Gunpowder Chowder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright © 2015 Lyndsey Cole

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  OTHER BOOKS BY LYNDSEY COLE

  Gunpowder Chowder

  A Hooked and Cooked Cozy Mystery Series

  by Lyndsey Cole

  Copyright © 2015 Lyndsey Cole

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author and/or publisher. No part of this publication may be sold or hired, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the writer’s imagination and/or have been used fictitiously in such a fashion it is not meant to serve the reader as actual fact and should not be considered as actual fact. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication / use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Connect with me:

  [email protected]

  www.facebook.com/LyndseyColeAuthor

  Chapter 1

  Rustic, she wrote.

  Cozy, she insisted. Or was the exact word charming?

  You’ll love living on the beach.

  No exaggeration with that statement. Hannah Holiday couldn’t wait to leave the congestion of California. It certainly had its own crazy charm, but who wouldn’t choose to live on the beach over just about anywhere else? Many nights she imagined the salty ocean smell and the rhythmic crashing of waves lulling her to sleep. Now, she would smell and hear the real deal.

  Hannah stood with her back to the crashing surf, hands on her hips, and surveyed the rundown, weathered cottages. Her Great Aunt Caroline sure did dump a mess in Hannah’s lap. And there wasn’t much she could do about it. No giving it back.

  The contents of Caroline’s will were spelled out with every t crossed and every i dotted. Hannah couldn’t sell for at least one year. Caroline left enough money and more to pay the taxes and at least get started with renovations.

  She was a shrewd one, that Great Aunt Caroline. She’d always wanted Hannah to help her with her business, and now with her death, Caroline figured out how to make it happen.

  The front of the café, which wasn’t much more than a snack bar, was boarded up with plywood and the sign, Caroline’s Café & Cottages, hung precariously from one nail.

  “You the new owner?”

  Hannah spun around, her long braid swinging over her shoulder. “You startled me.”

  “Hope you’re not planning on tearing the place down.” A man, not much taller than Hannah, stared at her with eyes the color of the ocean. “You’re not one of those big fancy city developers, are you?” His eyes slowly traveled from the top of her windblown hair to the flip flops on her feet. “No, I reckon not.” He pointed to her feet. “I hope you packed some warm socks in that backpack. It’s not even close to being summer here.”

  Hannah bristled. Who was this guy asking her questions and telling her how to dress? For all she knew, he could be homeless and he was probably worried about losing squatters rights in one of the four cabins she was the reluctant new owner of. “And you are?” She puffed herself up, trying to look bigger than her five and a half foot, one hundred thirty pound self.

  “Alton Jackson the Third,” he threw his shoulders back, “but folks around here call me Jack. I guess you can call me Jack, too.” His eyes squinted as he took a closer look at Hannah. “Caroline told me she had a great niece. Is that you?”

  “You knew Great Aunt Caroline?” Hannah’s voice softened slightly.

  “Sure did. Everyone in these parts knew her. And loved her, too. Or, at least, they loved her cafe. No one did up clam chowder the way Caroline did.” Jack gazed off into the distance and licked his lips. He must have been remembering the taste of something delicious. “She had a secret ingredient. I hope she left you her recipes along with this rundown mess.”

  A loud crash made Hannah jump clear off the ground.

  Jack chuckled a deep throaty, almost growling laugh. “Better get used to stuff falling down around here. That sign won’t be the last crash you hear unless you get busy right quick.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not going to level these cottages, are you?”

  “I can’t. Caroline left all this beauty to me with the condition that the only changes I make are to remodel, refurbish, and reroof what’s already here. Her exact wording.” Hannah swept her arms wide, indicating the four, one and two room cottages, and the tiny café.

  Another chuckle emerged from deep inside Jack’s chest. “Sounds just like what she’d do. All those fancy types that showed up never managed to entice her even with the offer of millions for this spot. She didn’t care much about money. Yup, once she knew what they were after, she wouldn’t even sell them a bowl of clam chowder.” He laughed. “She ran a few of ‘em off with her shotgun. I don’t think she had a clue how to even load the darn thing but they could never be sure what she might do.” He pointed his gnarled finger at Hannah. “You best keep that shotgun handy, young lady.”

  “Shotgun?” Hannah flinched at the thought of touching a gun.

  “It doesn’t matter if you know how to use it but there’s one persistent fella that was comin’ round regular as clockwork. The owner of the Paradise Inn—Vern Mason. I haven’t seen him since just before your Great Aunt Caroline died, but you’ll know him by his polo shirt. He always wears a bright blue polo shirt, ocean blue he always said, khaki pants, and a black leather belt with an odd buckle. Looks like a wave. Said it made him look like he fit in but he stood out like a big fat swollen thumb with that New York accent of his.”

