EXCERPT

 THIRD CRIME’S THE CHARM

A Charm Island Mystery - Book Two

CHAPTER ONE

Hangers scraped across rods as I browsed for clothes with my BFF Alice, a cat, and my fiancé’s ghost—though whether I should still call Nolan my fiancé was a sensitive subject. For all my fears of returning home to Charm Island, it had been no sweat to slip back into normal life. Okay, shopping with a cat was a first for me. Shopping with a ghost, however, was not. Lucky me.

Alice and I flicked through new and secondhand designs, seeking the perfect uniform for her baking business, an idea I’d lovingly nudged her into—well, more like shoved. After being MIA for five years, I’d vowed to make it up to my loved ones. First on the list: help Alice fulfill all her baking dreams.

She held up a plain blouse for me to see. “Hey, Violet. What about this one?”

I pursed my lips. It did nothing for her porcelain skin or dark brown hair. She needed something that popped. “It doesn’t say you’re selling delicious baked goods. More like you’re selling insurance.” I took it from her and faced it toward the little black cat lounging on a pile of folded angora sweaters. “What do you think, Zelda?”

She yawned and flicked her tail before readjusting herself to display her backside. If the owner of the consignment store took offense at Zelda’s opinion, she kept it to herself. Nor did she seem to mind the feline hanging around. Then again, she had three of her own cats lolling in scarf baskets and knocking hats off shelves. I assumed they were the inspiration for the shop’s name: Mew to You. It meant you had to defur anything you purchased, but it made for a happier shopping experience.

When I moved to the next rack, I found Nolan’s ethereal form hanging out in the middle of it. Since the dim lighting made him appear almost solid, it looked like he wore the top he stood behind. It was a lacy red number with a plunging neckline.

He flicked his caramel-colored hair dramatically. “How do I look?”

A surprised snort escaped me, loud in the quiet store. Startled, an orange tabby cat wailed and leaped off a nearby shoe display, knocking over a pair of suede stilettos. I snatched the top off the rack before Nolan sent me into a fit of giggles. In a small town, one could only talk to their cat and laugh to themselves so much before people started to wonder.

Alice gaped at the shirt. “I don’t think that’s the right look either. It says I’m selling more than baked goods, if you know what I mean.”

I replaced the racy top. “You’re right. I’m not sure what I was thinking.” I flashed Nolan a warning look that told him to knock it off.

Stepping out of the rack, he straightened the three-piece suit he’d died in, a step up from the lacy red shirt. While he appeared dashing 24/7, it made me hope that if I ever wound up as a ghost, it would be in my loungewear.

He strolled over to another shirt and presented it with a grand sweep of his hand. “Might I interest you in the new arrivals section?”

Turning to eye the shirt, I pressed my lips together, prepared for his usual silliness. But actually, his pick wasn’t a bad choice.

I showed it to Alice. “What about this one? The black button-up style says you’re a serious professional, while the pink polka dots and puffy sleeves say ‘seriously fun!’ Plus there are several of them, so you can buy a few to have backups.”

Her hazel eyes lit up. “It would match my branding perfectly.”

“Branding?” I arched a quizzical eyebrow.

“I’ve been studying marketing tips online. Like you said, I’m a serious professional now. I’ve got business cards and everything. I’m still working on my website, though, so it’s not available to the public.”

She pulled out her phone and brought up a web page. Batch of the Day scrolled across the top in a cheerful font, accompanied by a cupcake on the end of a fishing line, fitting right in with the town’s marine-related theme. It rested against a black header with, yup, bubblegum-pink polka dots.

“It looks great,” I gushed. “I can’t believe how much you’ve accomplished with your busy schedule. If you ever need me to take anything off your plate, you only have to ask.”

She tucked her phone away. “I’ve got it covered. You have enough to worry about, what with helping your dad at the jewelry shop and settling back in. I mean, this is the first time you’ve returned since… you know.”

