The Lime and the Dead: A Key West Culinary Cozy - Book 3 (2 page)

One
of Marilyn’s favorite ways to start the day was to have coffee on one of the
loungers on her sunny patio, inhaling the tantalizing scent of the ocean,
intermingled with the blossoming tropical flowers in her garden. She’d been so
exhausted, the night before, that she had slept the entire night through on her
couch, never even realizing that her daughter had gone. She rose refreshed and
excited to start her day, looking forward to that first cup of Costa Rican
brew. As soon as the coffeemaker stopped gurgling and burbling, she filled her
favorite mug and headed for the back patio. She stepped carefully through the
sliding doors, watching her coffee like a hawk, to make certain that she didn’t
spill a drop, and screamed when she looked up and saw a man crouched down by
her lounger.

“Oh
my goodness, I’m sorry. I certainly didn’t mean to startle you,” Tim Eckels,
her new neighbor explained mildly, as though completely unaffected by the
scream.

Annoyed
that nearly a third of her coffee had sloshed out of the cup and onto the patio
as well as all over her yoga pants, Marilyn put a hand to her chest, as though
in an attempt to still her pounding heart. “You scared the life out of me,” she
exclaimed, too frustrated with the man to even attempt a smile.

“It’s
my cat,” Tim said, as though that explained everything.

“Your…what?”
she blinked, confused and agitated at having to deal with a human being before
even taking her first sip of coffee.

“My
cat…Maisie,” he said, glancing about again. “She seems to have escaped,” he
frowned slightly, seeming more perplexed than upset.

Something
was very…off about her neighbor. Marilyn suddenly felt very exposed and
uncomfortable in her own back yard.

“Well,
I don’t know how she could possibly have gotten in here,” she said slowly,
trying to gauge the strange man’s reaction. “I always keep my gate closed.” She
let the implication that he had opened her gate to come into the back yard hang
there, to see what he’d say.

He
regarded her seriously for a moment, his eyes seeming huge through the lenses
of his glasses. “She seems to go in and out wherever she likes, gates or no
gates,” he cocked his head, giving Marilyn a chill.

“
Just
like you, apparently,
” she fumed inwardly.

“Well,
if you’ll excuse me, I have a busy morning,” she said, without a smile, hoping
he’d take the hint. When he continued to stare at her blankly, she sighed and
turned to go inside, willing him to go away.

**

“Okay,
I’ve set up interviews for you every hour between eleven and four,” Tiara said,
referring to a spreadsheet on her computer. “The resumes for the today’s
applicants are on the desk in your office, so you have the first part of the
morning to create new recipes, the rest of the morning to go over resumes, then
the rest of the day to interview,” she informed her mother, intent upon holding
her to the tasks that had been scheduled.

“Well,
good morning to you too, my darling daughter,” she teased, giving her a quick
kiss on the cheek.

“Sleep
well?”

“Yes,
I did, thank you. Apparently an angel of mercy covered me up with a blanket
last night and I stayed on the couch the entire time,” she winked.

“Do
angels get bonuses?” Tiara raised her eyebrows hopefully.

“If
they find good candidates for our position they do,” Marilyn replied, heading
to the kitchen. Things went like clockwork, just as her daughter had planned.
She spent the morning perfecting a Key Lime mousse that was out of this world,
and had more than enough time to review the resumes at length before meeting
with the first candidate.

Just
before closing, after the last job applicant was ushered out, Tiara poked her
head into the office. “One more to go, and then we can call it a day,” she
advised.

“I
thought we were done,” Marilyn sighed.

“Be
brave, little camper, one more interview won’t kill you. I’ll send him in,” her
daughter decreed.

“Fine,”
her mother frowned, rolling her neck on her shoulders from one side to the
other and wincing at the crackling sound that the simple act produced.

“Hello,”
a familiar mild voice startled her for the second time today.

“Mr.
Eckels…what can I do for you?” Marilyn asked warily, wondering how he’d managed
to find out where she worked. She thought about snarkily telling him that his
cat wasn’t here either, but resisted the impulse.

“I…uh,
here’s my resume,” he said, handing it to her and taking a seat across the desk
from her without being invited in.

“I’m
afraid I don’t understand,” she replied, not looking at the paper in her hand.

“My
resume…I’m here to apply for the position you advertised,” he blinked at her
owlishly from behind his glasses.

