Death at the Day Lily Cafe: A Rosalie Hart Mystery

By Wendy Sand Eckel

Rosalie Hart returns to the Chesapeake Bay in this delightful mystery series filled with to-die-for-recipes and small-town charm. 

 

Longer version: Rosalie Hart has finally opened the café of her dreams. Decked out with ochre-tinted walls and stocked with delicious farm-to-table organic fare, the Day Lily Café is everythin

• Language: English
• Publisher: Level Best Books
• Release date: May 27, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685121334

Wendy Sand Eckel

Wendy Sand Eckel is the award-winning author of the Rosalie Hart Mystery Series. Holiday-themed Killer in a Winter Wonderland, is the fourth in the series. Her mystery series has been awarded 'Best Cozy' by Suspense magazine and Mystery at Windswept Farm, the third book in the series, made the humorous novel bestseller list on Amazon. A trained life coach, Wendy writes the advice column for the Maryland Writers' Association newsletter and enjoys mentoring aspiring authors. She lives in a small town on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, a unique and quirky part of the country, which is also the setting for her series. In addition to her husband, she lives with two male orange tabbies, Frodo and Sam, who her daughter rescued from a soybean field. She loves to cook and is happiest when her kitchen is filled with friends and family and the table is brimming with savory food and wine.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Day Lily Café

Rosalie Hart: Join us at The Day Lily Café Thursday for our Grand Opening. Enjoy a complimentary cinnamon muffin with any coffee purchase. Open for breakfast and lunch, 7:00 - 3:00.

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Annie Hart: Yay Mom!!!!!! I’m so proud. : )

Tony Ricci: Good job, princess, but for crying out loud, stop giving away free stuff

Janice Tilghman: Way to go, Rose Red. Way cool.

Mr. Miele’s high-pitched beep signaled the first batch of French Roast had finished brewing. I cinched my robe and trotted down the narrow stairs of my two-hundred-year-old farmhouse bequeathed to me by my beloved Aunt Charlotte. The breaking dawn lightened the sky to navy blue, bringing the shapes of the various objects in my kitchen into focus. The glowing green clock of my treasured coffee bistro read 5:00.

Boot stomps on the front steps announced Tyler’s arrival. After removing two mugs from hooks under the cabinet, I rolled my shoulders back and smiled. I’d done it. I opened a café, and Tyler and I had the organic produce to provision it. He had been swamped with the farm lately, and I spent all day, every day planning menus, prepping, and shopping for the best ingredients I could find—ideally local and organic. As a result, Tyler and I only saw one another for a brief shared coffee in the morning and an exhausted hi/good-bye in the evening.

We first met the day he appeared in the lane leading to my new residence, visibly annoyed at my neglect of the property for the previous two years and anxious to get the fields working again. But over the past year and a half, he had become a dear and trusted companion.

Just in time. I spun around, a wide grin on my face. I’m so nervous I couldn’t sleep.

That’s understandable. He accepted the mug. Early morning sunlight streamed in the window, irradiating his emerald eyes. His hair was freshly washed, the sandy blond contrasting with his tanned skin.

We did this together. You and me.

He walked over to the sugar canister. That’s not really true. He pulled open the silverware drawer.

Sure it is, I said. You grow most of the produce. You help me with the flowers and herbs. And what about the eggs? They all come from our own free-range, fat, happy chickens.

Speaking of chickens. He turned to face me, but avoided my eyes. A hawk got one yesterday. I tried to stop it.

And?

I was too late.

Oh, no. How awful. I gripped my mug tighter. Which one? It wasn’t Scheherazade, I hope.

Tyler shook his head. I told you not to name them.

I can’t help it. They have such distinct personalities. I searched his face. It was her, wasn’t it?

No. It was one of the bantams. Mick Jagger set off the alarm by squawking his heart out. He was trying to protect his hens.

I didn’t know roosters did that. I set my coffee on the counter. See? Chickens are amazing. Thus they deserve names.

