Death by Dumpling: Snips and Snails Cafe, #4

By Elizabeth Rain

Juli Mason hired Bertie the Bag Lady, living in the alley behind Snips and Snails, out of desperation.

It was a smooth move.

 

Who knew Bertie would clean up so well?

… Or that she was in actual fact, a Sous Chef with serious skills in the kitchen?

But the star Cook of Snips and Snails Café is not all she is.

 

When the Hat River in Veil Falls coughs up a wrecked Cadillac Sedan beneath the Fae Road Bridge and Bertie Faints at the news...Juli smells a mystery...

Perhaps it's the body they found floating on the floor of the front seat, or the second in the back.
Is it murder most foul, or an unfortunate accident? And why do all the clues point to Bertie?

Add in the rude new birdwatchers that have checked into Lovelace resort, and the discovery of what was once missing...
Is Bertie's strange behavior and the guest's unexpected arrival all just an odd coincidence?

 

There's something strange going on in Veil Falls. It's up to Juli Mason to solve the case...or the results could just be murder.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Aug 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223474197

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Soo Locks Gazette hit Beverly Vanhousing’s desk with a slap, jostling her morning coffee. She jerked back, staring up at her son Kyle with asperity.

Idiot. Watch what you 're doing! she hissed.

Just read it, he shot back, leaning back in the chair that gave a groan of protest and slid sideways when he landed in it.

Mouth pinching in irritation, she reached out, grabbing up the paper and smoothing it open in front of her. The headline splashed across the front page in bold black, the full frontal photo fuzzy enough to make her squint over the rims of her bifocals. She made out the outline of a large building in the bay district, flames shooting through the roof. Emergency vehicles surrounded the warehouse. She read. Main Street Tobacco Dispensary Warehouse Lights up. She gave a grunt, dark brows rising as she glared up at her son.

So, the editor missed his or her calling as a comedian. What am I looking at this for? Wait, were you responsible for lighting the match?

Kyle Vanhousing ground his teeth together. His sense of humor on a good day was lacking. First thing in the morning on a Monday, it was completely absent. Not that. The other article, near the end of the page.

Her own patience thin, Beverly’s lips firmed as her eyes moved past several other increasingly small articles to a short paragraph and photo she nearly missed, sandwiched at the very bottom, between an ad for cigarettes and another article about a lost puppy in a storm drain. The surgeon general’s warning against smoking was in stark relief, thumbing the burning bales of tobacco above. The small headline made her pause, the first niggling sense of doom causing the hair along her neck to prickle with unease. Lost and Found in Veil Falls, she read aloud, before she continued in silence, the color leaching from her cheeks and her fingers giving a brief tremble as they smoothed over the ink. All these years, and they finally found it, she whispered, looking up at her son. He sat grimly, fingers steepled beneath his chin, lounging back in his chair and waiting for her reaction.

No way is that a coincidence. How many Cadillac XTSs gone missing and then suddenly found can there be? It surfaced beneath some bridge in Veil Falls, Kyle said.

Beverly looked up, adding, Article doesn’t have a lot of information though. Just that they winched it out and the wreck is under investigation. What are the chances that it’s our Cadillac after all these years?

Kyle shrugged, his indifference grating on Beverly’s nerves. It was his brother they were talking about, after all. Your guess is as good as mine. But it caught my attention, he said.

We don’t know where Mark ended up that night after he left here. He had some idiotic idea that we couldn’t divulge what we didn’t know, she said, slapping the article with the flat of her hand. Or if he found what was taken from me — us.

Kyle chuckled, but not in amusement. You want to know whether Mark kept them for himself?

She started, eyes darkening with fury. He wouldn’t double-cross me. I want to know if he was behind the wheel. She insisted, adding on a softer note, Do you think he found them before he died? After all these years of searching, did he get Ronald to talk and get them back?

Kyle rolled his eyes. Ronald Sawyer was in no condition to divulge anything, and your sentiment is astounding, mother. Where are the tears?

