Anchors Away and Murder Read online

  Anchors Away and Murder

  Fiona Fleming Cozy Mysteries #7

  Patti Larsen

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2018 by Patti Larsen

  Find out more about me at

  http://www.pattilarsen.com

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  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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  Cover art (copyright) by Christina G. Gaudet. All rights reserved.

  http://castlekeepcreations.com/

  Edited by Jessica Bufkin

  Thanks, as always, Kirstin!

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  Chapter One

  Ready for More in Reading

  It’s not hard to see the massive changes happening to our town, nor is it difficult to lay equal amounts of kudos and blame on those in power who have led us here. Namely, and I have no qualms naming names, our own mayor, Olivia Walker, and her never-flagging energetic promotion of Reading to the rest of the known world. I’m not the first to benefit from the clever and sometimes overzealous attempts she’s made to draw in tourist dollars, and I’m sure I won’t be the last. However, it’s become increasingly apparent that those who reap the rewards of her consistent attention to the details of Reading’s increasing popularity have joined the vanguard of those choosing to oppose her continuing guidance and position as our fearless leader.

  Inexplicable? Or deception fed by years of control by one particular family who can’t stand to see change come in such a dramatic way?

  I sat back from the keyboard of my laptop and sighed. The kind of heavy, weighted sigh that left me sagging and my back aching from poor posture. The deep and draining kind of exhale that told me, yet again, I’d be deleting this start to the column I’d been trying to write for a couple of months now.

  Literally months. When Pamela Shard, the seemingly fearless and somewhat jaded local newspaperwoman approached me to created said column for our paper in all its local glory and authority, I’d initially been tickled and rather nervous about the prospect. After all, I wasn’t a writer, per se. I’d been a college student, a barista, a waitress, a retail saleswoman among other countless small, frustrating jobs that got me nowhere during my time living in New York City. But, most recently, drawing on my stint as the owner/operator of Petunia’s Bed and Breakfast—and the brand new and still shiny annex next door—I figured I had enough life experience to at least jot down the kinds of thoughts others might want to read. After all, this wasn’t the Boston Globe or the New York Times. It was the Reading Reader Gazette for heaven’s sake.

  Yeah, so I hadn’t factored in a number of things, apparently. Like my creeping doubt and self-judgment that every word I wrote came out trite, contrived and painful. Or that my particular writing style—train of thought, run on from one mixed metaphor to the other—might not appeal to everyone.

  Sure, I had, as yet, to test said writing skills on a real life audience. I was fully aware my pressing sense of sadly missing skill came from my own lack of confidence that I could do what Pamela asked of me. After my first attempt to write something coherent, I’d quickly deleted the mess of not only jumbled thoughts but clearly opinionated ramblings about my town and the people who had been pissing me off lately and stepped away from the computer.

  Did I want the entire town to hate me? Did Pamela? Horror shudders at my snarky near-societal death still gave me stomach cramps. I had no idea why I kept trying, either. This latest stab at a column, while an opinion piece, was so far from what I wanted to write I cringed before selecting all and hitting the kill button on my words.

  I closed my laptop and sat back, head resting on the cushion of my sofa, the sunlight beaming in the basement windows lighting the center of my kitchen island and making it visually apparent no matter how much I cleaned the fine, pale hairs from the snoring creature at my side made it to all the nooks and crannies of my life, including the places I ate. I paused to stroke Petunia’s fur, shedding some said bits into the fabric of my couch, before heaving my feet off the coffee table and setting aside my computer, waking the sleeping fawn creature in a snorting, farting and hilariously familiar alert awareness that triggered a giggle from me and the immediate wiggle of her cinnamon bun tail. Small black ears perked as my phone buzzed, my attention drawn to the familiar face that appeared, Crew Turner’s handsome avatar smiling back at me. I grinned in response to the memory of taking that picture the night of Aundrea and Pamela’s wedding, the easy smile on his face, the crinkle around his blue eyes, the way his tanned skin looked so delicious against the open white collar of his dress shirt.