Tyler peered into the bread basket. You don’t happen to have any extra muffins, do you?

Those are my trials from yesterday, so please, help yourself. I think they came out pretty good. Did you ever eat cinnamon toast as a kid?

The best.

That was my inspiration. I removed a plate from the cabinet and arranged the muffins in a circle. Will the hawk come back?

For certain. He sipped his coffee. It’s probably out there right now.

I suppressed a shiver. Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you. I tugged my robe tighter around my waist, and walked over to the table. I unfolded a T-shirt and held it up for him to see. Ta dah The tee was a deep forest green with small white letters in the upper left-hand corner that read:

Barclay Meadow

An Organic Farm

Cardigan, MD

I flipped it over. The same words, only in a larger font, spread across the back. Do you like it? I ordered a couple. And I got a few for me, too.

Tyler smiled. I do, actually. Good color.

It will go nicely with your eyes.

I would have been better off not knowing that. Tyler took the shirt from my hands and set his empty mug in the sink. He turned around, his face animated in a rare smile. Good luck today. You’ve worked hard. You deserve to have this success.

Thank you. My heart skipped around in my chest. You know that means the world to me, coming from you.

He lingered a moment and then headed toward the front door. There was no chocolate lab following him today. Getting on in years, Dickens now waited for Tyler under the shade of a sycamore tree in the side yard.

I hurried up the narrow, creaky stairwell. I hung my robe on a hook and slipped into a white blouse, short black skirt, and my favorite pair of wedge heels. Once I had fluffed my hair and added a little makeup, I clasped my mother’s pearls around my neck. I raised my eyes to the ceiling and, as I always did when I put on the pearls, said, Miss you, Mom. Every day, all day. I gave my watchful cat a little pat and was on my way at last.

Chapter Two

Adense mist rose from the Cardigan River as I drove into town. Despite my best efforts, I was running late. I scrolled through my contacts on my hands free phone menu, careful to keep my eye on a pair of cyclists weaving along the road in front of me, and dialed Glenn’s number.

Rosalie, where are you? People are already reading the menu outside.

I’m on my way. Have you started the coffee?

Of course, Glenn said. I felt instantly soothed by his calm, confident tone. He was my path to zen.

There are a couple of bikers in the road in front of me. They must think we Eastern Shore folk have nothing better to do.

Careful, Glenn said. "You’re starting to sound like a native. And I think they prefer the term cyclists."

Has Custer put in the first batch of muffins?

The aroma of that cinnamon is making me salivate.

Thank you, Glenn. I don’t know what I would do without you.

No need to find out. All right, dear. Crystal is setting the tables. She’s doing some fancy thing with the napkins. It looks pretty good. Be safe and remember to share the road.

I ended the call and exhaled a deep breath in an attempt to calm my nerves. I was relieved my employees were ready to start the day. So far I had three: my cook and dishwasher, Custer Wells, Tyler’s wayward nephew who had needed a job; and two wait staff—Crystal Sterling, a young woman who was taking an extended break from her fine-arts education at John Adams College, and my best friend, Glenn, who at the age of seventy-two was able to keep orders in his head, soothe ruffled feathers, and pour a cup of West African blend without spilling a drop.

I stared at the cyclists, willing them to turn. That was a lot of spandex. A little too much information for my taste. One of them pointed to a farm house. The other wobbled as he turned to look at it. I eased off the accelerator. At least the fog was lifting. A lazy flock of ducks flew low over the river, their out of sync quacks piercing the quiet. I sank my teeth into my lower lip. I seemed to be the only one in a hurry this morning.

When the cyclists finally turned down a side road, I gunned the engine—but instantly slammed on the brakes when I noticed Sheriff Wilgus’s cruiser idling on the berm. I slowed to the posted twenty-five miles per hour by the time I passed him. He was scowling, a radar gun at the ready. I gave him a little wave and rounded the corner into town.