“Oh!
Uh…well, okay then. Give me a moment to review your information,” she said,
looking down at the paper, but entirely unable to focus on the words. “I
mean…ummm…tell me about your background,” she floundered, totally off-balance
and glad that he’d left the door open.

“Well,
as you can see in my resume, I’ve just retired from more than twenty years of
being a mortician, but baking has always been my hobby. When I tasted your pie,
then saw on the local classifieds that you had an opening, I just had to apply.
It seems that your standards of excellence are on par with mine, which would
make me a beneficial and logical addition to your staff,” he smiled faintly.

“A
mortician…how…interesting,” Marilyn tried to smile, but felt that her face was
imitating rigor mortis at the mere thought of mortuary arts.

“Yes,
well, it’s certainly not a career for everyone, but it has its own sense of
satisfaction,” Tim blinked at her again.

“I’m
sure,” she replied, giving herself a mental shake. “Well, thanks for coming by.
I have a lot of resumes to review, but if yours is selected, I’ll be sure to
let you know,” she tried to dismiss the odd, pale man.

“Don’t
you want to ask me any questions?” his eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t
want to give anyone the impression that you discriminate, based upon gender or
past occupation, now would you?” he purred, strange green eyes gleaming behind
his glasses in a way that struck Marilyn as sinister.

“I
resent your implication, Mr. Eckels. You came in here at the last moment,
without an appointment, and I not only agreed to look at your resume after a
full day of interviewing, but stayed after closing to talk with you. I told you
that I have a lot of resumes to review, and yours will carry just as much
weight as the others,” Marilyn stared him down coldly.

Tim
Eckels rose from his chair slowly, never breaking eye contact. He stood staring
down at her for what seemed an awkwardly long time. “Thank you for your time,
Ms. Hayes,” he said in a tone that seemed somehow menacing. “I’ll look forward
to hearing from you.” He turned on his heel and left without another word,
leaving her staring after him, chilled to the bone.

“Mom!”
Tiara called back to the kitchen from her spot at the front register. “You have
a phone call.”

“Can’t
you take it, sweetie? I’m training Kelcie,” Marilyn replied, delighted with the
progress that her young protégé was making. Kelcie Williams had been to pastry
school and would be a tremendous asset to the staff. Her youthful enthusiasm
was contagious, and the relieved owner finally felt like she could entrust
another person to shoulder some of the creative and constructive load of baking
that had to be done on a daily basis. With Tiara’s marketing plan, new orders
for large events and private parties were pouring in nearly every day, and
Marilyn desperately needed the expertise and extra set of hands that Kelcie
could provide.

“Ummm…no.
You need to take this call,” her daughter insisted, transferring the caller
back to the kitchen extension.

Marilyn
sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and answered the phone. “Yes, hello?
Marilyn Hayes here, how can I help you?” she tried to keep the annoyance from
her tone.

A
nasal feminine voice responded. “Mmm…yes, hello, Ms. Hayes. My name is Sabra
Remington and I represent NoFaux TV, we produce reality shows, I’m sure you’ve
heard of us,” she asserted with an off-putting smugness.

“Uh,
no…I don’t really watch TV, especially reality TV, but what can I do for you,
Miss Remington?” Marilyn tried to keep from sighing as she gestured to Kelcie
to take the latest batch of Key Lime mousse and put it into decorative cups,
garnished with strawberries and a sprig of mint.

“Darling,
call me Sabra,” the voice insisted. “So anyhoo…one of our shows, the
Real
Girlfriends of the Yacht Club
is being filmed on your little island this
week, and we’d like to have the girls make a stop in your shop and have some
pie. It’ll be great publicity for you…for free!” she trilled. “And the only
thing that we ask of you is to allow our film crew to be in your shop for
however long the gals stay there and eat their pie. Whaddya say? Sound good?”
the producer asked, assuming the answer.

Marilyn
was taken totally off guard. “What kind of show is this?” she asked.

“Oh…uh…it’s
kind of like “a day in the life” type thing that revolves around the
girlfriends of yacht owners,” Sabra explained.

“And
people actually watch that?” Marilyn was genuinely surprised.

“Millions
of them, actually,” now it was Sabra’s turn to hide her annoyance.

“Hmm…wow.
Okay, I guess that would be fine,” she agreed. “When will you be here?”

“Tomorrow
morning, around ten o’clock. The gals have a morning yoga session with some guy
on the beach named Andrew, and then they’ll head your way.”