  Meow.

  I hit answer and heard the smile reach my voice. “Good morning, Sheriff. How’s Montpelier?” He and Jill were at a conference in the state capital, gone since last Sunday night. He’d been great to keep in touch, calling when he knew I’d be alone, usually about this time of day and again late enough at night we had lots of time to talk. Did he really know me that well, my schedule? Apparently. Made me feel a happy little bubble of joy, like we were really a couple. Weren’t we?

  “Good morning, Miss Fleming,” he said in that deep gravel voice of his that made me shiver and grin all over again. “I’m bored silly, ready to come home tomorrow and wishing you’d come with me instead of Jill.” Well, growl, Sheriff Turner.

  “Did you learn lots and lots?” I giggled. He’d complained previously about going at all, though Olivia insisted. Something to do with making our presence obvious and our competence clear.

  Crew’s heavy sigh told me he’d had enough. “It’s been okay,” he said, though he sounded tired. “And I got a chance to talk to some of my old friends from the Bureau.” I wasn’t sure that made me so happy, selfish as that thought was. I wanted him here in Reading with me, not gallivanting off to rejoin the FBI. He’d reassured me he had no intentions of doing such a thing, but who knew what the future held? He’d had enough of a rocky road here as sheriff, if the opportunity came up would he take it?

  We’d deal with it if that time ever came. Because I had a say in what he did, right?

  Doubt, you suck.

  “I can’t wait to see you.” His own tone held nothing of worry or anxiety and helped calm me down. Wow, I really had trust issues. No shocker there, but still. This was Crew. Time to dump the nerves. “Can you get the night off tomorrow? I want to make you dinner.”

  Yum. In more ways than one. “I’ll ask Daisy.” She’d have my back, no doubt about it. The way she looked at me and the delicious sheriff when we were together? She had us married already, the brat. “Sorry, Crew, I have to go.” I’d already been down here long enough. “Have a great weekend,” I said. “I’ll talk to you tonight?”

  I heard a faint knock on the other end of the line, heard Crew call out for the person to wait. “Perfect. Talk tonight,” he said and hung up.

  I hated that he was gone, just like that, and stared at his picture for a long moment, one finger tracing over his happy expression before I sighed deeply one last time and looked down at Petunia. “Time to get back to work,” I said.

  The pug grunted her agreement, snorfling at my pant leg in a hopeful search for food crumbs. Which reminded me I’d meant to have some breakfast when I came downstairs for a quick quiet moment between morning setup and the breakfast rush, not waste the entire twenty minutes I’d set aside for some person
al time on a column I wasn’t even going to keep.

  Great. Well, at least skipping a meal was good for my waistline, though I’d be drinking enough coffee in the next few hours I’d make up the calories in sugar and the real cream Mom stocked in the fridge upstairs.

  I left my laptop on the coffee table and pushed the column from my mind. I’d either come up with something I could live with or I’d just tell Pamela I couldn’t do it. Thing was, I really needed to tell her one way or the other. Funny, she hadn’t been pushing me for an entry. Did she know I struggled internally with creating something I could be proud of? Could be. She’d been reporting for years, after all. If anyone understood, it would be her. And it had been a request, hadn’t it? Not some kind of edict. Which meant there would be no hard feelings if I told her I was out.

  So why then did I continue to come back to the blank, white page and keep trying to write something that felt like the most wicked and painful torture of my life?

  Grunt. Sucker for punishment, anyone? Or did I really, honestly think I had something important to say? So, pride before the fall…?

