Death Over Spilt Chowder

  Death Over Spilt Chowder

  Chocolate Cozy Mystery #7

  Wendy Meadows

  Copyright © 2018 by Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Meadows

  Chapter 1

  Candlelight flickered in the dining room, driving back the shadows along the table, but hardly any further than that. The diners sat on either side of the mahogany slab, their fists tucked under their chins or fingers toying with the silverware as they listened to the story being told by the man of the hour.

  Olivia creaked forward in her seat, gaze fixed on their tour guide.

  “You see, the chef at this fine establishment was none other than the Butcher of the Keys. Back in the 50s, he was famous for his delicious conch chowder. What his guests didn’t know? There was a secret ingredient.” The tour guide wriggled his dark eyebrows. “Can you guess what it is?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure I want to know,” Olivia whispered and gave Jake the eagle eye. For heaven’s sake, what had possessed him to choose a Haunted Restaurant tour for tonight’s entertainment?

  They’d only been in the Florida Keys for two days. Surely, that was more of a second-week type of activity for a getaway.

  Olivia had always been practical, but there was something about ghost stories that, well, got right under her skin. Having them told over dinner made it worse somehow.

  “You see,” the tour guide, Timmy, continued, “the Butcher of the Keys was a very shrewd individual. He didn’t like competition of any sort. If he thought someone was moving in on his turf or had the potential to ‘steal’ his customers, and therefore, his money, he’d get rid of them.” Timmy snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

  One of the other diners, a beautiful woman, young, perhaps in her late twenties, shifted in her seat and shuddered. “I’m not sure I like where you’re going with this, tour guide.” She tossed back long blonde hair then ran her fingers over a necklace of fine pearls.

  Karen! That’s her name. How could I forget? They’d been introduced to their fellow diners before the restaurant tour had begun, but their rich and young compatriot had hardly batted an eyelid in Olivia and Jake’s direction.

  What a group of characters.

  Olivia catalogued them one by one in her mind.

  Karen was the proverbial rich girl, pampered and sweet.

  Albert, blustery, sure of himself and totally overwhelming, wore a stained work shirt, mostly green streaks, as if he’d rolled around in fresh cut grass.

  George sat beside his wife, not touching his food but alive with excitement at the prospect of a ghostly tale. He was neat and well put-together, with a shock of blonde hair atop his head and wire-framed glasses.

  Belinda, his wife, was totally reserved. She was plain, perhaps even a wilting flower in the room.

  “None of you will like where this is going.” Timmy’s grin was downright devilish. “Do you want to know how the Butcher captured his victims?”

  Belinda shook her head. She’d gone pale – well, paler, since she was already fair-skinned – and clung to her husband, George, who wasn’t afraid at all. In fact, his eyes were practically alight.

  His grin mirrored Tim’s.

  “Go on,” Albert blustered.

  He was the only diner Olivia and Jake had met prior to this little journey down ghost lane. He was the owner of the local garden club, which was right down the road from their hotel. He was a nice enough guy, albeit a little rough around the edges.

  “Well? We don’t have all night. I’m starving, and the main course hasn’t even been served yet,” Albert said.

  The tour guide wriggled his nose. Apparently, he wasn’t accustomed to so many interruptions. He’d taken great pains to set up a spooky atmosphere in here, what with the strange pictures on the walls – black and white photos of folks staring down at the diners – and the candles dripping wax onto their brass holders.

  “The Butcher would lure his enemies to a private dinner, much like this one,” Tim said, putting on a deep and gravelly voice. “He’d serve them his famous conch chowder.” The guide threw his arms wide and several servers appeared carrying bowls which were laden with…yep, conch chowder. “And he’d sit with them, talk to them, laugh and joke around.”

  A server set down a bowl in front of Olivia and she peered into it. It smelled delicious, of course. Albert had already tucked into his bowl, slurping and chewing enthusiastically. Belinda was more reserved – she dipped her spoon into the chowder, then lifted it to her lips and sipped, tentatively.

  “I don’t know how anyone can eat at a time like this,” Olivia whispered. “We’re listening to a horror story, for heaven’s sake.” Her stomach growled, though, and gave the game away.

  Jake chuckled. “It’s what we came for. Supposedly, being afraid will heighten our senses, and that means everything will taste better.”

  Olivia sighed and lifted her spoon but didn’t tuck in quite yet.

  “What would happen then? After he’d invited them?” Karen asked and tugged on her string of pearls as if it were a rosary instead. She certainly hadn’t tucked into her meal. In fact, she wrinkled her nose as if she’d smelled something distinctly…off.

  Olivia lowered her spoon again.

  The guide’s eyes flashed. “Then, he’d watch them eat. And when the time was right, he’d shut off all the lights and—”

  “Shut off all the lights?” Olivia asked, because she could hardly ignore that small discrepancy. “These are candles.”