Marilyn
smiled, wondering if Sabra knew what she was getting the “girlfriends” into.
Her daughter Tiara had a huge crush on Drew the Yoga Instructor a few months
ago. Women went to his class just to watch him flexing his beautifully sculpted
muscles.

“Okay,
sounds good. Is there anything special that we need to do to prepare?”

“I’ll
fax over some release forms that you’ll need to have your employees and anyone
who’s in the store at the time sign, and then we should be all set,” Sabra
replied.

Marilyn
gave her the shop’s fax number, and after a few minutes of polite conversation,
the busy producer hung up, promising to see her tomorrow. Tiara was ecstatic
when she heard the news.

“Mom,
I’m not sure that you understand just how big of a deal this really is,” the
typically level-headed college graduate gushed. “Everyone watches this show! My
roommates know all the names of the girls on it – it’s crazy how popular it is.
Every store that the girls have gone into has become famous overnight – we
couldn’t pay for this kind of publicity!” she enthused, eyes bright.

“Well
then, let’s just hope that we don’t embarrass ourselves on national
television,” Marilyn commented dryly. She’d never been on television before,
had no desire to be on television, and thought that most of the stuff that
passed for entertainment these days was exploitation in one form or another. She
didn’t even want to watch, much less participate in a TV show, but she trusted
her daughter’s analysis. How bad could it be?

“Hi,
I’m Amber,” a silicone-enhanced bleached blonde shook her hand, smiling
vacantly. She was barely dressed, in a sequined bathing suit top and a short
hot-pink skirt, and carried a small dog in her oversized pink ostrich-leather
tote.

“And
I’m Bella,” a tall, almost painfully thin brunette, with sunglasses that cost
more than Marilyn’s car, introduced herself, her affected manner setting the
pie-shop owner’s teeth on edge. She looked around the perfectly cute and cozy
shop as though she smelled something bad, and gave the appearance that she
didn’t want to sit at any of the tables for fear of contamination, perhaps by
“commoner cooties.”

“Good
morning,” Marilyn smiled warmly at them both, hoping to defrost them a bit.
“Make yourselves at home.”

Sabra
scurried over to give everyone instructions. “Okay, Amber, Bella, you two are
going to make a spontaneous decision to stop for pie after your yoga class, and
you’ll come in here. Once you’ve ordered, take a seat, relax and just chat
about anything that comes to mind. Now might be a good opportunity to discuss
how you both feel about Frankie cheating on Jessica.

“We
can’t prove that,” Amber frowned, her lower lip pooching out into a pout.

“No,
but we can talk trash about it,” Bella sneered, practically licking her chops.

“That’s
my girl,” Sabra encouraged. “So…places everyone, let’s get this party started.

The
Hollywood crew had immediately seen the aesthetic value that Tiara could bring,
and specifically requested that the beautiful blonde be present at the register
when the “girls” came in. Marilyn and Kelcie’s work in the kitchen wouldn’t be
interrupted, and if all went well, the scene would be filmed and the show would
be packed up and out of their hair in a matter of an hour or so.

“Hi,
welcome to SubLime Sweets, how can I help you?” Tiara chimed brightly when the
girlfriends came in.

“Hi!
We just finished a killer yoga class on the beach, and I’m starving. What’s
good?” Amber asked, blue eyes wide.

“Well,
we have the best Key Lime pie in all of the Keys if you’d like to try a slice,”
the clever girl scripted a free commercial on the spot.

“Mmmm…yummy!”
the blonde simpered. “We’ll take two slices and two bottles of coconut water.”

“Umm…no,”
Bella wrinkled her nose. “Just get one for yourself, I don’t do dessert, you
know that,” she sniffed.

“Oh
get over yourself,” Amber fired back. “You’re just going to throw it up later
anyway,” she rolled her eyes.

“Oh
you did not!” Bella gasped. “That was so rude, you little…”

“Two
slices please,” Amber reiterated, cutting off her “friend,” as Tiara looked on,
trying not to let her distaste show.

“You
got it,” she smiled sweetly, and plated two pieces. “Go ahead and have a seat
and I’ll bring them right out to you,” she promised, glad that she wore the
cutoff denim shorts that showed the length of her tanned legs. Who knew what
might come of her fifteen minutes of fame on a ridiculous reality show? She
delivered the pie to a table in the center of the dining area, and discreetly
hung out behind the cash register to eavesdrop on their conversation.