  I emerged from my basement apartment into the busy and brightly lit foyer of Petunia’s to the chattering laughter of visitors, the warmth of the August morning taxing the air conditioning as the front door opened and closed multiple times. I winced at the thought of my electrical bill before shoving that consideration aside. Things had never been busier, with both Petunia’s and the annex filled to the brim since the next door property opened in May, booked straight through to the end of September. I had zero to complain about and plenty of income to pay for the loss of cool air out my front door. Still, I had two partners now, though thanks to Mom’s efforts the restaurant was busier than ever, no longer just a breakfast service—belying the B&B description of Petunia’s—but a full service, seven day a week location in high demand, both at the main house and across the yard for finer dining. It had been her brilliant idea to split the two dining rooms in to more casual and a distinctly upper crust eating experience that drew tourists and locals alike.

  In short, my mother was a genius. And if she ever chose to sell and leave me, I’d be screwed.

  Speaking of the culinary and business mogul, I swept through the kitchen door and offered her a big hug, the pug at my feet hunkering down to stare up at the lovely redhead who beamed at me after letting me go from her own enthusiastic grasp.

  “Did you have a good break, dear?” Mom spun away from me before I could answer, her matching green eyes and auburn locks giving me an excellent idea of how good I’d look when I was her age. I was going to age very gracefully, it seemed. I joined her at the counter, offering my pug a handful of blueberries Mom stirred into a bowl of batter before helping myself to a few.

  “Fine, Mom.” No need to tell her I’d skipped eating in favor of writing. She was too busy to take time to force me to sit down and gulp some of her delicious oatmeal or serve me a plate of bacon and eggs. Instead, I stole a mini muffin from the pile she deemed not pretty enough to serve for breakfast and peeled the paper casing, popping it into my mouth where the mix of banana and cinnamon dissolved in sugary perfection. See, who needed to cook when I had my mother around?

  “You’re still able to help me set up for the yacht club fun day, Fiona?” I had no idea how Mom found the energy or focus to balance this place and her own catering business, but she seemed to be handling it all in stride. Like she saw the challenge as a way to redeem herself for the months she put into feeling sorry for herself when she’d crashed and burned over the TV show episode of Bake or Break last winter. I was just happy to have my mother back and better than ever, though I inwardly winced at the reminder of the promise I’d made her—and through her, Olivia—in passing a week ago.

  “Sure, Mom,” I said, aiming for perky so she wouldn’t know I’d rather just stay here. Not that I had anything against the yacht club or Olivia’s needy, attention grabbing events that seemed to come up far too often. Might be a fun chance to get out, except of course it meant lugging and serving and work.

  Sigh.

  The third slice of our particular pie of awesome swept into the kitchen, brightening my day enough I forgot about being grumpy. Her gray eyes alight, dark blonde hair in artful pigtails that draped in glossy curls over the shoulders of her flowered dress, Daisy Bruce always looked fresh, happy and full of the kind of charismatic charm that made her the perfect front runner for Petunia’s. Not to mention the fact she’d finally found her calling after all these years, her adept skills at managing people, logistics and timing making her the perfect partner in all things events held at the two locations.

  “We’re prepped and ready for guest turnover.” She beamed at me, kissed Mom’s cheek, then bent to give Petunia a hearty pat before exhaling a sigh that resembled nothing like the depressed one I’d let out myself just a few moments ago. I found myself smiling back at her, feeling the content and excitement of the way things were wash over me. Busy or not, run off my feet or not, I’d never been this happy in my entire life. And, from the way the two women I loved most in the world stopped to grin at each other and me in the perfect synchronization of sisterly adoration, I wasn’t the only one.

  How lucky was I?

  The kitchen door swung open, one of the many girls Daisy hired to keep our businesses running bustling in with dirty dishes, interrupting the moment but not erasing it completely. Nothing could do that, I was positive of it. I stepped out of her way—damn it, was she Molly or Bianca? Argh, I sucked at names—while Daisy adeptly side swept with a soft swish of her pattered skirt, joining me out of the path of the next girl—Darcy? Erin?—who hurried in with lunch plates on their way to the dishwasher.

  “You two,” Mom pointed at me with her spatula, “out!”