  “You were good friends with Great Aunt Caroline?” Hannah asked, realizing she knew no one in Hooks Harbor now that Caroline was dead. Jack wasn’t exactly her type, more like the complete opposite—gruff and at least fifty years her senior with no tact whatsoever—but maybe he could introduce her to some locals. May was only five months away and she would need a lot of help to get the cottages ready to rent before the busy season started.

  Jack’s eyes filled and he blinked several times. “Yes, you could say that. She was a special girl.”

  Girl? Hannah never thought of her eighty three year old great aunt as a girl, but Jack appeared to be from that decade, too. It was all relative in the eyes of the beholder.

  “Now, take some advice from me. What’s your name?”

  “Hannah.”

  “Hannah,” he said, more to himself, working the name through his memory bank. “Caroline did mention you. A lot. What took you so long to get yourself out here? You should have come to help before Caroline died. Would have made it a lot easier on you, ya know. And her for that matter.”

  Hannah sighed and wiped a tear from her cheek. “I can’t go back and do it over now, ca
n I? What’s the advice you were going to give me?”

  He pointed to a small, tidy, grey-shingled house, barely visible down the road. “That’s my place. You come over anytime you need something. Any time of day or night. Don’t be bashful.”

  Hannah’s head bobbed up and down and she smiled. “I’ll do that.”

  “Okay then. Fix up that cottage for yourself.” He pointed to the biggest one sitting closest to the beach. “That’s the one Caroline lived in and there’s room enough for a single girl like you and an office space. And get a dog. You might not need that shotgun if you have a dog.”

  “A dog?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have a beauty that would be perfect for you. Are you hungry?”

  Hannah’s head spun trying to keep up with Jack’s jumbled conversation. The idea of tackling all the work to get the cottages and café up and running, adopting a dog, meeting the locals—where to start? And was she even ready for the challenge? “Breakfast sounds perfect.” She shouldered her backpack on and waited for Jack to lead the way.

  “I didn’t say anything about breakfast.”

  Hannah felt heat rise up her neck and spread over her pale cheeks.

  Jack laughed a deep belly laugh. “Well, okay. Nellie will be happy for some company.”

  “I don’t want to intrude,” Hannah said with her hands up. “I can get myself some food in town.”

  “Don’t be silly. The company will do us good. And between you and me,” he paused and lowered his voice, “the food at the Shipwreck Diner is hit or miss.” He turned toward his house and waved his hand, indicating she should follow. “Come on.”

  Hannah jogged to catch up, her backpack over one shoulder, bouncing against her side. Jack’s house was surrounded by a white picket fence with the dried remains of hydrangea blooms against the grey weathered shingles of his house.

  He opened the front door, holding it so Hannah could enter first. A wiggly puppy darted across the room, launching herself at Hannah’s legs.

  Jack laughed. “Slow down Nellie, you’ll scare the poor girl away.”

  Hannah, crouched at Nellie’s level, tilted her head back to look up at Jack. “This is Nellie?”

  “Yeah, who were you expecting?”

  “Oh. I thought Nellie was someone you lived with.”

  Jack hung his jacket on the hook next to the door. “Nope. Just me and Nellie at the moment. It appears she’s taken a liking to you. She’ll be good company over at your new cottage. You take her out for a walk while I get the food cooking. You like omelets?”

  Hannah was wondering what she was walking into but, whatever, it was time to go with the flow and get out of her comfort zone. “Omelet? Sure, sounds delicious. Do you need help?”

  “Yup. Help with Nellie. Her leash is hanging next to the door. Now, take her outside before she pees all over the floor.”

  Without another word, Jack walked into his kitchen just beyond the small living room Hannah stood in. She opened the door, letting Nellie run outside. Hannah watched the golden blur zoom around the yard, leaping and twisting in obvious delight at the freedom. Hannah attached the leash, opened the gate, and they headed up the street. In the opposite direction of her new home.

  Hannah guessed Nellie’s age to be about four or five months. She was beyond the new puppy stage but was still a clumsy, uncoordinated teen with way too big feet. Nellie ran to the end of her leash toward a man walking on the opposite side of the road. He was completely engrossed in a conversation on his phone.

  “I said I’d be there in a half hour,” Hannah overheard the man say just before he tripped and his phone flew from his hand. A string of curses followed.

  Hannah quickened her pace trying to avoid any potential interaction with his anger. She and Nellie took a right turn down a quiet road with several small homes, then two more rights, ending up back on Ocean View Lane between Jack’s house and her newly inherited project.

  Hannah heard the shriek of a smoke alarm when she got to Jack’s front door. The scent of burnt toast accosted her nose.

  “Are you okay?” she yelled on her way to the kitchen.

  Jack pulled the batteries from the alarm, silencing the deafening screech.

  “Breakfast is ready,” he announced, ignoring her question as if this was a normal occurrence.

  Two places were set at the small, round kitchen table. Mismatched plates held a mess of what was supposed to be an omelet with triangles of black toast on either side.

  Hannah sat in the chair by the wall. A steaming mug of coffee sat in front of her plate.

