Tuscan Kale Killer: Snips and Snails Cafe, #8

By Elizabeth Rain

What Happens When a Fishing Expedition Goes Deadly Wrong?

 

When the Catch on the other end of the Line is a Dead Body...Juli Smells something rotten in Veil Falls...
and a brand-new Murder to Solve if Grams has anything to say about it...

Because that's not all that's sitting on ice at the county morgue...

There are car thieves to catch, a long-buried secret that Grams is hiding, and too many coincidences that don't add up...

And an Entire Town Demanding Answers to a Certain Question...

 

When are Jack and Juli ever going to find time to Plan their Wedding?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Feb 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223746508

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

M y toes are going to freeze, Midge Cartright complained.

Honeybuns, didn’t you wear the electric socks I bought you for Christmas? Harold, her husband of fifty-four years, said with infinite patience. When dealing with the missus, it was required. 

Honeybuns harrumphed, giving a skeptical snort and fiddling with the fluffy earmuffs perched daintily on her head. I can’t believe you bought blue. My coat and hat are clearly green. Have you no fashion sense?

He blinked in confusion, offloading the last of the fishing supplies into the waiting toboggan from the back of the Range Rover. But the boots and your pants cover them... He held up a hand when she started to interrupt. He really should know better. But no matter, there’s also a propane heater, and the little ice shanty will be toasty, even by your standards, in a matter of minutes.

Mollified, but only slightly, Midge sniffed. And the hot chocolate?

He nodded, grabbing up the rope handle and giving the sled a sharp tug forward. And apple fritters from Java’s. Still warm, I believe.

It sounds wonderful, but you know I prefer the raspberry.

They were out, he gritted, the crooked tooth that had endeared him to her in the fifth grade showing.

She gave a theatrical sigh then and smiled up at him, her blue eyes faded by time and lit with sharp, amused humor. With a chuckle, she reached up and gave his leathery cheek a soft kiss that lingered, her nose brushing his as she stepped back.

You know you’re still my hero, she whispered, fluttering her lashes at him.

It had worked to keep him off balance when they were sixteen. And it still worked all these years later.

He laughed, shaking his head in exasperation. You played me, didn’t you?

She marched ahead of him, heading out onto the ice, tossing over her shoulder, Did I? And only because you let me.

He followed her, grinning foolishly. She wasn’t wrong, and her sense of fun kept him constantly on his toes and never grew old.

They moved onto the ice, the sled slicing through the new snow from the night before and concealing the glazed surface of Lake Superior’s Spell’s Bay. It was a bright, sunshiny morning with just a faint trace of wispy clouds streaking the sky. They weren’t the only ones fishing the bay. A hodgepodge collection of fishing shanties in all shapes, sizes and descriptions dotted the open ice, their fishermen and fisherwomen all tucked cozily inside. Well into their eighties, they might well have been the oldest. Three hundred yards from shore, the fancy shanty Harold had spent extra money on sat waiting, perched on the ice above, where the lake itself took a sudden sharp dive below from fifteen to fifty feet. Harold considered it a premium spot for lake trout.

They reached the shack and Harold undid the lock while Midge bounced from foot to foot, her cheeks pink from the cold. There wasn’t much inside: an auger that hung from the wall, two cushioned chairs for their aging backsides, and a small propane heater. He lit that first, and she crowded in behind him, carrying poles and a small soft sided cooler. Harold went back for the rest while the little shanty warmed. When he returned, she handed him the auger and went to work on their poles, getting them ready to lower a line.

Fifteen minutes later, settled in her chair with a blanket over her lap, a cup of cocoa in one hand and her fishing rod in the other, Midge had her first promising nibble. With a grin, she set her cup down and gave the pole a sharp tug before reeling in the first fish of the day. Harold scowled in her direction.

This means you’re cooking, that was the deal, she said with a satisfied nod, holding up a decent eight-inch perch.

I don’t remember making that promise. And you always catch the first one.

Her brows, more white than the bright red they’d been when she was younger, arched. Do I? Perhaps I’m just better at it.

He snorted, his own line giving a tug and making him grin. Just blind luck, that’s what it is.

And on it went for another hour, the ice in one corner sporting close to twenty perch, several whitefish, and a couple of lake trout.

For the umpteenth time, Harold wriggled on his seat, grimacing and looking uncomfortable.

What’s wrong? Midge asked, threading another wax worm on her hook. She looked at the thermos with regret. They’d made short work of the cocoa while it was hot.

He looked at her and scowled. How can you not have to go to the bathroom yet?

She shrugged, snickering. Perhaps because I limited myself to two cups, while you finished the rest.

