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  Cold Blooded

  Brew

  A Killer Coffee Mystery

  Book Four

  COLD BLOODED BREW

  A KILLER COFFEE MYSTERY

  With no traffic on the old road back to the boardwalk, the bike light led the way with no trouble at all. Pepper appeared to sleep most of the way until we drove along the ramp to the boardwalk, and the wooden planks thumped one after the other as we rode our way down to the coffeehouse.

  “Babette wasn’t kidding when she said she was getting here early,” I said after I pedaled past All About the Details and noticed the lights were on at the event center. The condensation from my breath let off little puffs of air. “Babette?” I called out when I noticed she was sitting with her back to me at one of the café tables I had out in front of my shop. She was wearing her new fancy white coat. “It’s cold out here.”

  I slipped off the bike, grabbed Pepper out of the basket, and put him down on the boardwalk. I walked the bike over to the bike rack next to Babette.

  “You’ve got your new coat on.” I tapped her on the shoulder. “Babette!” I screamed when she tipped right over. “Babette! Help!” I screamed out into the dark sky, knowing that no one else was there to hear me.

  Acknowledgements

  I have come to really love this series. If you follow me on social media or know me at all, you know I love coffee. I really do! It can even be decaf and I still love it. I’m beyond blessed that readers have really embraced Honey Springs and all the amazing characters.

  I’d also like to thank Jessica Fischer for her amazing skills in designing a cover that’s in my head. It’s not easy trying to get inside of a reader’s head and she nails it every single time.

  And to Betsy Pauzauskie! Betsy is a member of my Cozy Krew and she suggested a Cold Blooded Brew when I put out a call that I needed a title. Thank you Betsy!

  Cheers to all of my coffee guzzling friends!

  Xoxo ~Tonya

  Contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  About the Author

  Also by Tonya Kappes

  Copyright

  ONE

  The blinding dazzle of the sunrise path on Lake Honey Springs was breathtaking from the Bean Hive Coffeehouse’s front windows. The rainbow sheen of oil left on the water from a passing boater was a sure sign that summer was near.

  Every time I walked past the front windows of my coffeehouse, I took the time to stop, peer out, and take in the beauty that made living in Honey Springs, Kentucky, so inviting.

  Debbie Cane, my soon to be sister-in-law, walked up behind me and looked over my shoulder, holding a ceramic coffee mug that had the Bean Hive Coffeehouse logo on it. “I swear you’ve got the best spot on Honey Lake Boardwalk. And the best coffee.” She stuck her nose in the steam of the warm summer blend.

  Wait for it, I thought as I watched her close her eyes, her chest lifting with her inhale and a smile curving along her perfectly hot-pink-painted lips.

  There it is, I thought, sighing with a feeling of joy bubbling up in my heart. That expression alone was the reason I left my job as a lawyer, moved to Honey Springs, and opened a coffeehouse.

  Okay, to be honest—because I always felt like I was in a courtroom under oath and really never had a great poker face—I moved to Honey Springs because I’d found my law partner, who was also my husband at the time, doing more than client consulting. Maybe it was consulting, but not in the typical way. All of my consulting with clients was with clothes on. Regardless, it wasn’t my ideal of a partnership, professionally or personally.

  I licked my wounds and found myself lost in many coffee shops until I realized one day that I, too, wanted to own a small coffee shop.

  “I’m glad you like it.” I patted Debbie on the arm.

  “I need a favor.” She clamped her teeth together with her mouth open a little and a look of hope in her eyes. Her amber hair hung past her earlobes in loose natural curls of the kind that made me slightly jealous. The sooty-gray pantsuit complemented her ivory skin. “Do you mind watching little Timmy for a while?”

  I glanced over at her son and smiled. He’d already made himself at home in the shop and stolen everyone’s heart with his adorable dimples, his sheriff’s star pin stuck to his shirt, and the cowboy hat that dangled from a lanyard down his back. “He’s always welcome here,” I said.

  The bell over the front door dinged as the door opened. An early-summer scent filtered through—it was a combination of the Lake Honey Springs, mixed with the wood planks along Honey Springs Pier and a hint of boat diesel. It wouldn’t be long until these early mornings in the shop were filled with tourists who called Honey Springs their vacation destination.

  Lake Honey Springs was wide enough and big enough for large engine boats, big game fishing tournaments, or relaxing in rented cabins with beautiful lakefront views. It was a magical place to live and work.

  “I love staying with you, Aunt Roxy.” Timmy’s smile widened, as did his dimples.

  “You like staying with Pepper.” I winked at him and tousled the five-year-old’s shaggy dark hair.

  Pepper heard his name and jumped up from his bed next to the counter to scurry over for some pats and rubs. He was a very smart dog. I’d heard that about Schnauzers, and Pepper proved it.

  The timer on my watch buzzed, and I hit the end button and turned to Debbie. “Timmy’s a great help. And we could use a good sheriff around here.” I pointed through the swinging door in the back of the coffeehouse that led to the kitchen. “If I don’t get that breakfast casserole out of the oven, it’s gonna be stinky in here.”