Beverly lurched to her feet, looming over the desk, fists planted on its surface. She presented an intimidating figure, her statuesque form coming in at just under six feet, her carefully coiffed and bleached blond curls lending her several more inches. Kyle remained unimpressed when she continued, There will be time to grieve when we find out if this really is our lost Cadillac and if he was actually in it. Maybe he put it there himself to hide the evidence. Maybe the fool really is off somewhere warm, living it up with my diamonds, she hissed.

Kyle’s brows shot up at that. Don’t you mean ours? Weren’t you going to share?

She looked suddenly flustered, as if she’d been caught out. Of course that’s what I meant. He could have decided to run off with them, himself. Your brother could be hard-headed.

Kyle laughed outright at that. You mean he was like you, right? But enough talk. What do you want to do about it? James and I could take a trip to Veil Falls and see what we could find out. No sense getting excited until we’re sure it’s even him.

She sat back down suddenly, looking unsure of herself for the first time as she stared beyond the window of their five story office building. The top floor office offered an unfettered view of the Soo Locks and the channel between Lake Superior and eventually the Atlantic, through Lake Huron and along the St. Lawrence Seaway. A large barge, carrying cargo to some undisclosed location, moved sluggishly through the canal.

No. The last time I sent a son to do my work, he disappeared for three years. The thought of Mark off someplace warm living the high life is a best-case scenario. Most likely he’s dead. I’m a mother, I need closure.

She gave a sudden decisive nod. We’ll all go. See what we can find out. I’ll make the arrangements.

Kyle gave a curt nod and got to his feet. I’ll let James know.

Where is he, anyhow?

Who is he with, don’t you mean?

Beverly’s dark eyes flashed. Idiot needs to stop messing around with those tramps he keeps picking up at the bars. Find himself a decent socialite. A girl that’s big on looks and shy on brains to settle down with. Give me some grandkids. She gave Kyle a suddenly sly look. And you too. When are you going to make that viper you’re shacked up with an honest woman?

Kyle snorted. "When I know for sure she doesn’t have plans to poison me as soon as the ‘I dos’ are said. And you only say that because she’s just like you."

Beverly’s lips twitched in sudden, rare humor. That’s why you like her.

Kyle moved towards the door. I’m positive that’s not it. Not by a long shot.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’RE booked? I’m sure you can see fit to make alternate arrangements to accommodate my family this weekend, Beverly insisted, lips pinched at the unaccustomed questioning of her wishes.

The light tinkling voice on the other end of the line grew stilted. I’m afraid that’s not possible. We are booked into May. Might I suggest...

"No. You may not suggest. Your quaint little bed-and-breakfast is the best accommodations Veil Falls offers. It’s where we are staying this weekend."

The receptionist on the other end of the line ignored the dig. I can put you on a waiting list. In case there is a cancellation, though that’s rare.

Beverly held back a snarl, fingers white knuckled around the phone. Give me the names, then, of the other guests. Surely I can make them a suitable and substantial offer to change the date of their stay.

Silence met her request. When the receptionist finally spoke, her tone was notably cool. I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We hold our clients’ privacy in deepest regard. I can’t give out personal information.

Beverly gave a waspish smile, suddenly wishing she was speaking in person to the irritating booking agent on the other end of the line. No matter, she could be creative. Your name, then?

The reply was immediate and furious. Lovelace. Rachel Lovelace speaking.

Beverly frowned in sudden confusion. Isn’t that the name of the resort? No matter, Can I also have the name of your manager? I believe we should have a chat concerning your customer service.

Should we? Well then, would you like the name of my husband, or my son?

Beverly  pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at it in confusion. Suddenly impatient, she barked into the phone. Just who am I really speaking to, then? she barked.

I told you. Rachel Lovelace, of Lovelace Resorts. Family owned and run for over thirty years. We own this little ‘Bed and Breakfast’. As I’ve explained in great detail, we are booked this weekend. I’m sorry we can't accommodate your demands.