  I laughed and headed for the foyer, Daisy at my side, the way things should be.

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  Chapter Two

  The two of us dodged more girls with more platters, hurrying past the dining room door. I glanced inside, delighted to see a full house, not unusual for a Saturday morning, with a small group waiting for yet another girl to clear a table for them. Part of me itched to help out, but Daisy guided me to the side board and the computer in the foyer, as if sensing I was about to interfere in her domain. Not that I was a control freak or anything. But she and Mom both had to rather firmly guide me away from trying to do everything and let them handle their parts of the puzzle since they’d signed their contracts in May.

  Okay, so I was used to being the numero uno around here. They just had to be patient.

  Daisy walked me through the list of pending check outs and check ins, our morning devoured by chatting with guests and working out kinks that she’d caught in our lineup. Leave it to her to save our butts time and again. She really was good at this, better than I’d ever been.

  And all the while putting the clients first. I beamed at her as she waved at an older couple exiting the front door as we wrapped up our meeting. “So sweet,” she said, heart in her voice. “Did you see? They were holding hands.”

  Leave it to Daisy to catch that particular detail, though thinking about holding hands led me to thinking about Crew Turner all over again and much, much more than just that simple touch. Growl. Down, girl.

  Daisy made a soft meu of distress before hugging me quickly. “You must be missing the good sheriff this weekend. Has he texted to say how horribly lonely he is without you?”

  I grinned at her, blushing despite myself thanks to the carnal thoughts I’d just been indulging in. While Crew and I had moved past the initial awkwardness of choosing to date, we had, as yet, to commit fully to our relationship. And while kissing him was about as close to the top of my happiest moments list ever, I was ready for so much more.

  Seriously, Fee. Wash that mind out with soap.

  “We had our usual quick talk this morning,” I said, looking down to keep her from seeing the full flush on my cheeks. I was, after all, a redhead. Freckles and the pales
t of tans did nothing to hide the deep crimson my face turned when I blushed. I’m sure she noticed, but she kept the temptation to tease me to herself, bless her, while I rushed on. “He’s totally bored and can’t wait to get home.” His question struck and I grinned at her. “Mind taking the desk for the night tomorrow? He offered to cook and I’m starving.”

  She giggled wickedly, blushing herself, eyes a-twinkle. “You bet,” she said and sighed. “At least one of us is dating.” She pushed on past that comment while I frowned a bit in response. Daisy was gorgeous and hilarious and awesome. She could have anyone she wanted. How had I failed to notice she was alone these days? I really had to stop being so selfish. “I’m still not sure what he was thinking.” Daisy tsked softly under her breath, arms crossing over her chest. “I mean, I understand why he took Jill with him, considering his choices.” I knew what she meant. That left Robert Carlisle of all people in charge of the sheriff’s department.

  “Jill’s a great deputy,” I said, reiterating what he’d said to me the night they’d left, almost a week ago. A long, lonely week ago. Argh. “She deserves the chance to learn.” That kind of training would be wasted on my cousin.

  “I know,” Daisy said, patting my hand with hers as she relented. “I just hate that Robert is parading around Reading these days looking like he’s the king of the mountain.” She flinched faintly, paling as if she felt badly for what she’d just said. No, guilty. Well, she was the sweetest person I knew, but badmouthing Robert was kind of a pastime for the two of us. She could drop the regret right now.

  Besides, she wasn’t stretching the truth, not by a long shot. The last time I’d run into him, only yesterday morning when I slipped into Sammy’s to get a cup of coffee and a chance for fresh air outside Petunia’s, he’d been strutting the street like a puffed-up peacock, his freshly shined badge thrust outward as if everyone in town wasn’t aware of the fact he was acting sheriff. It made my jaw ache just at the thought of him in charge of anything, let alone our little town’s safety. But the likelihood of anything bad happening in the short week Crew and Jill were out of town was pretty slim. A time that was almost over.