  “I’m off, then,” Debbie chirped. “You be on your best behavior for Roxy,” I heard her warn Timmy as I shoved through the door.

  “You heard Aunt Roxy. I’m a good sheriff.” Timmy nodded and followed me into the back.

  The kitchen smelled of warm maple syrup and fried chicken, an addictive combination that was deadly to the waistline. The Bean Hive was first and foremost a coffeehouse, though, and nothing went better with coffee than a smidgen of food and bit of conversation. It was the chatter and laughter of customers that filled me with happiness. Knowing that I’d created something with my own hands that satisfied my clientele was my purpose.

  Each week, I made a breakfast casserole for the morning customers, a soup special for the lunch customers, and a few sweet treats for folks who would swing in at odd hours.

  “Good morning!” Bunny Bowowski pushed through the door with a grin, grabbed a Bean Hive apron off the hook, and replaced it with her brown pocketbook. I smiled every time I saw her in the black pants and Bean Hive logo tee that I had deemed our work attire. At first, she was very resistant to anything but her usual housedress and some sort of hat, but she came around to the idea. It was probably one of the best ideas I’d ever had, because it was a no-brainer to jump out of bed, throw on the uniform, pull my hair up in as much of a bun as I could muster with my mop of curls, and head out the door so early in the morning.

  “Something smells awfully delicious in here. Is it you?” She leaned into Timmy, who’d found a spot on the stool that butted up to the steel work station in the middle of the room where I prepped not only the food but crafted all the coffee blends that made the Bean Hive stand out.

  Timmy laughed. “N
o, silly. It’s her food.”

  “I think you’re right. Look at these.” I stood over the oven with pride.

  Each single-serve cast-iron skillet had just the right amount of my chicken and waffle casserole, along with perfect golden-brown edges that would make any mouth water. Gently, I touched the top of one to make sure the casserole part had baked evenly. I felt Bunny creep up behind me.

  “Oh, Roxy.” She bent her head over the stove. “You’ve gone and outdone yourself.”

  I bounced on the balls of my feet, and a smile pulled up one corner of my mouth. “I think you’re right.” I jerked the towel from the tie of the apron around my waist and used it to grab the handle of one of the mini skillets. “I want you and Timmy to be the first to try one.”

  There was no arguing from her or him. “Perk of the job.” Bunny joked.

  Both of them followed behind me back into the coffeehouse. I put a mini-skillet on the counter and retrieved two forks and some napkins from underneath the counter. I left her there to help Timmy with his syrup and cut his food. I wanted to give her a moment with the dish so she could tell me what she really thought about the taste. Women in the south, especially Honey Springs, took their cooking seriously—it was almost as serious as church, and that was sayin’ something.

  I gazed around my coffee shop, with its exposed brick walls, original wood beams on the ceiling, and fireplace, all of which added up to create the cozy atmosphere I wanted for my customers. There were two large windows in the front that gave the perfect view of the boardwalk and the pier that led out into Lake Honey Springs. The few café tables inside the shop were filled with customers. Even stools underneath the long window bar up front were filled with folks who liked to come in and read the morning paper while they enjoyed a freshly brewed cup of coffee.

  “It’s going to be a gorgeous wedding.” Mae Belle Donovan held her pinky out as she lifted a cup of hot tea to her lips. She was a regular morning customer, and she liked to hold court with all the other little old ladies in Honey Spring.

  “Holding court” was just another way of saying “gossiping.” Around these parts, gossip was part of the daily routine, just like getting out of bed in the morning.

  “Hmm,” Louise Carlton hummed when I passed. She brushed a strand of her silver hair behind her ear. “I did hear it was going to be moved to All About the Details.”

  “But my invitation says Central Park.” Another woman in their group didn’t sound so sure.

  “Either way, Pam Horton is going to make a beautiful bride.” The three women nodded.

  Louise Carlton called me over. “Roxy! Is it all right if I come by in the morning with the new Pet Palace adoptee?”

  “Absolutely.” I patted her shoulder as I walked past her. “I look forward to meeting the fur baby.”

  Louise was the owner and founder of Pet Palace. It was Honey Spring’s idea of an SPCA no-kill animal shelter. Every week, I featured an available pet to be adopted, and we had a one-hundred-percent adoption rate, which started with my very own Pepper.

  “I’ll see you in the morning.” She twiddled her fingers.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Timmy jump down from the stool. Pepper followed him over to the wood-burning fireplace. Even though it was going to be a warmer day, I still had a log burning for ambiance. On one of the two couches, two customers enjoyed their visit with each other, while Timmy and Pepper had decided to snuggle up on the other one.

  I glanced back at Bunny. She flashed a big smile and gave me the okay gesture before she pointed to the waffle-and-chicken casserole. Bunny was older, and when she half-jokingly said she’d help out when I was swamped one day, she became my first employee.

  I picked up stray napkins and cups left behind by customers on my way back to the L-shaped counter. I always looked at the displays to make sure they were inviting for customers. The four chalkboards that hung from the ceiling added a nice touch of a homey, cozy feeling. The first chalkboard had the breakfast special for the week written on it, the second had the weekly lunch special, the third had a list of pastries and specialty drinks, and the fourth had all the business stuff, such as hours and catering information.