He gave a frustrated growl. I’m not ready to have to go in yet, are you?

Absolutely not. I haven’t caught my limit yet, and neither have you. I plan on a few for the freezer, so we have enough for a fish fry when the kids come up next month.

Little Roman will be close to three months old by then. He smiled.

She sighed. I can’t wait to see him, and little Addaline and Joseph are nearly four. Can you believe Caleb’s in fifth grade already? I wish they lived closer.

Maybe we should give more thought to moving, picking up roots ourselves. Great-grandkids are growing up and we aren’t getting any younger.

She snorted. Perish the thought. Veil Falls is our home.

"It is, and oh blast it, talking isn’t helping—I have to go!"

Her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing. So, go. Pick a corner we’re not in.

He sighed and got up, setting his pole down. He shuffled around the equipment to the farthest corner and scuffed the snow aside with a boot. He started to do his business, a sigh of relief escaping his lips as his wife made an inarticulate sound behind him.

Still finishing up, he looked over his shoulder at her. You have something on the line?

She frowned in consternation. Yeah, something big and lazy. It’s sitting just off the bottom, doesn’t have much fight at all.

Well, don’t yank the line, just reel it in slowly. Probably a sculpin.

"Don’t tell me how to fish...I know what I’m—argh!" she gasped.

What? What is it!?

Just zipping up, he whirled at the strangled panic in her voice. Midge had jumped to her feet, backing away from the hole, the pole held out in front of her. Something was bobbing with the current in the hole. It wasn’t a fish.

Both stared in disbelief, their minds playing catch up at what floated just below the surface, staring up at them with empty, dark orbs and waxy cheeks that appeared to be melting away from a pale face.

Midge, you went and caught yourself a corpse! he hissed, feeling dizzy.

Which was when his unflappable wife of countless years screamed loud enough to raise the rafters on the small shanty.

Let it go, he finally screeched, finding his own voice again, taking a knock-kneed step in her direction.

I can’t, she moaned. My fingers won’t move—they’re stuck.

Let me help. He gagged, the smell rising and hitting them suddenly in the warm enclosed space. They were both going to lose their donuts if they didn’t get out of there quickly.

No, she squeaked sharply, planting her feet and looking on in morbid fascination. Get the rod holder. This is evidence. We can’t let it get away.

He didn’t miss that something about that floating blob had lost all sense of humanity, relegated to a blubbery, gelatinous mass.

With a snarl, he reached for the pack, fumbling with the zipper and trying to locate the little rod and reel stand. He grabbed it, plunging it into the ice next to the hole and reaching for the rod, prying it from her numb fingers and sliding it into the holder, making sure the reel was set.

He grabbed his wife’s hand and gave her a sharp tug. She jerked, looking up with haunted eyes. Come on. Let’s get out of here before we toss our cookies all over the place. We don’t want to taint the crime scene.

This isn’t CSI! she hissed, her stomach choosing that moment to revolt and prove him wrong. She stumbled in his direction, pinching her nose and following him through the door. On the other side, they both leaned to the side and lost the battle, retching violently while they sucked in fresh, uncontaminated air. Finished, Harold wiped his mouth and streaming eyes with the back of his hand and stood, still gripping his wife’s icy fingers as she joined him.

Their eyes met. Let’s get off the lake and call it in, he said. He pulled out the key fob on the Range Rover and hit the automatic start he’d had installed for her the year before. They could just hear the distant barroom as the engine turned over and the heater would have kicked on. Come on, we might as well do this from the warmth of the cab.

What about our stuff? she protested.

He looked at her incredulously. "You can go back in for it if you want."

She turned and stared at the shanty, bile rising in her throat again as she made another retching noise, slapping a hand to her mouth. She was already shaking her head as she looked back at him.

No sir, I don’t think so. But twenty bucks says I beat you to shore. Before he could stop her, she was moving, picking up a jog as fast as old knees would allow. With an exasperated growl, he followed.

Just so you know, I’m not taking that bet! he yelled up to her.

But there was no answering laughter back.

WITH A PLEASED GRIN, I patted the gray dashboard of my brand-new, shiny Honda Pilot. Well, I amended, it was new to me and only sported a meager forty-eight thousand miles on the odometer. It was so new, in fact, I hadn’t even named it yet, and that simply wouldn’t do. I was trying to decide between Penelope and Gabriella. The bright cinnamon color required something elegant.