Since my fiancé’s car veered off a cliff, taking his life, nearly ending mine, and leaving me with the ability to communicate with ghosts? Yeah, I did know, but I shrugged it off, especially because my friend wasn’t aware of the last one. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine. Besides, it’s not like I have anything else going on.”

Nolan cleared his throat. “No. Nothing at all. Certainly not solving my murder.”

I suppressed a wince as guilt stabbed me in the heart. I’d get to Nolan’s case. Soon. I just had a lot to do for my more-alive loved ones since time was literally still ticking for them.

Alice clicked her tongue. “You’ve already done so much for me. In fact, I never would have started Batch of the Day if not for your encouragement.”

“If not for my arm-twisting, you mean.” I ducked my head, sorry but also not sorry.

“Much-appreciated arm-twisting.” She turned her attention back to the polka dot shirt and flipped over the price tag. “Ouch. On second thought, I’ll pass. I’ve already spent too much setting up the business. I’ll wear something I have in my closet for now.”

She returned it to the rack, but I didn’t miss how she cast one more longing look over her shoulder before we exited the shop.

Our lunch breaks nearly over, Alice and I headed for Spread the Word, where she worked full time as the only baker on staff. I couldn’t tell if Nolan was with us, since the midday sun was out in full force, and light altered my ability to see spirits clearly. However, I didn’t doubt he was following me. He did that a lot, whether I wanted him to or not.

As we walked along the boardwalk that connected the entire downtown core, Zelda accompanied us, darting between our legs. At the next intersection, she veered toward the marina.

“Tired of shopping already?” I called after her.

She fixed me with a bored look. I have better things to do. Since she could control who “heard” her telepathy, to anyone else, it would have sounded something like “Meow.”

“We both know all you’re going to do is lie around and lick yourself.”

As I said, better things. She skittered off, tail held high.

Alice watched me, amusement dancing in her eyes. “I don’t know what’s stranger. That you talk to a cat so often or how she actually seems to understand you.”

I forced a laugh. Nothing to see here, folks. Just an ordinary pet.

In reality, Zelda was a familiar—not my familiar, which she loved to rub in my face. She was Nolan’s, since he’d been a witch in life. Or a warlock, I supposed. I hadn’t learned about all that stuff yet, much to the eternal frustration of Helen, my mentor. Unfortunately, since she was my next-door neighbor, I couldn’t avoid my powers forever. As much as I wanted to.

We rounded the corner onto Beluga Boulevard, and a woman’s raised voice carried through the air. I searched for the source and recognized the owner of I Knead Bread right away. Even from behind, Ingrid was easy to spot by her red hair that could only be found in a box. Also, the floury apron still tied around her waist was a dead giveaway.

Fists on her hips, she stood behind a delivery truck, shouting through the open back door. “Where are they? Huh? What did you do with my supplies?” Her voice had a crumbly texture to it, like the shortbread she sold during the holidays.

When we got closer, I peered inside the truck. An exasperated man stacked boxes onto a dolly, muttering something under his breath. He flicked aside strands of hair that had fallen out of his bun and wheeled his delivery down the metal ramp.

“I told you, lady. They’re not in my truck. I don’t know what you want me to do.” To end the conversation, he steered his dolly toward the coffee shop, Full of Beans.

She planted herself in his path and thrust out her arms in a terrible impression of a starfish. “I know he has them. Admit it. How much did he pay you?”

Alice and I slowed to watch the confrontation—there wasn’t much to do in Hope, so we found our entertainment where we could. As the delivery guy darted around her, I had to leap out of the way before he ran over my foot.

Ingrid stomped after him as if testing the boardwalk’s structural integrity. She clipped me on the shoulder as she passed. I stared after her in disbelief until the shop’s door closed, muffling her complaints.

Alice faced me with wide eyes. “What was that about?”

“I’m not sure.” Brushing it off as Ingrid being her usual antagonistic self, I contemplated the delivery vehicle. “What about a food truck?”

“We just ate. You can’t be hungry again.”

“No. Okay, yes. I was planning to grab some muffins from the bakery.” I waved it off. “What I mean is you should buy a food truck for your business. It might be cheaper than renting a storefront. What do you think?”