  Tim’s gleeful expression faltered. “I – well, back then he didn’t have candles. He just had regular lights. The candles are for ambience.”

  “Oh.”

  The spooky atmosphere deflated a little.

  “Oh, Olivia,” Jake muttered and laughed again. “You sure know how to steal the wind from a man’s sails.”

  “I’m a stickler for accuracy,” Olivia replied. If she wasn’t, heaven knew, she’d never have helped solve the murders she had in the past. It paid to be conscientious and aware, after all.

  “Ahem.” Tim gave them both a pointed stare from his place at the head of the table. “If I may continue? We have several haunted houses to tour, ladies and gentleman. This is simply your appetizer.”

  The servers filed from the room, but left the door open behind them. The hall was darkened, as was the rest of the creaky, carpeted house – done in the fifties style, with orange and olive green just about everywhere. It gave Olivia a headache.

  “Continue,” Albert said, gesturing with his spoon. He splattered
the table cloth with chowder, and Karen grimaced, tugging on her necklace again.

  “At the exact right moment in the proceedings,” Tim said and leaned in, “the Butcher would click his fingers and all the lights would go out. Chaos would ensue.” The guide raised his fingers and snapped them once.

  The dining room was plunged into darkness. The candle flames puffed out.

  Karen let out a shrill squeak.

  Silence. Olivia grasped Jake’s hand and squeezed it tight.

  A chair scraped back. Footsteps.

  “Ouch.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Tim, you turn on these lights immediately,” Karen hissed.

  A low chuckle. A bang.

  The slam of a door.

  Moments passed, and then a muted roar rang out down the hall, followed by another shrill squeal from Karen.

  “What was that?” Jake asked, beside Olivia. She squeezed his hand tighter, refusing the panic which coursed through her veins. It had to be part of the act. Part of the tour guide’s silly show.

  Curses, Jake, why did you bring us here tonight?

  “Everyone remain calm,” Tim said from the head of the table. A door creaked again, another scrape of a chair, then another. “Hold on, hold on. I don’t know what’s going on.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know what’s going on?” That was George’s voice. Or was it Albert’s?

  “Here.” A flashlight clicked on and illuminated the table and the cooling bowls of chowder. Tim shifted his grip and the beam of light passed over each of the diners seated at the table. “Is everyone all right?”

  “No,” Karen and Albert answered in unison.

  “What was that?” Olivia asked.

  Tim gulped audibly. “I – I don’t know. The candles were supposed to go out. That was just a scare, but the scream. I – just don’t know.”

  Olivia rose from her seat, and this time Jake squeezed her hand. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Chapter 2

  “This is a terrible idea,” Jake whispered as they strode around the table toward the entrance to their room. The door was shut where it’d been open before.

  Someone had closed it then. Twice.

  Olivia set aside the thought and focused on the task at hand. Someone had screamed, and there was definitely danger, unless this was all part of Tim’s superior dining “experience.” Judging by how pale he was, she didn’t think that was the case.

  “Where are you going?” Albert blustered and scraped his chair back. The bowls on the table rattled and conch chowder slopped onto the table cloth. “You can’t just go out there. There could be danger, or there might be—”

  “Might be what?” Olivia asked, a frown tugging at her brow.

  Albert’s lips drew downward at the corners. “I’m not sure, Miss Cloud, but I don’t think rushing out there to do a sit rep is the best idea right now.”

  A sit rep? Was Albert ex-military? Ugh, try as Olivia might, she couldn’t stop her brain from analyzing and weighing every little thing. This was supposed to be a holiday from the mayhem which’d befallen Chester of late – all the murders to solve.

  All the holiday had achieved so far was scaring the pants off of her with tonight’s strange events, and a prolonged feeling of withdrawal. Gosh, she missed chocolates. She missed making them and eating them, too.

  Olivia shook her head once, firmly to one side then the other, then focused on Tim. “This isn’t part of tonight’s event, is it?” she asked.

  “No,” he managed in a muted squeak. The flashlight’s strobe moved around the room, and the diners squinted and raised their hands. “Like I said, just the candles were supposed to go out and then come back on again, I – I don’t know what’s going on.”

  Olivia despised it when people who were supposed to be in charge didn’t take the lead. Jake cleared his throat and pressed his hand to the small of her back, as if he could stop her from interfering with that gesture alone.

  Surely, he knew better than that by now.

  “Tim,” she began in an even, calm tone – no need to whip out the stick when sugar would work just as well, perhaps even better.

  “Well?” Albert blustered again and bumped the table. More conch chowder wet the tablecloth.

  Karen grimaced and raised her wrists as if the mere suggestion of getting her hands dirty repulsed her.