Still grinning, I pulled up to the curb in front of Snips and Snails Café, the small pub I had owned for a little over a year in Veil Falls, Michigan. The engine gave a rattle of protest as I shut it down and got out, the temperature still frigid in the middle of the afternoon. It reminded me that I no longer lived in the lower part of the state. Now I made my home in the tip-top of the Upper Peninsula, less than an hour west of Munising. The upper latitude, combined with my proximity to Lake Superior, made for temperatures that dipped regularly into the single digits at night during the winter. I stood back and held the door, waiting for Holly, my two-year-old black lab to join me. With an expression of pure joy, she closed the distance and jumped down, her tail flashing back and forth, wiggling in cadence with her entire backside. Unlike her owner, Holly loved the northern winters.

Come on, girl. Let’s get inside before I become a frozen witch-sickle.

Holly obediently danced at my side as I headed for the door, the small sign in the window turned to open, the lights softly twinkling in the tinted window inside beckoning with a promised warmth.

I closed the door behind me, the tinkle of bells overhead making several patrons glance up from their lunches. Several waved in recognition as I weaved between the tables, making small talk as I made my way to the long, winding bar in the back corner.

I claimed a pair of stools on one end and removed my gloves, the gleam of a brilliant, antique, white gold and diamond ring catching the light and winking up at me. I stared at my engagement ring and gave a nervous sigh, thinking of the man who had put it there.

My smile slipped crookedly. I remembered another time, another man. I’d been just a kid, and had I been that naïve then? I vowed this time was going to be different.

I slid onto the stool, the leather seat giving a groan of protest. Behind the bar, Brownie Dunn, my cousin and bartender, looked up from rinsing several cocktail glasses and grinned broadly. Is Jack coming?

I glanced at the time on my phone. Yup, he’s due anytime.

He nodded, glancing at my rosy cheeks. I’m thinking you need something warm, with extra whipped cream and sprinkles.

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Let’s hold the kiddie stuff and add in a shot of Salted Caramel Bailey’s instead.

His brows rose playfully. So, now you need fortitude to face him?

"Nope. Just the warm-me-tude for my insides, thanks."

While he made my drink, I glanced through the open window into the kitchen, catching Bertie’s gaze as she worked and kept an eagle eye over the dining room at the same time. Her lips curved in welcome and I glanced over at the specials board. A warm provolone and ham melt with roasted red peppers and mango chutney caught my eye, and my mouth watered. As always, she’d paired it nicely with the soup of the day I’d come in early to prepare and spell with that brief hint of something magical that all my soups and Snips and Snails Café were known for.

"Add that sandwich special and a bowl of my Split the Pea and Bac-on Soup."

Brownie frowned. Hope there’s some left. It’s cold out there, and when we told customers the indications included warm toes and fingers for a week, it sold like crazy. Let me go see if I can save a couple of bowls for you and Jack while I put the order in.

He hurried off, and I heard the bells tinkle over the door. I turned as Jack closed the door behind him, his eyes crinkling when they found me, and he started my way. Seeing him approach never grew old, and my heart picked up speed. I could watch those broad shoulders and confident walk all day long. The heat in his dark chocolate eyes when he smiled lazily at me warmed my insides better than any bowl of my magical soup could.

He claimed my fingers when he reached me, cupping them in large hands and kissing the tips, giving me shivers. You’re being mushy, I accused. But I couldn’t stop smiling.

Hey, I have an important name to live up to as your fiancé. I can’t slack now!

I rolled my eyes as he sat down and Brownie came back, sliding me a wink to let me know he’d been successful. He slid a pair of warm hot chocolates with whipped cream and...were those still sprinkles? But he’d added a more adult dusting of peppermint instead. Jack’s brows rose as he took a hesitant sip.

He cupped the mug and sighed. That’s not the least bit manly, you know, he told Brownie. My cousin reached to take it back, and Jack growled. Don’t you dare touch that cup! He took another drink as Brownie moved to wait on another new arrival with a knowing grin. Setting the cup aside, he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. On the floor beside him, Holly gave a whimper of protest and Jack reached down to give her a good rub.

I’m glad you could get away from the station.

Jack’s lips tightened. Almost didn’t. We’ve been running non-stop, thanks to the weather. This time of year, you get fires from people not having their furnaces properly maintained or using their stoves to heat the house. We got back less than an hour ago from the last one.

How are Rachel and Jonah doing?

Great! You’ll never guess what Dad ordered for the resort to rent out.

Oh?

Ice Yachts.

I blinked in confusion. What are those?

He grinned, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that meant adventure for him and me risking life and limb. Did I mention my fiancé was a bit of a thrill-seeking nut?

I’m not going to like this, am I?

Find your sense of adventure, Juli. Think racing across the ice aboard a sailboat on skis.

