Thai Coconut Murder: Book 6 in The Darling Deli Series
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Authors: Patti Benning
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
Thai Coconut Murder
Book Six in the Darling Deli Series
By
Patti Benning
Copyright 2016 Summer Prescott Books
All Rights Reserved
. No part of this publication nor any of the information herein may be quoted from, nor reproduced, in any form, including but not limited to: printing, scanning, photocopying or any other printed, digital, or audio formats, without prior express written consent of the copyright holder.
**This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons, living or dead, places of business, or situations past or present, is completely unintentional.
THAI COCONUT
MURDER
Book six of The Darling Deli Series
Moira Darling thanked the elderly woman and handed her the paper bag with a sandwich and fresh salad inside. The woman, who stopped in nearly every day for lunch, smiled in return and promised to come back tomorrow.
“Her name is Thelma and she’s one of our regulars. It’s good to learn people’s names when you can,” Moira said to the young woman who was standing next to her. Meg Brownell was a petite twenty-two-year-old with a tidy black bob and a quick, charming smile that had won the deli owner over during the interview a few days ago. Meg, the newest employee at Darling’s DELIcious Delights, had spent the last couple of days learning the ins and outs of working at the deli; so far she had proven herself to be outgoing and smart.
“Thelma,” the young woman repeated. “I’ll remember that. Does she always get the same thing?”
“She almost always gets the special, and occasionally picks up a package of summer sausage or smoked Swiss.” Moira smiled at the young woman. “Don’t worry about remembering all of this right away. For the most part, our customers are nice people who will be happy to help out a new employee.”
“There’s so much to do. I hope I don’t mess up tomorrow.” Tomorrow would be Meg’s first day working at the deli without Moira there. She would be helping Dante open then watching the register while the skilled young cook made a fresh batch of quiches for the new breakfast hours.
“You’ll do fine,” the deli owner reassured her. “Remember, if you forget how much something costs, we keep the cheat sheet in the drawer. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask Dante. He knows his way around the deli almost as well as I do by now.”
Until a couple of months ago, the deli had opened at eleven and closed between seven and nine depending on the day of the week. They had served a loyal lunch and dinner crowd, and had a good number of customers who wanted to buy the locally sourced produce, meats, and Amish cheeses that the deli offered. When one of her employees had come up with the idea of opening earlier for breakfast, Moira had been hesitant at first. Longer hours meant not only a whole new menu, but finding new local suppliers for necessary items like eggs and milk and meeting a larger payroll each month. She did the math and had decided to take the gamble; if the extended hours managed to get as many new customers as she hoped, it would be worth the extra costs of staying open longer. So far, the breakfast hours had been a smashing success—thanks, in part, to her hard-working employees who had been putting in extra shifts.
The deli door opened and Moira and Meg looked up to greet the next customer. “Moira, I’m so glad you’re here. I keep meaning to stop by after work, but I never remember until I’m already home. Luckily, I saw your car in the parking lot on my way back from church. How have you been?” Martha Washburn was about Moira’s age and had lost her older sister earlier in the year. After the deli owner had been partially responsible for catching Emilia’s killer and saving Martha from probable death, the friendship had bloomed quickly. The two women usually met a couple of times a month to have coffee and talk about their lives and their plans for the future.
“I’ve been doing well,” Moira replied. “Very busy, but well. I’m sorry I had to cancel our last get-together. These new hours have me exhausted. How is Denise doing?”
Denise Donovan was the third woman in their trio. She was the owner of the Redwood Grill, a steakhouse on the outskirts of town that served delicious food; after an initial rough patch, she, too, had become close friends with Moira.
“She’s doing all right.” Martha gave Meg a quick glance, then, apparently deciding that the new employee could be trusted not to gossip, continued in a lowered voice, “I think she’s having problems with her husband again, though.”
“I hope she knows that I’m always here if she needs someone to talk to.” Moira knew that Denise’s husband had a wandering eye—and likely other wandering parts too—and that even after months of marriage counseling, things hadn’t improved between the two of them. Her own marriage had ended when she had discovered that her husband was having an affair; she hoped that Denise’s wouldn’t go down the same path.
“I’m sure she’ll come to you if she needs someone to vent to. I don’t think I’m a very good listener,” her friend admitted. “I’ve never been married, and just don’t understand why the woman puts up with all that she does.” She sighed and shook her head before peering over at the blackboard, on which the day’s special was written.
“No soup today?” she asked after reading through the options.
“I just started getting in fresh greens for salads,” Moira replied. “I thought we could do with a change of pace.”
“But your soups are famous all over town,” Martha protested. “I hope they weren’t just a winter thing.”
“Don’t worry.” Moira smiled reassuringly. “I’ve been hearing the same thing all day. I’ll make soup again tomorrow, and just offer the salad on the side.”
“That’s good to hear,” her friend said. “I guess I’ll try the salad today. Could you leave the cubed chicken breast out, though? Just the greens, tomato slices, and Italian dressing, if you will.”
“Meg’s got it,” Moira said, grinning at the surprised look on her employee’s face. “You know where everything is, right? Remember to use the plastic bowls for the salad. We want to save the microwavable to-go bowls for soup.”