She shook her head at me and continued down the boardwalk. “I think you’re more obsessed with my business than I am. And I’m not ready for that. Besides, I was only going to specialize in cakes. That way, I’d take orders in advance, and I won’t be in direct competition with Spread the Word.”

“Really?” I stared at her. “Don’t get me wrong. Your cakes are works of art, but you can do so much more than that. Your cookies are swoonworthy, and your macarons are…” I made an unintelligible noise as I reminisced about her last batch: salted brown sugar and caramel. “And who cares if you’re competing with the bakery? Isn’t that the point?”

Alice slowed as we approached her workplace, keeping her voice hushed. “Well, I do still bake for Roman.”

“Wait…” I wedged myself between her and the door. “You still haven’t told him about your new business, have you?”

She drew me aside like we were talking about something scandalous, not baked goods. “I was waiting for the right moment. I just know what he’s like, and I’m afraid he’ll overreact.”

“Who cares what that man thinks?” I crossed my arms. “He treats you like garbage while he lines his overstuffed pockets with your talent. You are the best baker on Charm Island. No, in the world. It’s time you have your cake and eat it too.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

I frowned. Was I overstepping or pushing too hard again? “Isn’t that what you want?”

She giggled. “I do. I was groaning at your joke. And I know you’re right, but I need more time.”

Alice worried so much about helping everyone else that sometimes she put herself last, even after a terrible boss like Roman. But I didn’t push the issue. She’d worked at the bakery since high school. It was her second home, almost literally since she spent so much time there. Who was I to come in after a five-year absence and yank her out of her comfort zone? Once she had her business up and running, she’d see she was better off. Until then, maintaining a safe, stable job might be exactly what she needed.

As Alice opened the door to the bakery, footsteps thundered down the boardwalk behind us.

“Move it or lose it,” ordered a harsh voice.

We leaped aside as Ingrid blew past us and through the open door. She’d barely stepped inside before she started yelling.

“Roman, you lowlife! You rotten, cheating thief! You’re a dead man!”

Okay. Maybe Spread the Word wasn’t so safe after all.

CHAPTER TWO

Alice and I followed the trail of Ingrid’s vicious insults into the bakery, squeezing past a line of people that snaked from the counter to the door. Lucy Litton, a reporter for The Siren, stood near the back. She scowled at me as though I were cutting in front of her at a popular club. I pointed to Alice in an I’m-with-the-band gesture and stood off to the side. While I’d wait until the crowd cleared to buy my muffins, I wanted a front-row seat for whatever was about to go down.

The interior was dim despite the sunny day. The awning above the front window blocked the afternoon rays, and all the lights were off. For a moment, I blamed Charm Island’s quaint habit of rolling blackouts. However, the display cases still glowed, highlighting a colorful array of treats. The owner must have relished cutting corners on bills just as much as he did on employee wages.

Thanks to the mood lighting, I could see Nolan again. He joined the lineup as if waiting to buy some goodies. I wondered if he was trying to lighten the mood or if he’d forgotten why he was there. Sometimes, it seemed he did things out of human habit, like when he covered his mouth to sneeze. And come to think of it, why would a ghost need to sneeze?

Alice hurried past a fuming Ingrid and rounded the counter, where her boss, Roman, was working for once. The robust sixty-year-old was tall, with muscles that said he could still win a bar fight at Killer Ale. As he hunched over the cash register, pecking the buttons uncertainly, he resembled a gorilla attempting to thread a needle.

Ingrid tapped the toe of her sneaker on the black-and-white tile floor. He completely ignored her as he finished helping a customer. It only aggravated the bread maker more, her foot beating faster in an aggressive tap dance.

Finally, she rapped on the display case to get his attention. “I haven’t got all day, Roman. You’ve got some nerve. Where is it?”

He stared at her as a bull would a fly. “Where is what? My nerve?”