Chapter Three

The windows of the Day Lily Café glowed like sun-kissed tangerines in the early morning light as I drove past the front of the restaurant. The café was tucked in a row of store fronts on Main Street, not far from the park in the center of town and just around the corner from Birdie’s Shoe Store. Two large white window boxes flanked the front door filled with an assortment of fragrant herbs. Royal blue awnings piped in white flapped in a gentle breeze. I continued down Main Street and turned into the alley, toward my parking spot behind the café.

I’m here… I called as I passed Custer’s motorcycle and pushed open the door. He had his head out the window, the small butt of a cigarette tight between his fingers.

Custer, please, how many times have I told you to go all the way outside to smoke?

I just needed a couple of puffs. He stubbed out the butt on the windowsill and shoved it in his front pocket. You’re late.

I know. Don’t forget to wash your hands.

Yes, boss.

I ignored his sarcasm and tied a short turquoise apron behind my back. Have you started the potato cakes?

He shook his head as he lathered his hands. Too soon.

I studied him. Today would be a test of us all, individually and as a team. Although we a had done a cold open a few weeks ago in order to work out any kinks, I’d chosen Memorial Day weekend for our grand opening. Cardigan would be overrun with tourists from DC, Philly, and Maryland’s western shore on the opposite side of the Chesapeake Bay.

I watched as Custer dunked a paper towel into the trash as if it were a basketball. At twenty-four, he was illegally handsome, with chiseled features not unlike his Uncle Tyler. Thick brown hair jutted out of a black-and-white bandana tied around the top of his head. His eyes were mesmerizing, with light-colored irises centered in a pool of deep green.

You going to be okay? I said.

I could use a few eggs.

Oh, my gosh. They’re still in the trunk. Here. I tossed him my car keys.

A smile crept up his face as he looked down at the keys cradled in his palm. I drove a sporty red Mercedes convertible, a fortieth-birthday gift from my now ex-husband, and had never felt comfortable in it.

Don’t get any ideas. I put my hands on my hips. You know, Custer, Tyler won’t tell me why you needed this job so desperately. But he did say something about a probation officer.

Nobody was wronged. Nothing got stolen. He closed his fingers over the keys. I guess that’s all you need to know.

I watched him walk out the door. With his good looks and sassy attitude, Custer could very well be Tyler’s son and not his nephew. Maybe Tyler had a few secrets of his own.

I pushed through the swivel doors and stopped in my tracks as a wave of happiness washed over me. The room glowed, its ocher-tinted walls as warm and inviting as a Tuscan hillside. The tables sported turquoise-and-white floral cloths with small white toppers; the honey-colored wood floors shone in the light streaming in the front windows.

Hello, my dear. Glenn approached wearing our standard uniform: black slacks, crisp white shirt, and his own turquoise apron around his waist, with pockets to accommodate order pads, tips, and straws. Glad you could make it, he said and winked.

Today of all days. I smiled. Thanks for getting things started. I set a bucket full of fresh flowers onto the dark marble counter, which hosted a row of eight high-backed chairs. Two industrial-sized Miele coffee systems sparkled along the wall, ready for action. I lifted a snowy white peony out of the bucket. Water clung to its stem, the flower having recently burst open into a display of velvety petals.

I swear, Glenn, between gathering eggs, snipping herbs, and cutting flowers, I’m lucky to get here when I did. Oh, and did I mention the rooster who is in need of a sleeping aid?

Mick Jagger?

"The one and only. Although Tyler has started calling him stud muffin Same difference, I guess."

Glenn chuckled as he pulled two more flowers out of the bucket. You’re here now, and I’m looking forward to the morning. He smiled over at me. It’s going to be the best debut this town has ever seen. Glenn snipped the stems and dropped several more peonies into a glass vase.

Crystal emerged from the ladies room, and after tucking her cloth bag under the counter, strolled over to us. Her black slacks sat low on her hips. A long, brown braid hung down her back exposing an intricate Celtic tattoo encircling the back of her ear.