  “He looks so much like Tim,” Bunny said when I walked over to the tea bar next to her.

  “I don’t really remember Tim that much.” I tried to recall the times I’d spent in Honey Springs each summer, but I had been so focused on Patrick Cane, Tim’s brother, that I barely knew my own thoughts. “He’s definitely got the Cane features.”

  I bent down and opened the door to the old dresser to get out the packaged sweeteners, creamers, and tea bag refills. The tea bar worked on the honor system, with a nice selection of gourmet and loose-leaf hot teas, along with an assortment of cold teas. There were antique tea pots from Wild and Whimsy Antique shop, which happened to be the first shop on the boardwalk, just in case a customer came in and wanted a pot of hot tea. I could fix it for them, or they could fix their own to their taste.

  There was a coffee bar down the counter on the opposite end that was set up pretty much the same way. The customers would leave their money in a jar and be on their way. People in a hurry really liked this option, and it worked well.

  The alarm on my watch sounded again, reminding me that I had an appointment with Babette Cliff at All About the Details, the event-planning shop a couple of doors down from the Bean Hive.

  “Since he’s so cute, do you mind keeping an eye on him while I run over for my appointment with Babette?” I asked Bunny, making my way around the counter to the freshly brewed coffeepots that contained the popular summer blend.

  “Of course, I don’t,” she mumbled through a mouthful of casserole. “You’ve really outdone yourself. Savory and sweet.”

  I couldn’t help but smile with pride as I made two coffees in to-go cups. I untied my apron and stuck it on the chair behind the counter. I grabbed my coat from the back of the chair and put it on. We were still having that in-between-seasons weather where it was cold in the morning but hot as a goat’s butt in a pepper patch in the afternoon. “You are a dear.” I kissed Bunny on the cheek as I passed her on my way out of the coffeehouse.

  The voices of men yelling directions such as “Go right! No, go left! Now forward!” echoed off the limestone walls of Lake Honey Springs. They were guiding the drivers of trucks hitched up to boat trailers and attempting to maneuver their toys into the water.

  The boardwalk was starting to come alive with the early-summer tourists who rented cabins for family outings and long vacations at the lake. The boardwalk was a one-stop shop for tourists if they didn’t want to head into town. We had everything from restaurants to specialty shops for all their shopping needs. The Bean Hive was smack dab in the middle, right across from where the long pier shot straight out into the lake. It was nice, in the late morning, to enjoy a cup of coffee while taking in the beauty of the lake.

  The sun had come up and rested right where it was going to stay until high noon, when it would begin to work its way down the shoreline before finally ending in the most perfect blue-tinted sunset anyone this side of the Mississippi ever did see.

  “It looks like someone needs a little morning pick-me-up,” I said to Babette, the event coordinator and owner of All About the Details.

  She was sitting in the middle of the large entryway on one of the two white couches. She’d taken pride in making the event center feel like a cozy home, as did the rest of our small town. The floor of the event center was gray concrete, but the cream shag carpet in front of the couches and under the coffee table made it comfortable. The folded-up quilts on the edge of one of the couches were a nice touch, too.

  All About the Details was true to the name. The inside was definitely about the details of what the shop was about. When you walked through the double doors, it opened into an entryway decorated with different items used at the annual Honey Festival that had occurred just about a month ago. The three large bright-yellow and black constructed
beehives on each side of the walkway that led down to a large ballroom was the perfect spot to have a wedding. The tables had white linen tablecloths and ten chairs around each table. There was a stage in the very front. The lighting was available in any color or multiple colors, if wanted. There were place settings on the tables with fine china and stemmed crystal to go along with the cloth napkins and sterling silverware.

  “I’m going to need more than a cup of coffee,” Babette said, barely looking up from the coffee table she was hunched over. “I’m not sure who’s getting married to Truman Phillips, Pam Horton or Hillary Canter.” She ran her hand over her hair and pulled down her ponytail. She paused then took another stab at gathering the messy mass of blond strands into a knot on the top of her head. “I really need this event, financially speaking.”

  “I can guarantee this will help.” I held out the to-go cup of hot coffee with the Bean Hive Coffee House logo printed on it. “It’s my new summer blend. Out today.” I was really proud of the logo. In the center was a honey bee with a coffee bean as the body. It was adorable.

  Babette took the coffee. A sense of joyfulness filled my soul as I watched her jaw relax before she took a sip.

  “You just might be right. This is delicious, Roxy.” She took another sip and slipped her flats off her feet, digging her toes into the shag carpet. “Where are my manners?” She moved the bridal books next to her and patted the couch. “Sit, please. I can use the distraction.”

  “What’s going on?” I sat down and looked at a three-ring binder filled with all sorts of clippings, photos, and notes—and not in an orderly fashion. The Phillips’s Wedding was printed along the spine of the binder, but it was a far cry from the work I’d seen out of Babette in the past.

  “This wedding was all the talk this morning during Mae Belle’s court session.” I unzipped my light coat and put on the back of the couch. “Apparently, there’s been a mix-up with the venue.”