Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6 Read online

  Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Boxed Set

  Books 4 - 6

  Danielle Collins

  Fairfield Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Message to Readers

  Muffins and Murder

  Vacations and Violence

  Boating and Bodies

  Thank You!

  Copyright © 2017 Fairfield Publishing

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.

  This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Thank you so much for buying my book. I am excited to share my stories with you and hope that you are just as thrilled to read them.

  If you would like to know about all my new releases and have the opportunity to get free books, make sure you sign up for our Cozy Mystery Newsletter.

  FairfieldPublishing.com/cozy-newsletter

  Muffins and Murder

  Chapter 1

  Margot Durand gently packed the second box into her canvas bag, the bright colors of the lightweight cardboard popping against the tan of the tote. She donned her bright green rain jacket and palmed her purse-sized umbrella as she made her way to the front door.

  “Be back in an hour,” she called behind her.

  “Okay,” a voice answered from the kitchen. Dexter was working on a new creation—one she had agreed to oversee but was now having second thoughts about.

  “Don’t burn down the place,” she called.

  “I won’t,” he called back with a laugh.

  Pressing her lips to keep from calling out more warnings, she pushed the door open and took a moment under the stoop awning to pop open the umbrella. Her grey Hunter rain boots would protect her feet from the downpour just as she was trusting in the umbrella to keep the rest of her relatively dry on the way to the senior center. That, and her precious cargo.

  The Parisian Pâtisserie, her French bakery located on a historic, cobbled street that ran parallel to the Potomac in the small town of North Bank, Virginia, hadn’t been the same without its star patron, Bentley Anderson.

  A retired lawyer and avid crossword player, Bentley had come in to the Pâtisserie every day for the last few years, until last week when he’d thrown his back out. Under doctor’s orders of rest, Bentley had stayed in his small, senior living apartment not far from the Senior Center, but she’d gotten a call that morning that he was seriously contemplating coming down to the bakery or else he might face going insane from lack of ‘mental stimulation,’ as he’d put it.

  Rather than risk another potential injury, Margot had made a deal. She would bring the bakery to him if he’d tell her an interesting story or two to pass the time. He’d readily agreed.

  Getting there without soaking today’s delicacy, French breakfast muffins, or spilling the coffee was a challenge, but soon Margot was headed to his door under the covered walkway of one of the senior complexes that dotted the riverside in North Bank.

  “It’s open,” he called when she knocked on the door.

  Bentley sat in his favorite chair in front of the double sliding glass doors that looked out over a stunning vista. The town of North Bank stretched out below the senior facility situated on a hill and they could clearly see the winding and slightly muddy waters of the Potomac stretching out in front of them. The rain beat down, dotting the glass and making the waters choppier than they normally were, but it was still a stunning view.

  “I’d say you got the best of both worlds today.”

  “How’s that?” he asked, turning to peer up at her.

  “You get the view and the pastries.”

  He grinned and eyed her tote. “You bring me some breakfast?”

  “Of course. And coffee to boot.”

  “You’re my angel,” he said, stretching his hands out toward her. “Now hand it over.”

  Laughing, she made her way to the kitchen and placed three French breakfast muffins covered in icing on a plate, pouring a large mug of coffee as well. Then she placed her own pastry on another plate and carried it all into the living room. “Here we are.”

  They ate in silence for a time, the only sounds the pitter-patter of the rain against the glass and scraping forks on plates. As soon as Bentley was done, Margot leaned forward. “You promised me a story.”

  Bentley licked the last of the icing off his fork, smacking his lips together in pleasure, then nodded to her. “I thought of a good one, but I think you’ve had enough of death and sadness to last for a while. Am I right?”

  She frowned, thinking about that. In recent history, she’d stumbled across more than her fair share of mysteries. Granted, working the cases with handsome Detective Adam Eastwood was a bonus, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t affected her. Then again, her last mystery had happened in California during a vacation to Ensenada, Mexico, where, with the help of Adam and his friend DIA agent Gabe Williams, they’d ended a drug and gem smuggling ring. Despite the happy ending, the events along the way had weighed on her. The reality of the depth of human greed was a difficult thing to comprehend.

  Then again, it had almost been five months ago and she had moved easily back into the rhythm of life at the bakery while occasionally dating Adam. If he hadn’t been so busy recently—

  She cut those thoughts off where they started and refocused on Bentley’s statement. “Oh come on, Bentley,” she urged with a smile, “give me something good.”

  They had started the tradition of storytelling when she had gotten back from Long Beach. Over the course of several days, she’d told him the story of what had happened on her trip and, seeming to enjoy it, he had in turn shared a story from his past with her.

  As a trial lawyer, among other odd jobs Bentley seemed to have had, there was no end to the amazing tales he could tell about his past. She also had a feeling he enjoyed opening up to her about the past, seeing as he had no family that visited him—or none that Margot was aware of.

