Resort to Death: Murder Just Washed Ashore!: Coppin's Locks Mystery Series, #4

By Lucinda D. Davis

In the midst of an epic force nine storm, Opawonga Resort chef Bertha Lundstrom walked into the depths of the kitchen storeroom and into a noose that killed her.

Resort guests Monica Greenwood and friend Erin O'Malley, now stranded on Indian Island, offer to look into the murder, but minutes after their 'Trash or Treasures' seminar finishes, another body falls to the floor and dies in Erin's arms.

On an island rife with blackmail, jealousy, and people full of fear, they have to act fast before the killer strikes again.

Armed with a few photos, old newspaper reports, and a cookbook full of baking and blackmail, the girls must weave together crimes from the past and crimes of the present. Is the killer the jealous head of housekeeping, two employees facing blackmail, or the guest who is a real fish out of water?

Can they pull the elusive threads together and flush out the killer before more people succumb to the murderer's obsessions.

Resort to Death is suspenseful, awash with island secrets and island life. Interesting and quirky characters reveal that the past never disappears completely and may return when least expected!

One reader commented: I think this is a terrific book, extremely well done and well written. An intelligent read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucinda D. Davis
• Release date: Jan 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524269784

Lucinda D. Davis

About the Author Lucinda D. Davis has been reading and loving mystery stories since she was old enough to haunt the narrow rows of books at the small Quebec, Canada village library where she spent her summers. After decades of penning ad copy, marketing, and writing for horse sport magazines, she decided to do what people had been telling her to do for years: write some books! She presently lives in a small hamlet on the beautiful Rideau Canal in Ontario, Canada. Her living room view looks out over the locks and waterways. This idyllic setting replete with friends, and more than a few interesting characters inspired her Boddington Bay series of short 'coffee break' cozy mysteries. Her longer Coppin's Lock series brings England to the Canadian countryside! The stories introduce readers to a trendy town in Ontario, Canada that could have been plucked from the English landscape, quirky characters included! Take the essential and quintessential British tea shop, pub and antique shop, throw in two female sleuths, add a Police Chief left shaking his head and you've got the ideal cozy mystery. While the girls may roam from home from time to time, their hearts are firmly set in Coppin's Locks! Visit her website at http://www.lucindadavisauthor.com and Like her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/Lucinda-D-Davis-637648859641784/

Book preview

Visit my website at

https://www.lucindadavisauthor.com/

and like me on Facebook

Chapter Index

Chapter 1 – The Perfect Storm and Ideal Murder

Chapter 2 – Too Many Cooks

Chapter 3 – Secrets of the Dead

Chapter 4 – What is Food to One

Chapter 5 – Midnight Madness

Chapter 6 – Belladonna

Chapter 7 – The Jealous Are Troublesome

Chapter 8 – New Beginnings, Happy Endings.

Other Books in this Series

About the Author

Chapter 1 – The Perfect Storm and Ideal Murder.

Ida Matheson was very agitated. In the ten years she had been coming to the Opawonga Resort she had never waited this long for her rib eye steak. It is, she had instructed the nervous young waitress at precisely 7:30 pm, to be cooked medium rare, not a minute more or less. The vegetables must be ‘al dente’, not mushy and on the slightly crisp side. The mashed potatoes must be whipped so that there are no lumps.

Satisfied that she has made herself perfectly clear, she settled her large frame back in her dining room chair that groaned alarmingly under the weight. At 7:55 she began to shift impatiently in her seat and stared crossly at a young child two tables over who was sticking out his tongue at her. When she was a child, children ate with a nanny; seen and not heard!  

At 8:15 Ida was getting decidedly irritated and leaned over to speak to the young man who sat partially hidden behind a post at a table for one. Shocking service, she said angrily, I have never waited so long for my meal. Don’t you agree young man?

Yes, I agree. The man spoke breathlessly, running his hand through his short wet, blond hair. Very poor service indeed!

Ida thought she might have found a kindred spirit in this attractive man who understood about correct social standards until she saw that besides wet hair, his pants and shoes were wet and muddy, and his sweater was stained with damp patches. She reconsidered her opinion, sniffed quietly and decided to ignore him. A few minutes later, when her small gold watch showed 8:20, she could contain herself no longer.

She waved her white linen table napkin above her head as if whipping away flies and called shrilly, Girl, waitress! I want to know where is my dinner? I have been coming here for years and I have never waited this....

She stopped speaking as she saw the tall and competent resort owner and manager Pamela Wilson walk quickly past her towards the kitchen doors and disappear. Surely Mrs. Wilson must have seen and heard her, and yet she had left the dining room without coming over to speak to her. How impertinent!

Pamela ignored the woman’s cries and once out of sight, she dropped her ‘guest face’ as it was known and looked around the kitchen. The sous chef Iris had taken over the cooking and was struggling with the orders. Waitresses, helpers, salad chefs, and dishwashers were rushing, cooking, cleaning and arranging plates.

Where has Bertha gone? demanded Pamela wringing her hands in agitation. She never goes out for a break when it’s this busy. Adam, Jenna, have you seen her?

Two heads hovering over salad bowls shook without looking up and returned to work.

Ryan, did you see her leave?

The prep chef Ryan answered as he stood over his cutting board. There was a phone call about twenty-five minutes ago. She told me to finish the veg chopping and she went to the basement.