“You know what. My supply shipment. I was supposed to receive it this morning, like everyone else on the island. Only it never showed up. I spoke with the delivery guy, and he says it’s not on the truck, but I bet you received yours.”

“I did,” Roman said, his tone mocking. “Thank you very much for your concern.”

She pointed a flour-caked finger at him. “How much did you pay him to get your hands on my goods?”

He leveled her with a flat look. “I can assure you I want nothing to do with your goods. That was twenty years ago. Get over it.”

A few chuckles rose from the waiting patrons, but when Ingrid wheeled on them, her round cheeks flushing, the snickers died. People quickly averted their gazes, suddenly engrossed in their phones. Lucy held hers up, likely recording the interaction, and by the way she licked her lips, the blond craved a tasty story more than a cookie.

Ingrid smoothed the front of her apron before turning back to Roman. “You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Laying his palms on the countertop, he leaned closer. “If you want to know where your stuff is, take it up with your supplier.”

Alice finished washing her hands and donned an apron. Quiet as a mouse, she grabbed a pair of tongs and squeezed beside him.

Roman shifted his glare to her. “Where have you been?” Not giving her a chance to answer, he snatched the tongs from her. “Take over the till. I can’t get it to work. There’s something wrong with it.”

Ingrid leaned closer to me and stage-whispered so the whole place could hear. “More like there’s something wrong with the operator.”

Giving her a half-hearted smile, I took a step back and joined a woman waiting for her order in the dark corner. While I was content to stay and watch the show, I didn’t want to take part. Alice wasn’t wrong about Roman’s tendency to overreact. If I got lumped in with Ingrid, the man might ban me from his establishment along with her. Then where would I buy my carrot ginger muffins?

Alice switched places with Roman and rang the customer through in under fifteen seconds. “What happened to Caitlin? Did she go home sick?”

“She quit on me. Can you believe it? Said working here isn’t worth minimum wage.” He closed his eyes in exasperation. “Young people these days.”

Ingrid snorted. “What? Roman Fedoro can’t handle a woman’s rejection?”

Apparently, a jab at his prowess with the opposite sex was the way to push his buttons. He held up palms the size of bear claws—the baked kind, not the furry kind. “It wasn’t my fault. Is it illegal to compliment a woman these days?”

I scoffed. That depended on the “compliment.”

“Can’t win ’em all. Can you, Roman?” Ingrid said then raised her voice to yell at an older man near the back of the line. “Ain’t that right, Milton?!”

I thought she was seeking support from others in the room. However, when the man named Milton lowered the brim of his hat as though he hoped it would eat him whole, there seemed to be more to the comment. Ingrid cackled like they were sharing a joke, but the flush across his dark cheeks said he didn’t appreciate her particular brand of humor.

Roman planted a meaty fist on his hip. “Was there something else you wanted, Ingrid? Or did you just want to blame me for your inability to run a business? Because if you’re quite done, I have a prosperous bakery to run.” He gestured to the waiting customers. “Not that you’d know what that looks like.”

Her mouth opened and closed until she resembled a shocked fish out of water, lips quivering with all the insults fighting to be first out.

Lucy’s eyebrows shot up, and some of the other patrons shifted, probably rethinking their need for carbs. Nolan appeared uncomfortable, too, which was odd, considering no one else but me could see him.

I eyed the woman hiding in the darkened corner with me. She tugged on the salt-and-pepper braid that hung to her waist, looking desperate for her order so she could get out of there. When she met my gaze, she did a double take like she recognized me.

Though her face didn’t ring a bell, she might have seen me around in the past. There weren’t many people on the island with natural red hair like mine, so I was hard to miss. I gave her a smile, and her lip twitched before she refocused on the dramatic scene.

When Ingrid couldn’t settle on a scathing response, Roman waved up the next person in line. “How can I help you?”

A willowy woman in a pencil skirt sashayed to the glass case and held out a crisp, white paper. “I believe it is I who can help you.” Her melodic voice lilted with a heavy and seductive French accent. While she could have easily passed for thirty, her timeless beauty might have landed her around ten years older than that.