  Jack sat across from her. “Dig in before everything gets cold. It tastes better than it looks.”

  Hannah waited for Jack to ask her about her walk but he dug into his food as if he hadn’t eaten for days.

  Tentatively, Hannah sipped her coffee, hoping it hadn’t met the same fate as the toast. It was perfect. Rich, dark and strong. Just how she liked it. With the caffeine surging through her veins, she ate a forkful of the eggs. A smile spread across her face. “Delicious.”

  “Yup. I have three hens out back. Nothing like homegrown eggs.”

  They ate in silence until all the food was gone. Every last crumb. Even the burnt toast.

  Jack leaned back in his chair, holding his coffee. A burp escaped through his lips. “Sorry, I’m not used to having company.”

  Hannah felt her lip twitch. “Thanks for the food. Just what I need before I tackle the day.”

  “There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet. Cal Murphy. You’ll like him, and he could help you with the fixing up you need to do.”

  Hannah hemmed and hawed, not sure that any friend of Jack’s would be young enough to be of much help, and how did he know who she would like? “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for that.” She pushed her chair back and brought her plate and mug to the sink. “Thanks Jack. I’ll get out of your way.”

  “Don’t be shy about stopping by. And don’t forget to take Nellie. She’s too much for an old man like me.”

  Nellie followed Hannah to the sink, dancing around her feet.

  “Yup, she wants to go with you. Don’t worry, I’ll come visit and bring you some nice brown homegrown eggs, too,” Jack said.

  Hannah patted Nellie. Her fur was as soft as silk. She would be good company. “Okay, I’ll take her on a trial basis.” It all felt too weird to Hannah. Who dumped a dog on someone they barely knew?

  Jack stood at the sink washing the dishes, his back to Hannah. His deep chuckle was his only response.

  Hannah shook her head, feeling a bit awkward as she snapped the leash on Nellie’s collar and let herself outside. The day was promising to be one of those December gifts. Brilliant blue sky, a few puffy clouds, and a slight ocean breeze carrying the smell of salt and the sound of gulls. Hannah breathed deeply, savoring the moment until her arm was yanked by Nellie running down the street, pulling Hannah toward their new home and a couple of visitors.

  As Hannah approached the sandy entrance to her café and cottages, she could hear loud arguing. Great, she wondered, who is quarreling on my doorstep?

  Nellie barked and lunged, drawing the attention of two men. They stared at Hannah and she stared back. One man wore a blue polo shirt under a thick sweatshirt, and the other, a bit younger, leaner, and more weathered, wore jeans and a denim jacket.

  “Who are you?” the stouter man asked.

  “I’m not sure it’s any of your business. You’re trespassing. Please leave. Now.” She slid her cell phone from her jean pocket, not even sure who she would call but hoping it would bluff these two to leave.

  “Trespassing? You’re the owner?” the second man asked.

  Hannah stared, saying nothing.

  The weathered man extended his hand, approaching Hannah, “I’m Chase Fuller, owner of Bayside Marina.”

  Hannah recognized him as the man talking on his phone that she saw earlier while walking Nellie.

  The other man elbowed Chase out of th
e way, “I’m Vern Mason. I was a good friend of the previous owner, Caroline Holiday.”

  “Really,” Hannah said as a statement with her eyebrows raised. “Funny that my great aunt never mentioned you.”

  Vern’s face turned bright red. He blustered, “Well, business acquaintances. You know what I mean. I own the Paradise Inn and Caroline owned these charming seaside cottages. As a matter of fact, I had a contract to buy this whole place but she died before it was finalized. I guess I’ll be dealing with you now.” He smiled but Hannah could see it was one of those sleazy salesman forced smiles.

  She walked past the two men, punching a number into her phone with Nellie sticking close to her legs. She opened the door of the main cottage, not sure what she would do next until her eyes fixated on Caroline’s shotgun resting against the wall. Hannah picked up the gun, being careful to keep it pointed away from anyone in case it decided to explode. She walked back outside, and with a firm, serious voice told Vern and Chase, “I asked you to leave.”

  They looked at each other, then at Hannah before walking back out the way they must have come in.

  As she leaned the gun next to the door, she overheard Chase say to Vern, “Just like her crazy aunt, but I won’t let you steal that property out from under me. Again.”

  Chapter 2

  A loud crack brought Hannah upright in her bed. Was she dreaming? Was it a door slamming shut somewhere? Nellie barked and ran to the cottage door. Hannah pulled her jeans on as she hopped across the cold floor. She grabbed her flip flops, forgetting they would be useless against the cold outside. At least her warm jacket was hanging on a hook next to the door and she pulled it on.

  Only a few gulls broke the silence when she peered outside. With no clue what she heard, she ventured a few steps onto the sandy path, searching left and right for a hint as to what made the noise. Nellie bolted over the rocks toward the beach and the ocean.