“I remember,” the young woman said with a nod. She glanced at Martha. “I’ll be right back with your salad. Would you like croutons?”
“Sure.” She waited until the girl had darted into the kitchen before giving Moira an amused look. “How’s she doing? Is she overwhelmed yet?”
“She’s fine,” the deli owner mumbled distractedly. She was gazing over her friend’s shoulder through the front window at a black car that had just pulled into the parking lot. The man who stepped out of it was familiar—tall and handsome, with salt and pepper hair and shockingly blue eyes—David Morris, the local private investigator.
“Ah,” Martha said, turning to see what had distracted her friend. She grinned when she recognized the private investigator. “I’ll just pay and be on my way once your girl brings my salad.”
“You can stay if you want,” Moira said quickly, horrified at the faint blush that she felt rising on her cheeks. She and David had gone on a few dates, but weren’t seeing each other exclusively; they hadn’t even shared a kiss yet. She had been too hurt after her divorce to be willing to dive quickly into any relationship, and luckily for her, David seemed just as happy to take it slow.
“I was planning to eat my salad at home anyway,” the other woman said, giving her friend a knowing smile. “I’ll see you next week for coffee. We can finish catching up then.”
David gave Moira a quick smile in greeting when he came in, and then browsed through the drinks in the glass-fronted refrigerator while she finished saying goodbye to her friend. After Martha left, salad in hand, he came up to Moira at the register.
“How are you?” he asked. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you anywhere but the deli.”
Moira grimaced. She knew that he would never mean to make her feel bad, but his words made her feel guilty anyway. First Martha then he had pointed out that she seemed to be working all the time. She felt bad for neglecting all of her friends, but what was she supposed to do? The deli was both her hobby and her main source of income. She couldn’t put any less than a hundred percent effort into it.
“Hopefully I’ll be able to start taking more time off,” she said. “Meg is really starting to get the hang of working here, so that should lighten my load some.”
“That’s good to hear. The last few months have been slow for me.” He glanced outside at the sunny, cloudless day. “I guess the weather’s been so nice, everyone’s busy going to the beach instead of tracking down wayward spouses, losing pets, or committing crimes.”
“Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing,” Moira laughed. “I’m sure things will pick up again for you soon.”
“Hopefully. Though now I feel bad for saying that—more work for me means that something bad has to happen to someone else.” He frowned for a moment, then brightened again. “I did actually come here for a specific reason,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Next Monday is the Fourth of July,” he said. “And Lake Marion always has amazing fireworks. Would you like to see them with me?”
“Yes,” she replied, without hesitation. Her lips pulled into a smile that she couldn’t have stopped even if she had wanted to. She had always loved fireworks. Who better to see them with than David, who was one of her best friends, even if she couldn’t quite call him her boyfriend. Their dates had been sporadic, and had somehow always seemed to end badly, but not through any fault of their own. She was beginning to think that dates with David were jinxed.
“That’s the answer I was hoping for,” he replied, with a smile of his own. “We can bring food, a bottle of wine, and some blankets. We’ll want to get there early to get a good spot on the beach. Candice is welcome to come too, of course.”
“I think she has plans already. She’s back together with Adrian.” Adrian had been Candice’s on-again/off-again boyfriend since winter. He was a fellow business student, and often seemed more interested in Candice’s candy shop than he was in her. Moira didn’t have a real reason to dislike him; he had never been anything but polite and helpful towards her, but she hadn’t exactly been overjoyed when her daughter had announced that they were dating again.
She had to admit that the young man was proficient at the business side of things, and had steered Candice to some great resources. It was hard, but Moira knew that she had to let her daughter make her own choices in her personal life.
“Then it sounds like it will just be the two of us.” His blue eyes sparkled. “It’s a date.”
She knew that she was being ridiculous—jinxes weren’t real, were they?—but she couldn’t help the anxious feeling that started in the pit of her stomach when he said those words. She forced the smile to stay on her face, and to distract herself from her irrational concerns, she pointed out a bowl of candy on the counter.
“Would you like to try a couple? They’re hard candies that Candice made. She used a different recipe than last time, and used real fruit juice. There’s mango, apple, and peach,” she told him. “Go ahead and take one of each. She’s hoping to get feedback on what flavors people like before she opens her candy shop.”
He grabbed one of each color of candy and unwrapped the apple one first. He popped it in his mouth, then gave an approving nod.
“It actually tastes like apples,” he said. “I like it. If she ever makes blueberry ones, let me know. I’ll probably just buy up the whole batch. Did she find a place to rent yet?”
“No.” Moira sighed and sat down on the three-legged stool behind the register. She was growing increasingly worried about her daughter’s inability to find a suitable space to rent for her candy shop. It was one of the concerns that kept her up at night, tossing and turning, even after a hard day’s work. “She’s still hoping to be able to rent that toy store if they ever sell it, but Henry still hasn’t gotten back to her.”
“I haven’t heard from him either,” David said, his brow creasing in concern. “If he doesn’t turn up this week, I’ll take a drive up to his cabin to make sure he’s okay. No matter what his granddaughter says, this isn’t normal behavior for him.”