Roman took the paper and read. “Colette Roche… This is a résumé?”

“I’m applying for a position as head baker. I trained at the La Pâtisserie Dorée in Paris and studied under the tutelage of the renowned pastry chef Pierre Dubois.”

He blinked at her as if trying to translate what she’d said, even though she’d spoken perfect English. “But can you bake?”

Her long eyelashes fluttered like she was suppressing an eye roll. “Oui. I can bake.”

“Well, I don’t need another baker. So unless you operate a till, I’ve got no work for you.”

As he handed back the résumé, she hesitated before taking it. Her sharp eyebrows arched as if she wasn’t used to hearing no.

Ingrid cut in. “I’d take her on if I were you, Roman. You go through bakers like you go through women. You’ve never treated your staff right, and now, even kind Alice has had enough of you.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

A loud clatter pierced the air as Alice dropped a customer’s change on the counter. With shaking hands, she scrambled to gather it while trying to signal Ingrid to stop.

Oblivious, the bread baker raised her nose in the air, pleased as her famous cherry pie. “She’s obviously had enough abuse from you. I saw the website for her new business this morning. People only come to this dump for Alice’s baking, and now, you’re going to lose her along with all your customers.”

Roman’s face reddened. The plastic tongs in his large hand snapped, breaking into several pieces. The color drained from Alice’s cheeks until it looked like she’d face-dived into a pile of flour. As the tension skyrocketed, three customers mumbled excuses and left. Not Lucy, obviously.

My stomach shriveled, and I fumbled in my pocket for my phone. I typed in Batch of the Day’s website address. A few seconds later, my screen filled with pink polka dots. Alice’s not-yet-public website—or so she’d thought. She must have made it accessible without meaning to.

Ingrid aimed a wink at Alice, as though they were on the same team. When she caught sight of my friend’s expression, her smug attitude faltered.

She glanced from Roman to Alice and back again. “But… surely, you knew about it. You can’t take advantage of your employees and expect them to stick around.”

He huffed a breath through his flared nostrils, but his tone remained eerily calm. “Oh, indeed. I wouldn’t want anyone to stick around if they’re not happy in my employment.”

Alice fidgeted with her apron. “I haven’t even opened for business yet. It’s only in the beginning stages. I was going to tell you—”

“When?!” he bellowed, causing everyone remaining in the store to jump. “After you stole my customers out from under me?”

“No,” she squeaked. “I’m just going to bake cakes, so I wouldn’t compete with you at all.”

“After everything I’ve done for you over the years.” He pressed a thick hand to his chest. “I’ve provided you with a steady job and good pay.”

Unable to stand by any longer, I stomped to the counter. “And she works hard in return, but you take advantage of her. You have her coming in twice a day, seven days a week, and she sees nothing for the overtime since you pay her a ‘salary.’” I made air quotes with my fingers.

“It’s true.” Alice’s head bobbed. “I’ve hardly had a real day off in months.”

He barked a laugh. “That’s the thanks I get for giving you a raise?”

Ingrid wagged a finger. “Don’t you gaslight her. This is your own doing. Same old Roman. You never change!”

Alice yanked off her apron and threw it at his chest. “She’s right. You push everyone around and convince them to thank you for it. You’re a bully. And you can’t make a ready-to-bake cookie to save your life. You don’t deserve my baking or the customers who eat it, and I’ll happily take them from you.”

I stared at my normally soft-spoken friend in shock. “Bravo.”

“You’re welcome to try, but I have a pastry chef from Paris now.” Roman held out a hand to the French woman who’d been watching the interaction with indifference. “Let me see that résumé again. Turns out I do have an opening for a baker.” His too-white teeth flashed. “And I think we’ll add cake to the menu.”

Alice grabbed her purse and stormed out from behind the counter. Her red-rimmed eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she held her delicate chin high. I linked my arm through hers in solidarity, and we marched for the exit.

As we passed through the door, Roman’s voice carried out after us. “In case it isn’t clear, Alice, you’re fired!”