he’s just a man and doesn’t know any better.” Hmmm, my aunts have a high regard for men.

Essie shrugged. “I know. It’s not him I’m mad at. I’m just tired of her ways. I’ve put up with it for over 30 years and I’ve had enough.”

“I don’t know if this will help,” Harvey yelled from his table. “But she’s after a few other poor souls too.”

I looked at Essie. “Did you read anything else?”

“No, after I read the bit about me I crumpled the paper.”

Harvey wiped his mouth with his napkin and pointed at the paper lying on the table. “Well it says here that a handyman around town may be taking advantage of seniors by making them pay triple for simple jobs around the house. Another item says a local landscaper is killing shrubs and flowers at his customer’s businesses and then being paid to replace them.”

I looked at my aunts. “Well, we all know who she’s talking about since there is only one handyman and one landscaper in town.”

That’s how Francine worked…she knew how to pinpoint the person she was alluding to without calling them out by name. This is why no one could file a lawsuit because she never named names. However, being a small town, we always knew whom she was talking about.

In this case, Mr. Thompson was the handyman and Mr. Barton was the landscaper. Mr. Thompson was in his 60’s and had worked around Sweet Home all his life. He was a longtime bachelor with a nickname of Toe Thompson. The nickname came early in life when he dropped a hammer on his big toe, which swelled double its normal size. He wore sandals for weeks since he couldn’t fit his foot into a shoe. From that time forward his nickname was born and never left.

Toe Thompson was loved around town. To even entertain the thought of this dear man swindling his neighbors was a travesty. Three quarters of the town wouldn’t believe it, but she planted the seed, which would surely grow.

The landscaper, Mr. Mike Barton, wasn’t a lifelong resident of Sweet Home, but he lived here with his wife and son for over 5 years. His teenage son, Trevor, helped him in the business during the summer and after school. His wife Meghan was big in the town, volunteering to help with school activities and church suppers. The Barton’s were pillars of the community and to accuse them of fleecing their customers could run them out of business. These accusations against Toe and Mike were more inflammatory than Essie’s hair color. Seems Fannie had a rather large burr stuffed up her tail.

“What’s she got against Toe and Mike?” Hildie asked.

“Toe said he gave her an estimate on a roof repair and she didn’t want to pay it,” Harvey said as he sipped his coffee. “She tried to get him to lower it, but he said he’d be taking a loss if he did. As far as Mike, I have no idea.”

Essie walked over with a fresh pot of coffee and warmed Harvey’s cup. “When I drove past her house the other day I noticed her shrubs were dying. Likely, from that worm they’ve been talking about on the news that’s killing ornamental shrubs and bushes in the area. Maybe she had Mike come in and inspect them and didn’t like what she heard. Who knows with that old crow.”

I looked out my front window. “Don’t look now…the old crow is coming in for a landing.”