Beverly  opened her mouth to say more when she realized the line had gone dead. Service in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan was spotty at best. Maybe the call had been dropped. She refused to fathom that somebody had actually hung up on her.

No matter, there was more than one way to get the information she needed. Money talked, and it changed minds. With grim determination, she swiped right, thumbing through her contacts until she found the one she was looking for. She made the call.

JACK LOVELACE MADE his rounds through the kitchen of Portia’s, the small, but fancy restaurant in his family’s resort. He walked the grounds every morning and evening to troubleshoot any minor issues that might arise from the staff and facilities. Aside from the financial end of things that he helped manage in his parents’ stead, it was one more contribution he made to earn his keep and the rather substantial cottage he lived in. It sat on a small parcel separate from the main resort but still within walking distance of the main doors.

Marilyn Payne, Portia’s head chef, looked up with a smile when he entered. She was putting the finishing touches on several platters of her popular eggs Benedict. The buttery cream sauce over the top of two perfectly done easy eggs made his mouth water and reminded him he was meeting his favorite witch, Juli, at Java’s in an hour for her latest creation, homemade elderberry scones.

That looks delectable. How do you not weigh three-hundred pounds from eating every delicious dish you create?

She laughed, the sound warm as she waggled her fingers in the air and grinned. Magic, Jack. Best you not forget who the head of this kitchen is.

He shook his head. Never happen, Marilyn. You rule the roost here, and the guests are all grateful. Everything is going well then, I assume. Do you need anything this morning?

Nope. We’re good. We’re serving Lobster Thermidor this evening, if you and a certain lady would like to stop by.

Jack grabbed his stomach theatrically and groaned. I’ll ask her, but whose waistline were we talking about?

Yours, I’m sure. A lady doesn’t discuss such things.

Yeah, sure, Marilyn. Whatever you say.

She gave a snort and reached up to hit several buttons on the POS system near her elbow. Nodding at the rest of the kitchen staff as he wandered through, Jack entered the main dining room and spied his mother. Rachel stood deep in conversation with Bo and Jill Weavil, regulars who had to both be pushing eighty. They were repeat customers who availed themselves of Lovelace’s amenities at least twice a year.

Rachel glanced up at his approach, her smile widening.

Jack!

Mother. He reached down and gave her a fond buss on the cheek.

Mr. Weavil brightened when he spied the young man, the jowls on his ample chin jiggling. Jack, my boy. You got time to take me out on a charter later this week sometime?

Jack sighed. You know Maury handles those now. At his crestfallen expression, Jack relented. But it just so happens, Jacob Crawley and I are making a run Tuesday morning for some Lake Trout. Would you be interested in taking a turn on his fishing crawler? See what he hauls in and lend him a hand?

There was a decided gleam in the elderly gentleman’s eyes. Absolutely. His expression faltered, and he slanted a glance at the diminutive woman seated on his left. That is, unless my pumpkin cake says we’re busy...

‘Pumpkin’ sniffed theatrically, eyes twinkling, and patted her mouth with a napkin. If it will get you out of my hair for the morning, I’m all for it. Besides, I think that sounds like a wonderful opportunity for me to visit the spa.

Bo patted her hand. It can’t possibly make you more lovely, my dear.

Jack kept a straight face. I’ll let Jacob know you’re coming, then. I’ll collect you from the lobby at about seven a.m. Dress warm. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish my rounds. He turned to his mother. I’ll see you and Dad later. I want to go over a couple discrepancies I found in the books.

She reached out delicate fingers and laid them on his forearm. Immediately, peace flooded his being, and he gave a sigh. Rachel Lovelace’s calming touch was well known to those close to her. He figured it was a balm to his father’s sometimes volatile temper.

He headed toward the main desk, his last stop before he took a walk down to the beach house to check on the rentals and the young man that worked there. Penny, the young receptionist that ran the main desk, looked up at his approach with a puzzled frown, the phone still in her hand. His mother had told him she’d had a minor emergency that morning when her car wouldn’t start and she’d ended up being an hour late to work. Rachel had stood in for her and answered the phone until she arrived.