Hi, Sweetie, I said. Are you ready for the big day?

I’m cool. She cocked her head. You all right?

Never been better.

At twenty-six, Crystal had translucent skin and dark eyes that she adorned with thick navy liner. She clutched the chunk of golden amber she wore around her neck, smoothing it with her thumb. I just got a weird feeling. Is everything okay?

Oh my goodness, yes. I patted her arm. I’m sorry I was late. I think I’m still a little frazzled. I glanced at the clock. Ten minutes to opening.

Rosalie. Glenn nudged my arm. Doris Bird is at the door.

I followed his gaze. Doris, proprietor of Birdie’s Shoe Store and a dear friend who had helped me out more than once, including bailing me out of jail last year, had her hands cupped around her eyes, peering in at us. An uncharacteristic frown was set hard on her face. Oh my, I said, and hurried over to let her in.

Chapter Four

Glenn went to fetch Doris a cup of coffee while I escorted her to the counter. She perched on one of the high chairs at the bar and gazed around as if to orient herself.

Doris? I said. What’s happened?

She pushed her thick glasses up her nose. I brought you your paper. She handed me the Washington Post folded under her arm. I figured you wouldn’t have time to pick it up today.

Thank you. I set it aside. Who’s watching the store?

My granddaughter, Ellie Sue. She can’t work the credit card machine yet but she can count money pretty good.

Glenn set a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. Doris, he said, you seem upset.

She nodded and gazed over at me. I need your help, Miss Rosalie. My baby sister, Lori, is in a heap of trouble and you’re the first person I thought of. You did such a good job figuring out who killed that college girl last year, I thought maybe you could help us.

Glenn and I exchanged a look. Crystal hummed while she folded napkins but I knew she was listening. What kind of trouble?

She looked down at her lap and tugged her printed dress over her knees. CJ, her husband oftwenty-five years, was killed last night. She looked up, her forehead lined with worry.

Oh, I said. I’m so sorry. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Crystal frantically sliding a finger across her neck, signaling me to cut the conversation short.

I can’t imagine who could do such a thing. Doris frowned. Problem is the sheriff has decided Lori is the one who killed him.

And you’re certain she didn’t? Glenn said.

Doris looked surprised at Glenn’s question. She says she didn’t. I mean, I believe her, of course. Lori is a lamb. She never even raised a hand to swat at a fly.

It’s seven o’clock, Crystal sang. And we have customers.

Doris pushed herself off the stool. I won’t keep you. I know this is your big day. Her eyes darted around. I had never seen her so nervous. I’ll be sending folks over here. I have a stack of your menus on the counter.

"Doris—I took her hand in mine. I have no idea how I can be of help to you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try."

Rosalie… Glenn said, narrowing his eyes with a warning look.

I wasn’t sure if Glenn was concerned about me neglecting the cafe or getting into trouble, or maybe both, but I felt indebted to Doris for all she had done to help me over the past year. Can we get together after I close? Oh, and let me pour your coffee into a paper cup so you can take it back to the store.

I don’t suppose you would stop by Lori’s house with me. The sheriff let her go last night, but she’s still pretty shook up.

All right, I said, trying to ignore the million things I would need to do once we closed at three.

Welcome to the Day Lily Cafe, I heard Crystal say. She led a young couple over to the table in the corner by the windows.

How did he die? I said as we walked to the door.

Shotgun to the chest. Close range. Doris lifted a hand to the tight gray curls framing her head and stepped gingerly outside.

Glenn watched her go, hands on his hips. Well, that would certainly do it.