  “Oh fine,” he said, nodding, his eyes unfocused on the pane of glass in front of him. “I’ll tell you the tale of the sunken treasure.”

  “I was in my early twenties,” Bentley began, his eyes scanning the distance, “but it was the best summer of my life, spent out on a boat for twelve to fourteen hours a day. I came back so tan, my mother thought I’d fallen into a vat of brown paint.” He rasped out a laugh.

  Margot smiled to herself, imagining a young, tanned Bentley out on a boat and looking as though he owned the world.

  “I was making pretty good money that summer, all of it would go to my schooling, and that made the experience all the better. I mean, I had to pay for my law degree somehow.” He laughed again. “You see it was that summer that I went hunting for treasure.”

  Margot laughed. “Treasure? What, is this story about pirates?”

  He flashed a wicked grin. “Not exactly.”

  “That’s a little disappointing,” she joked.

  “Let me tell the story, girl.” He gave her a fake warning look and continued. “I worked on the boat with my friends Russ Gorssi and Harrison Douglass. We were all certified scuba instructors and took out small groups of people to see fun attractions on the Florida coast. It was a sweet little operation and the administration portion was run by the prettiest girl I’d ever laid eyes on. Melinda Kaufman.” Bentley sighed and Margot almost giggled but kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt again. “Her younger brother Sean would ferry people back and forth from the main boat. He was a little bit of a brat, but you couldn’t blame him. He was stil
l a teen and we were obnoxious college students.”

  Bentley took a sip of his coffee. “One day, after we’d come back from a long day of instruction, I was relaxing on my bunk in the small apartment we’d rented for the summer. When I looked through my mail, I was shocked to see I’d gotten a letter from our mutual friend Tony McLaren. At the time, he was studying international law in France.”

  “Were you all studying to be lawyers?” Margot asked.

  “In one way or another, we were all studying law, but in different veins. Harrison had political aspirations and Russ was more interested in finding a wife than a degree. But law was what bonded us. Anyway, the exciting part—” Bentley eyed her. “—was that Tony found an old map in an antique store in Barcelona while he was there for a break from school. As a joke, he cut the map into four halves and sent it off to me, Harrison, and Russ.”

  “You’re joking,” Margot laughed.

  “Hardly!” Bentley shook a finger at her. “The only reason he sent it was because it was in the area that we were diving. He thought it quite the coincidence and thought it would be a good laugh for us all. He kept part for himself but it was the inconsequential part. With our three portions, we were able to piece out where this supposed treasure was buried.”

  “Did you dive for it?”

  “Eventually, we did one day after work was over. And you know what?”

  “What?” Margot leaned forward in her seat, interested now.

  “We found it.”

  “You did!?”

  “We did, but that’s when the trouble started.”

  “Trouble?”

  Bentley shook his head. “I was studying to be a trial lawyer and I liked to study up on various laws along the way. Kind of like my affection for crosswords. Anyway, I had looked into what would happen if you found treasure where we were diving—since I think I was hoping we’d find some—and I knew we were required to report it, but the other guys immediately objected. They said that they didn’t want the treasure snookered away from us. Talked about selling it on the side and such.”

  “What happened?” Margot asked, afraid to know what had really become of the treasure.

  “When I finally convinced them that my way was the best, most honest way, they agreed to do things as the law dictated. We left it where it was, intending to come back a week later when we knew more about how we could accurately claim it, and swore ourselves to secrecy. But when we did go back…it was gone.”

  “No,” she said in disbelief.

  “Yes.” Bentley shook his head with a sad expression. “We never did find out what happened. Maybe someone had overheard us talking about it or we were followed out there. We couldn't be sure, but it was gone.”

  “I'm so sorry,” she said when her phone beeped. She looked down to see that Rosie had texted to ask a question regarding the shop. She was way past the time she’d told Dexter she’d be back. “And I’m sorry again, but I’ve got to get back to the shop.”

  “Of course,” he said, waving dismissively.

  “Bentley,” she said, standing, “why did you pick that story?”

  He looked out the window again. “I found out that Tony died last week. I guess our adventures—given to us by him—brought it to mind.”

  Margot frowned and walked toward the television. “I'm sorry to hear that, Bentley. Do you want the TV on?” He usually did when she left. He nodded.

  When the screen came to life, Bentley gasped as the picture of a man flashed on the screen. The anchor was speaking.

  “…was found dead in his Chesapeake Bay home late last night. And so ends the Grossi family business. It’s rumored that the Grossi Market was bought out but we won’t know until further—”

  “Wait.” Margot looked to Bentley, whose mouth was wide open. “Is that Russ Grossi? Your friend?”

  Bentley nodded and looked up at her. “And now he’s dead too.”