“Oh.
My. Gosh. This pie is amazing,” Amber raved, washing down a bite with her
coconut water.

“Are
you high?” Bella sneered. “This crap isn’t worth the syrup of ipecac that it
would take to get rid of it,” she pushed her plate back and unscrewed the cap
from her water as though she couldn’t wait to get a foul taste out of her
mouth.

“Oh
whatever,” Amber rolled her eyes again, savoring another bite. “You just can’t
take pleasure in anything. It must suck to be so bored by life and everything
in it,” she accused, digging her fork into the tart, gooey concoction.

Tiara
had never been one to take criticism lightly, an unfortunate trait that she’d
picked up from her mother. Coming out from behind the counter, she approached
the girls.

“How’s
the pie?” she asked lightly, daring Bella to say something rude, and hoping
that she’d retract the statements that she’d just made in front of millions of
viewers.

“I’m
sorry, honey, I’m just going to be real here,” the bitter brunette began. “This
pie sucks. It makes my mouth pucker and just tastes like crap,” she curled her
lip in disgust, dramatically dropping her fork onto her plate.

“Well,
thankfully, that’s the first time I’ve ever had feedback like that. Everyone
else seems to love it,” Tiara raised an eyebrow, and Marilyn, watching from the
kitchen, could practically see the smoke rising from her ears.

“I’m
not everyone else,” Bella sniffed haughtily.

Tiara
was simmering, but absolutely refused to end up looking like the bad guy in
this scenario, and hid her anger behind an angelic smile.

“No,
you’re definitely not everyone else,” she agreed. “Everyone else is much nicer,
far less rude, and not quite so self-absorbed. Tell me, do you go out of your
way to try and hurt people’s feelings, or does it come so naturally that you
don’t even have to think about it?” she inquired, placing her hands on the
table and leaning into the brunette’s space.

“Bella….”
Tiara heard Amber issue a warning to her friend from across the table, but held
her ground.

“You
know what, you pie-selling-peasant…if you love this disgusting pie so much, you
can have it,” Bella snapped, picking up her plate and smashing the piece of pie
all over the front of Tiara’s white camisole. Without even a second thought,
Marilyn’s daughter scooped the green and white goo from her clothing into her
hands and ground it into Bella’s hair before the nasty young woman even had a
chance to react.

“You
little…” the brunette’s eyes flashed fire, and she stood up quickly, her chair
tipping over backwards and clattering to the floor.

“Bring
it,” Tiara stood her ground, hands on hips.

“Cut!”
Amber bleated, watching the hostile exchange like a tennis match, while her placid
little doggie licked bits of pie that had been flung onto her bag.

“Don’t
you dare cut to commercial right now,” Sabra whispered to the cameraman. “Get
every bit of this,” she hissed, pushing him closer.

“You
horrible little wretch! This is not over,” Bella set her jaw, glaring at Tiara.

“Really?
It’s not? Do you really wanna go there? Cuz I have plenty of pies left, and
your hair looks like it could use another treatment.” Never one to shrink from
confrontation, she stepped forward, towering over the petite pseudo-socialite.

“You’re
going to regret this,” the haughty brunette snarled through her teeth. “You’ll
wish you never met Bella Fontaine,” she turned, flouncing toward the door.

“You’re
absolutely right,” Tiara nodded grimly. “I already wish I’d never met you, you
spoiled little brat,” she said with utter contempt.

“Hmpf…sounds
like somebody’s jealous,” she sniffed, her hand on the doorknob.

“Of
a conceited little princess like you, who’s so full of herself that she can’t
even appreciate the simple things in life? Fat chance,” Marilyn’s down-to-earth
daughter scoffed.

“Fat?
Yeah, I’d say so, but don’t worry honey, you’re still young enough to work on
it. Lay off of the pie for a while and you’ll be fine,” Bella fired her parting
shot.

“Oh
please,” she rolled her eyes and put her hands on her hips. “I’d rather look
like this than the angular bag-of-bones thing that you’ve got going on,” Tiara
smiled nastily.

Amber,
who had been busily munching her pie and watching the other two volley back and
forth, finally stepped forward.

“So,
like, I thought the pie was really good,” she said, handing her plate to Tiara.
“Thanks for your hospitality,” she said, waving on her way out.

“Aaaaaand…cut!”
the director called out, making a circular motion with his hand.

Sabra
rushed over to Tiara. “Oh, this is gold! Hey, beautiful, have you ever
considered acting?”