Penny. How’s the car?

Her expression cleared. Fine, now. CJ himself came out and worked his magic under the hood and Voila... started right up.

Jack grinned. "Got a name for that— Magic?"

No, and be nice. I’m just glad he helped me out. He told me to bring it after work so he could give it a thorough inspection.

So, everything’s good here then?

She hesitated, looking at the receiver still in her hand, and hung it up. Yeah, I guess so. The Wallace’s just canceled for this weekend. That’s strange. I mean they always reserve this weekend for their anniversary every year. They called out of the blue just a moment ago and changed the date to the third weekend in May.

Jack frowned. That is odd. Hope everything is okay. So we have an empty suite this weekend.

That’s just it. Within moments of their cancellation, I got another call. A lady from Sault Ste. Marie wants to book a suite for the weekend. Says she and her two sons want to do a spot of birdwatching.

Oh? That is unusual. Kind of early in the spring for seeing much, isn’t it? They say what they were looking for in particular?

No, but they were really concerned about the accommodations while they were here. Ms. Vanhousing had quite the list of requests for housekeeping to see to before their arrival.

Well, we are known for the eccentricity of our guests, Jack agreed.

Penny frowned in unaccustomed irritation. Yes, but most of them are at least polite about it.

BERTIE MARSON WOKE up to her worst nightmare, watching the flames leap and roll across the screen. Her mouth was open to scream before she could remind herself that it wasn’t real. She wasn’t in a building that was falling down around her as it burned. Instead, she was lying in an unfamiliar bed and staring at a TV screen mounted on the opposite wall. She tried to breathe, suck in a breath as her heart slowed from pounding like a jackhammer.

Bertie realized with a start that she was in a hospital bed at Mercy Bay Hospital. She noticed that she’d yanked her heart monitor cord free from the machine with her thrashing. She heard the sound of running feet. At her age, they probably thought she’d coded.

A young nurse ran into the room, her eyes round with panic, and Bertie figured it just might be her first rodeo.

But not mine, Bertie thought. Relax. I’m not dead. I just pulled the cord loose. Call off the cavalry already.

Several other orderlies and a few more nurses skidded to a halt behind her. They realized pretty quickly it was a false alarm and slanted Bertie a dirty look as they faded back away from the door, leaving her to the young nurse while they tended to someone who actually required their services and sympathy. Neither of which she needed nor wanted.

She stared pointedly at the girl that lingered, glancing at the name on the whiteboard on the far wall. Unless she missed her guess, this was the nurse assigned to her. Maggie Owens I presume?

The nurse gave a shy smile and came in the rest of the way, picking up the dangling monitor cord and reattaching it to the machine that registered her vitals. Let’s get this hooked back up, and I’ll check your IV, make sure everything is kosher before I leave you.

Bertie grunted, reaching for the remote on the swinging tray beside her bed. With a filthy glare at the still-burning building on the screen, she hit the channel button and moved to something a little less memorable. A cooking channel popped up. It looked like a show on backyard grilling. Still fire, but better. She could handle it in small doses.

How long have I been here?

Just since late afternoon. Doc says you are going to be fine. Blood pressure was elevated a bit though, and you hit your head pretty good when you fainted. You were really agitated, and Doc gave you something to help you rest.

Can I go then? I’m fine, and I have a restaurant to run.

Miss Maggie shook her head, looking regretful. No, Ms. Marson. Doc says overnight is best, no telling what might happen with head trauma resulting from a fall like that.

Bertie glared at her. I thought you said it was minor? It’s just a little bandage, and there’s no blood. I’m fine.

She looked uncertain, and Bertie almost felt bad about giving her so much trouble. But then she remembered she hated hospitals.

Has anyone been by to see me?

Sure. Earlier there were a couple of people. I can check the charts and see who if you’d like.

Bertie waved a hand in the air diffidently. Don’t bother, but could you get Juli Mason on the phone and tell her I’d like to see her? Between us, I’m certain we can get this all straightened out. I’m betting it was she that brought me in.