  “What are you waiting for, standing there with your mouth open like a spider waiting for a fly? Get out there and check what’s going on!” The words burst from Albert with so much force they thundered through the dining room. Had the candles been alight, they surely would’ve guttered.

  Olivia fingered her chin and pursed her lips. He sure was eager. They were all on edge.

  Belinda Gomez clung to her husband’s arm, and George stared at Karen, who blinked back what might be tears – real or fake? Who knew.

  “There’s no need to get angry,” Olivia said. “Tim, could you perhaps call 911? I have a feeling that something has gone terribly wrong.”

  “Yes,” Tim whispered.

  “And what are you going to do?” Albert asked, his piggy eyes keen on Olivia now. “Walk out there by yourself, little miss?”

  Little miss? Good heavens, was it a backhanded compliment or a downright insult? Olivia quelled equal parts amusement and anger. “Jake and I will go find out what’s going on and where the staff have gotten to.”

  “They’ve already left,” Tim said, his voice a little stronger. “They’ve gone to the next location, you see. They serve the food, then take everything over to the next dining area and start setting up.”

  “So the house is empty,” Olivia replied.

  “I think.”

  The sheer creepiness of that phrase was not lost on Olivia. Gosh, she wasn’t cut out for haunted experiences. No wonder Alberta, Alph, and Alvira had opted out of this particular evening activity.

  “Let’s go,” Olivia said and took Jake’s hand.

  “The flashlight,” Tim whispered. “We only have one. I—”

  “Did anyone bring their phone?” Olivia asked.

  “I have one,” Albert replied and whipped it out, then tapped on the screen and activated his flashlight app.

  Why hadn’t he switched it on before this?

  Regardless, Olivia extended her hand and waited.

  “I don’t think so,” Albert scoffed. “Where this phone goes, I go.”

  “All right,” Olivia replied, ever the pragmatist. “Let’s go then.”

  For the first time, Albert balked. “But what if something…bad is out there?” It was a strange sight, this large, working man chewing his lip, gaze darting from the door to Olivia and back again.

  Jake forced a laugh. “You don’t believe in ghosts, do you?”

  The tinkle of mirth, even one forced, lightened the mood a little, and Albert managed a wan smile. He walked toward them, aiming the phone’s light at the door. “All right,” he said. “I’m ready.”

  Olivia turned the brass doorknob and the door swung open. The light illuminated the cracked boards of the house; not covered in dust, but not exactly clean either. The wallpaper was peeling, yellowed by age out here. This was the creepy hall they’d come through on the way to their dining experience.

  Hopefully, it was this battered and old by design and not by neglect. The latter made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  They walked down the hall, Olivia and Jake holding hands, Albert crowding behind them, his breaths labored and decidedly “conchy.”

  The house was small. They checked the rooms closest to the dining hall first. Nothing except dust and worn furniture greeted them. They turned the corner and the flashlight danced across a bunch of rags on the floor.

  Olivia sucked in a gasp.

  Jake muttered under his breath.

  Albert gulped.

  “Is that—?” Olivia managed.

  “Yes. It’s a body,” Jake said.

  The rags w
eren’t rags at all, but a man, lying face-down on the scuffed runner. There was blood, yes, and a decorative ivory handle of a knife poking out from his back. Olivia scanned the scene briefly, searching for any signs of struggle.

  The man looked out of place. His clothes were torn and grimy, his hair matted with dirt. Thankfully, she couldn’t make out his face.

  Olivia pressed a hand to her belly. “Good thing Tim is calling 911.” What were the chances that this would happen on their vacation? And in this house? Tonight?

  She closed her eyes and cast her thoughts back to the dining room and the people waiting there.

  The candles had gone out after the other staff had left. And they’d heard the yell, the slamming of doors. The dining room door had been opened and closed twice, but all her fellow diners had been in their seats when Tim had switched on the flashlight.

  Unless one of the staff had remained behind to do this, the answer was pretty clear. One of the diners had murdered this man. But who?

  “That’s – no, it can’t be.” Albert took a step forward and Jake pressed out his arm and blocked his passage. “Wait, I know him. I know that man. I’ve seen him hanging around at the garden club. We’ve found him sleeping on a bench a couple mornings in a row. His name is Joseph. He’s a drifter. Worthless, really.” Albert snapped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clicked. “I – you know what I mean.”

  Worthless? Olivia eyed him askance, her cogs ticking furiously.

  “Let’s go back to the dining room,” Jake said. “We’ll wait for the police there. It’s no use hanging around here and, well, staring at him.”

  Olivia, Jake and Albert backtracked out of the hall and toward the dining room. Albert led the way and Jake followed, but Olivia? She hung back and studied the back of Albert’s balding head.