I blinked. The snowmobiles weren’t enough? I squeaked.

You love snowmobiling.

I snorted. No, I love warm fires and hot toddies. I enjoy snowmobiling.

Well, you’re going to love this. I’ve already booked us a date before they were all filled up and rented out. Guests are already going crazy for them.

My eyes narrowed on his smug expression. Just how fast do those crazy things go, anyhow?

Before he could answer, Bertie appeared over my shoulder, setting down a pair of delicious looking sandwiches and my Split the Pea and Bac-on Soup. You don’t want to know. I’d consider taking out extra insurance, just to be safe.

I glared at her. You are not funny.

She shrugged, her eyes dancing. I gotta get back. I just wanted to deliver your lunch and tell you that you’d better not even consider asking for tomorrow off!

That bad, huh?

Or that good—depends on how you look at it. With a wink for Jack she turned, and I watched her go, admitting not for the first time how lucky I was to have her. Any sensible person would have refused to hire the bag lady living out of their back alley as their head cook. I remembered I’d been just that foolish, unwilling to give her a chance. It was a good thing the cat had more sense at the time and fate had intervened.

As if I’d conjured her with my thoughts, a small breeze blew into the room from the little pet door at the bottom of the front entrance. Gilly sailed in, Snips and Snails’ resident mascot, and ofttimes pain in my magical Soup Witch rear.

A Seal point Siamese, Gilly glided between the feet of several guests who reached down to smooth her fur as she regally passed, her nose tipped up, her tail twitching in irritation at their indulgence. Her bright, blue eyes caught ours as she skirted sideways past the server, causing her tray to totter briefly. I was surprised when she didn’t join us, but shuddered instead as she headed for the fire, wet droplets of melted snow flying in all directions. Gilly daintily jumped into Holly’s bed and tipped her face towards the flames in obvious pleasure. It seemed the warmth from the hearth had won out over making her presence known to the rest of us.

I was surprised when the door opened one more time, and my grandmother, Mattie Mason, and her sister, Annabel Mason, cruised in. I could already hear their voices raised in argument when they reached us.

Idiocy is what it is. You drive like an old woman. It’s a miracle they even let you have a license! Grans snapped, easing onto the empty stool beside me, already waving her hands rudely to catch Brownie’s attention.

Grams harrumphed, hopping onto the one on her other side. Hello, we’re over a hundred. And how many tickets do you have, sister dear?

Idiot cop doesn’t know how to read his radar. I wasn’t going more than fifteen over. And I’m a Class 9 Witch, for pity’s sake—I think I know what I’m doing.

Tell that to the little old man you nearly mowed down on the way here.

The crosswalk changed when he was halfway through the intersection. And besides, I honked. He just needed to turn his hearing aide up.

Grams rolled her eyes and held up two fingers when Grans ordered the same hot toddy I had, only with double shots of liquor because in Grams’ words...it was extra chilly outside.

Jack held his hands up to get control of the situation. I held back a snicker and prepared to watch the show. Now ladies, you’re sisters. No sense getting your bloomers in an uproar.

Clearly, the man was mad.

Both stopped shouting and instead turned to give him their full attention. Two seats down in the opposite direction I heard someone whisper theatrically, Uh-oh.

Grans leaned in, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. Young Jack, I changed those so-called ‘bloomers’ on you when you were just a wee baby—don’t you take that tone with us. And if my sister hadn’t gotten some hare-brained idea in her head to go out and buy some hot rod of a car that does close to a hundred and fifty miles per hour on dry pavement, we wouldn’t be arguing at all.

You’re jealous, pure and simple. The thought of your sister having something with that much power beneath her butt frosts yours, doesn’t it! she snapped, her hands raising threateningly. Light orange sparks trickled from the tips with a snap and a sizzle. I straightened in case I needed to take cover.

Am not! It’s simply too much horsepower for a little ol’ fuddy duddy like you to handle. Her own hands came up, green sparks dancing in the air above her knuckles as she waggled her fingers in promise.

Aha! I knew it. You want to make it scream. Which is exactly why you’re never driving it! Grams thundered triumphantly, folding her arms mutinously over her nonexistent chest.

I cleared my throat, and both glanced my way, startled as if surprised to realize they had company. Which they did. The entire restaurant was a rapt audience.

While they’d been arguing, I’d glanced at the newspaper that Grams had slammed onto the bar top when she sat. There wasn’t a Bugatti or an Aston Martin in the bunch. Instead, it looked like a bunch of old cars to me, way before my time.

Just what are you thinking of buying anyhow? I asked curiously.

Grams smiled, shooting a thin this isn’t over look at her sister for good measure before