Chapter Five

By ten o’clock we had a line forming outside and I was hustling, making coffee, wiping down tables, and seating customers. Glenn and Crystal were busy taking orders, and for a moment I stopped and took in the scene. A mother with a child in a high chair was placing sliced cantaloupe on the tray. The father played peek-a-boo with her, and the child giggled so hard I thought she might topple out of the chair. Two tanned couples—who looked to be boaters based on their preppy clothes and deck shoes—were sipping coffee and smiling, their breakfasts recent history. I took pride in their spotless plates, practically licked clean. I noticed a woman I vaguely recognized at a table bobbing a tea bag up and down. I would place her at around sixty-five or maybe a little older. Muffin crumbs dotted her plate. She had a grin on her face even though she was alone. And then I realized her eyes were following Glenn.

Glenn approached. Sweat dotted his brow and hairline. Table six has been waiting a while for their orders. How is Custer keeping up?

I’ll check. Do you need anything else?

Two lattes and a double espresso.

I’m on it. I pushed through the swivel doors as Custer slid a tray of potato cakes into the oven. Several plates sat under the warming lights. Table six?

Yes, boss. He closed the oven door.

I exhaled, realizing I’d been holding my breath, worried Custer wasn’t up to the task. Three specials?

Yes, boss. Custer wiped his hands on his already soiled apron.

I don’t suppose I could bring you some coffee?

Yes…

Got it, I interrupted. I placed one of the plates on my forearm and held the other two in my hands. I admired the china I had special-ordered—bone white with a scalloped edge and a delicate orange day lily hand-painted at the top. Custer had arranged the food perfectly: a triangle of omelet filled with applewood smoked cheddar, scallions, and fresh oregano in the center, surrounded by a wedge of cantaloupe topped with blueberries and crème fraîche, a thick slice of buttered whole-grain bread, and a toasted potato cake.

Beautiful, Custer You are very good at what you do.

He hesitated, looking confused, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with the praise I had just offered. I decided to give him time to let it sift in and headed out the door. After delivering the specials to table six, I turned around, and there was my Annie.

Mom!

You’re here.

Of course I’m here.

I smoothed her hair. Aren’t you supposed to be at Jenna’s picnic?

That can wait. Annie perched on a chair at the bar and pulled an iPad from her tote. Besides, I don’t want to stay at Dad’s this weekend.

Why not? I said, trying to quell the ember of anger in my gut. What had Ed done this time?

Annie avoided my eyes. Dad is entertaining.

I started Glenn’s coffee orders. What’s she like?

Annie opened her iPad. Well, she’s skinnier than the last one, if you can believe it. She spends most of her time smoking weed on the back deck. Annie typed in her passcode. That’s probably the only thing that doesn’t annoy me. She kept her eyes on the screen.

I decided against a follow up question to that last comment. Do you want something to eat?

"Not right now. I’m here because you’re doing a lousy job with your Instagram. Today is huge. She tapped on the screen bringing it to life. You should be posting hourly updates synced with tweets."

She tucked a strand of her dark shiny hair behind an ear. Annie was my only child and had just finished her second year at Duke University. Last summer she had lived with her father in order to be with her friends. I missed her terribly, and was thrilled when she chose to live with me this summer. When Ed and I first separated, Annie hated the fact that I moved to Cardigan. But as time went by she began to grow as attached to the people and the pace of life here as I had.

Okay… She looked up at me, her wide brown eyes bright with enthusiasm. I’ll start by taking some photos. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and looked around the room. Do you think I could ask Glenn to stand next to the chalkboard with the specials written on it?

You don’t waste any time.

"We don’t have time, Mom." She gave me a peck on the cheek and strode over to Glenn. They embraced and my heart warmed. Holding up her phone, she took a photo of Glenn, scanned the room, and asked Crystal to stand by the hostess station holding a menu.

She continued taking more photos, including one of me in front of the restaurant, Crystal at the coffee bistro, a plated special, and a fabulous close up of a vase of peonies.

How’s the kitchen? Annie asked. I wouldn’t mind taking some pics back there.

Custer is working away. My guess is he’s very photogenic so have at it. Oh, and be sure to tell him you’re my daughter.

Since when have I ever had to do that? Everyone says we’re twins. Annie backed through the swinging doors.

I cleaned