Basement thought Pamela, now why would she go to the basement herself? One of the junior staff would be sent to get supplies and ingredients. And who would be silly enough to call a chef right in the middle of a peak mealtime.

Pamela headed towards a large door leading to the basement and storeroom. She flicked on the light and marched down the creaking wooden stairs into the cool depths that smelt slightly musty and damp. At the bottom she pulled a chain attached to a light bulb fixture in the ceiling and the light swung back and forth sending bizarre shadows into the far corners of the room. She squinted and looked to her right. What on earth was Bertha doing sitting alone at the old wooden staff table? Pamela moved forward with a dry mouth, pounding heart and a rising feeling of dread until she was a few feet from Bertha.  Around the woman’s neck was a yellow polypropylene rope pulled so tight that her eyes were bulging. On the table was an old black and white photo, now yellowed with age, showing a young boy of about six and a little girl of two. Slowly, as Pamela watched in horror, Bertha Lundstrom slipped sideways on her chair, slowly at first and then faster. She made no effort to save herself as she fell with a sickening thud on the hard cement floor. Pamela knew then without a doubt that her head chef was dead, and that Ida Matheson’s rib eye steak would be very late indeed that night.

As Bertha Lundstrom’s soul was making its way to heaven, Leo Nixon, the resort’s boatman, was at the helm of the Lady Opie coping with his own turbulence on the waters of Indian Lake. With him were Monica Goodwood and Erin O’Malley, best friends and owners of Rocking Horse Antiques. The store, situated in the quaint but trendy village of Coppin’s Locks in Ontario, Canada, was a magnet for tourists. They thronged to buy at The British Shoppe, stay at Chimney’s B&B, eat at Bonita’s Tea Shop and Bakery, and enjoy a beer or glass or wine at the Thirsty Toad Pub. Today the girls were braving a storm on their way to speak at an antiques seminar called, ‘Trash or Treasure?’ Their destination was the Opawonga Resort on Indian Island, part of the famous Thousand Islands straddling the US-Canada border in the St. Lawrence River.

The tumultuous waters spoke of long-term foul weather ahead, and the rain, as if on command, began to sweep across the water sideways in cold aggressive bursts, hard enough to sting the eyes and soak the skin in seconds.

You girls will be soaked in second if you stay up top, yelled Leo above the screaming winds. This storm is moving fast starting from down near Toronto and moving east. Both the Canadian and the American side in New York state are getting nailed.

The girls went below into the cabin and braced themselves as the boat rocked and bucked in the waves and chop. From the cabin they peered out at the resort barely visible but getting closer in the gloom, its tall chimneys standing proud against the angry, grey sky. Opawonga Resort, once known affectionately as the Grande Lady of Indian Lake, welcomed all with her distinct yellow wooden siding and red railings, once no doubt bright and fresh, but now faded and suffering from the ravages of time and trespass. Outside Leo pulled his oilskin a little tighter and braced himself against the wind, trying hard to keep the boat on course and hoping that the dock lights would show up quickly to help guide him to the pier.

Well, I was hoping for sunshine and warm waters, but this is apparently what Mother Nature has sent us, said Monica with a grimace, rubbing her leg that was pinned in six places after a horse-riding accident a few years back. She had been an Olympic level rider and Erin had been her manager; together they had travelled the world competing at horse shows. Then the accident put a stop to that life and lifestyle, and they accepted the inevitable change, settled down in Coppin’s Locks and opened up an antiques store. Her leg was as good as a weatherman, it ached painfully in wet, damp weather, and a cane was her constant companion.

Erin, feeling a familiar and unwelcome unease come upon her, was silent. She knew, as soon as she had stepped on the boat twenty minutes earlier that their weekend was not going to be plain sailing. But, for the moment she said nothing and hoped for once that she might be wrong.

The resort pier appeared slowly before Leo, but he knew that docking single handed wasn’t going to be easy. Suddenly a shape appeared on the wharf in the gathering gloom and Leo was able to toss the bow rope to the proffered hand.

Thanks, Sean, shouted Leo as the two men managed to secure the boat, though nothing could stop it rocking violently in the storm. Leo poked his head into the cabin, We’ll wait just a bit till the rain lets up. I’ll be back.

Fifteen minutes later there was a break in the incessant downpour and Leo and Sean helped the two girls carry their bags and small suitcases up the winding path over the rolling lawns to the back door of the resort. They ducked under the porch just as another wet salvo descended, and lightening lit up the sky with a noisy backdrop of thunder.

Dripping with water, the foursome approached the front desk. Leo and Sean put down the suitcases, said their goodbyes and left, and Erin rang the small bell and waited for another few moments. Finally, Monica and Erin turned to see a woman rushing over towards them.

Welcome to the Opawonga Resort. My name is Pamela Wilson, owner, and manager, said the willowy tall woman in her mid-40s with a jet black fashionably cut hair. Oh, you must be Monica and Erin, and I bet you are wet, and cold and hungry, she said with a forced smile. We’re going to do everything we can to make your antiques presentation a success.

Erin looked at the woman’s hands and saw that they were shaking.

Pamela are you all right, she asked as her sixth sense went into high gear. Something was wrong here.

Oh, dear yes. The chef is not well, not well at all.

Is there anything we can do to help? asked Monica with genuine concern.

Pamela reached into a drawer, pulled out some keys and said, "It’s my problem. I won’t bother you with the details. Now, I have put you here in