Maggie brightened. The dark-haired woman? Owns Snips and Snails? I love that place. You’re the cook, right?

Chef. Cook doesn’t cover it, Bertie protested, frowning.

"I love that spice cake of yours. I get it whenever you have it. And I love Miss Mason’s collection of soups and stews. Last month I had a bowl of her creamy Redeeming the Skin Potato Kale soup. No pimples for a month!" Her voice faded away, but her smile was still 100 watts.

Bertie blinked. Um, sure. But can you get her on the phone? I really need to talk with her.

Ten minutes of fussing later and Bertie was once more alone, playing the waiting game for Juli to arrive and explain herself. Ridiculous that they thought a little fainting spell warranted a trip to the local hospital.

Bertie lay back in bed and tried not to dwell on the tangled mess her life had become. It hadn’t always been that way. She had different memories, fading now, and maybe that was a good thing. Because the worst of what she remembered invaded her sleep with haunting dreams. What Bertie Marson remembered most was what she’d lost and left behind. She’d been an ignorant fool and paid the ultimate price for it.

A shadow loomed in the doorway, and Bertie awoke with a groan, staring at the entrance. She realized she must have dozed off, more tired than she knew. She expected Juli to step into the room. Or maybe even the doctor, there to tell her there was no way she was going home before tomorrow until he’d had her there long enough to collect his fee. She was wrong on both counts.

The elderly man that stepped into the room had her scrambling backwards until she was sitting up against the pillows, bracing them against the headboard behind her back. The old man stepped into the room, eyes rheumy with age but direct as they watched her. He had to be 80 if he was a day, stooped and bent with time and experience. Thin tufts of hair dotted his balding dome, barely covering the rain of age spots that darkened his scalp. He might have once topped six feet, but age had reduced his height by several inches. He offered a small smile, coming in further until he was only a matter of feet away from her.

Ms. Marson, I presume? His voice was raspy and harsh on the ears, as if speech wasn’t something he used much.

How do you know who I am? Bertie shot back, immediately suspicious.

He smiled. I read your chart. The one hanging outside your door?

Oh. She felt suddenly foolish. You don’t look like a doctor. And if you’re a volunteer? Where’s the golden retriever you guys are supposed to bring round to make us all feel better?

That startled a chuckle out of him. Not in this case. Nope, it’s just me. I spend my time visiting those who have experienced a trauma of some sort, or who have inoperable diseases and gift them with a friendly face and an ear to listen if they have a mind.

Bertie stared hard at him. Commendable. But I don’t see how that serves me. A little bump on the noggin’ doesn’t mean I’m dying. Unless there’s something else I don’t know. There isn’t is there? she asked, suddenly worried.

No, but then, thankfully, business is slow. Not enough sick and dying lately and that’s a good thing. So I thought I might pop in, chat a bit with whoever was in room two-o-nine. Surprise, that’s you.

Lucky me.

So, you haven’t answered my question. How are you feeling? Do you know how long you’re going to be in here?

Bertie thought he was quite nosy for a volunteer. She shrugged. Nurse Maggie says that the Doc plans to hold me overnight, just in case. Don’t see what all the fuss is about. It was just a little bump.

What happened? How did you fall?

I fainted, that’s what.

He frowned, looking concerned. Does that happen often?

No. First time. And last I hope, if this is the result. I had a... scare... I suppose.

Oh, what startled you?

None of your business, burst from her lips before she could hold it back. She relented at his shocked expression. Hey, sorry. It’s just not something I like to talk about. Let’s just say I overheard something that was...alarming.

He nodded. Got it. You said it. None of my business. He looked at an old Rolex on his wrist, noting the time with a grunt of surprise. Hey, well then, I’m glad you are going to be all right. I’ve got to get going. My shift is almost up.

What did you say your name was?

He slanted a faint smile her way and backed towards the door. I’ve heard you cook up a mean beef bourguignon. I’ll have to come by the restaurant sometime and try it.

And just that quick, he was gone. Seconds later, nurse Maggie