  Chapter 2

  Margot finally left a stunned Bentley, who insisted he would be fine, and headed back to the bakery. But the fact that Bentley had told her the story about the treasure, and that now not just one but two of his friends involved all those years ago were dead, sat uneasily in her mind. What were the odds? Was Bentley safe? Or was she just jumping to conclusions? Margot had often been accused of an overly cautious—sometimes paranoid—sensibility, but she had excellent instincts that often proved to be right.

  Sure, all of this had happened over forty years ago, but it still seemed odd. Margot didn’t like odd, especially when it concerned death. Her mind filled in the blank of Detective Adam Eastwood. A picture of his handsome, smiling face and typically unruly black hair cemented itself in her mind.

  They had a date that night and, despite the fact that he would give her a hard time for once again sticking her nose somewhere it didn’t belong, she was determined to bring this up to him, if nothing else than to hear his opinion. Was it possible that something had happened regarding the treasure? But it had been over forty years ago, what could still matter at a time like this?

  Then again, people didn’t just start dying for no reason, especially not if they were all connected. She wondered how the men had died. The news anchor hadn’t said. Was it possible the deaths were due to foul play? Now she was jumping to conclusions.

  Margot pulled into her parking spot and grabbed her tote bag, heading for the shop’s front door. She sidestepped a puddle and pushed the door in, the cheery chime indicating that someone was entering.

  “Hello— Oh, it’s you.” Rosie grinned, her white teeth standing out against her chocolate skin. Her black hair, flecked with silver, remained closely cropped and she wore a bright Hawaiian print top. It was a classic Rosie style and Margot grinned at the welcome sight.

  “I’m glad to see you back, Miss Rosie.” She gave the woman a tight hug. “And I see that you still can’t run the shop without me.”

  Rosie laughed, the sound rich and deep. “I never thought I could. I know better than to stick my nose into that kitchen of yours.”

  “Well, I’d be lost without you to run things on this end so I’d say that makes us partners.”

  Rosie laughed at this as well. “As long as I can be a part-time partner.” The woman, in her early sixties, only worked part-time for Margot, though she often was available to come in at a moment’s notice, something Margot was eternally grateful for.

  “Deal.”

  As she unloaded her packages in the back and answered Rosie’s question, she noticed that Dexter, usually cheerful and full of quick-witted quips, wasn’t saying anything.

  When Rosie went back to the front of the bakery to help a few customers who had just meandered in now that the rain had passed, she leaned up against the counter with her arms crossed over her chest and eyed him.

  “Spill it, Dex,” she said in her best impression of Adam.

  Dexter’s head snapped up and he squirted out an extra glob of icing onto the metal tabletop. “Wh-what?”

  Her eyes narrowed. He actually looked nervous. She forced a lighthearted smile. “I was just joking. You know, doing my best Detective Eastwood grilling. You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

  “Oh, yeah.” He swallowed and looked around. “That was very Adam-like. But it’s nothing.”

  If those weren’t code words for “it’s something,” she wasn’t sure what was. But then again, should she press him for information? If he didn’t want to share, he didn’t have to. She was only his boss, though she’d like to think of herself as a friend to him too. It was possible her inner detective, the one that Adam kept giving her a hard time about, was coming out in full force yet again. The whole business with friends found dead did that to a person.

  “Margot…” She blinked and saw Dexter looking at her. “It’s nothing.”

  She smiled and then let out a light laugh. “Of course. I believe you.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t, I saw you go to that place—you know, the one where you’re tryi
ng to figure out mysteries and things like that. But don’t worry. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

  She wanted to believe him. In fact, part of her did believe that he believed what he was saying, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t bothering him.

  But was she just being jumpy because of what was happening with Bentley? Sighing, she tossed her hands up in the air and made her way to the small office she had off the kitchen. “I believe you,” she tossed over her shoulder as she sunk into her desk chair.

  The rest of the day went well and by three o’clock, an hour before Dexter usually left, she emerged from organizing her finances to get her hands in some dough. The smell of baking cookies and sweet frosting greeted her, making the corners of her mouth twitch up.

  She loved everything to do with baking. She loved trying her treats even more, but she’d long since learned to cut back on the tasting in place of enjoying the smells instead. Still, she couldn't help but snatch up a fresh macaron from the batch Dexter was completing.

  “Hey, that was my hard work.”

  She laughed and licked her lips. “And it was delicious. Quality control, you know.”

  “I’m guessing that assures me of my job for a little while longer?”

  “We’ll just wait and see.”

  He sighed and they both heard the chimes of the front door. “I’ll get it,” she said, dusting off her hands on her nearly spotless apron. The dough would have to wait, since Rosie had gone home half an hour before.

  “Hello,” she said as two men walked into the small bakery, filling it with their looming presence. They both wore dark suits and one kept his sunglasses on much longer than he should have, in Margot’s opinion. “How can I help you?”