Key Lime Crime: Sunny Shores Mysteries Book 1

  Key Lime Crime

  Sunny Shores Mysteries Book 1

  Cassie Rivers

  The following short story is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, events, or places are entirely coincidental. Happy Reading!

  Copyright ©2018 Cassie Rivers

  All rights reserved.

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  Contents

  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

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Thanks for Reading

  Preview of Coconut Cream Confession

  Coconut Cream Confession

  1

  My grandmother often told me that when life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Solid advice, but I’m more of a lime girl myself.

  Unfortunately for me over the last year, all I received was sour grapes.

  I had returned to my hometown, Sunny Shores, Florida, after being away for six years. Although I’d been gone, most things seemed unchanged from when I left. While the tourism boom brought in many new faces, our small, cozy beach town was as full of unique characters and personalities as before. Each person had their own unique story to tell as well as their own secrets or demons to hide.

  My father often said everyone, no matter who they were, was hiding something. He believed the only distinction was to what degree and seriousness their secrets truly were. Having been a detective most of his life, he would’ve known that better than anyone.

  Memorial Day marked the beginning of another busy summer tourist season, which the many local businesses and merchants were looking forward to. For most, the income earned from the summer months carried them through the rest of the year.

  The summer marked a new beginning.The possibilities seemed endless. That summer marked the beginning of a new chapter in my life as well. After a series of unfortunate and untimely events, I had moved back to my hometown.

  This was not the way I’d pictured my life being at this point.

  I had a clear path mapped out for my life, and I’d planned it out to a tee. It was the perfect plan, or at least I thought it was.

  I’d finish law school, marry my high school sweetheart, open our own law firm, and pop out a few kids. You know… the whole white picket fence ordeal.

  Those dreams shattered with the sudden passing of my father the year before.

  Some say death breeds new life. For me that was true. His death gave me something that I hadn’t previously had. The gift was the true perspective on what’s important in life. That was family. So I dropped out of law school and put any relationship needs of my own on hold.

  At twenty-three years old, I found myself single and unemployed. Like a ship stranded in the middle of the ocean, I drifted, clueless. I lacked direction about what to do or where to go next.

  My only choice was to chart a new course in life. It was time to make the best out of a bad situation. So I took my mother’s lemonade advice.

  It didn’t have to be law school or bust for me, because I wasn’t without other talents. A couple tricks remained up my sleeves. My vocabulary lacked the word quit.

  The truth was that there was something very special about me. It was something that made me stand out from all the other people in the town. It was a secret so deadly I would have to take it to the grave.

  You see, I’m a witch…

  Just kidding. I’d like to think my food tasted spellbinding. Although I do have this magic trick where guys I like tend to disappear, but I digress.

  I loved to cook, so I decided to go with a backup plan. Ever since I was a little girl, I’d dreamed of opening my own bakery. Since I couldn’t afford a bakery, I went with the next best idea. That was to open my own food truck. It was a risky venture, but at this point, I needed to take a few risks.

  With the help of my newly hired employee, Star, and childhood best friend, Ty, my goal was to open for business on Memorial Day. My truck needed only a few final touches, including introducing them to the truck.

  “Lady and gentleman, may I present… the new Burger She Wrote food truck.”

  In my mind, I’d imagined great joy and applause. Instead, my announcement met with a reaction of uncertainty and disdain. Neither one seemed to share in my enthusiasm.

  “That ugly piece of junk,” Star replied with a look of utter disgust painted on her face. “You’re joking, right?”

  “It’s definitely a fixer-upper,” Ty said, trying to stay positive as usual. “But it’s a good start.”

  “I’ll admit that it’s not perfect, but all it needs is a little TLC.”

  “What it needs… is to be pushed into the ocean, to put it out of its misery,” said Star.

  Ty turned to Star and said, “It’s not that bad. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “Remind me what you’re doing here again? Aren’t you an accountant? Shouldn’t you be crunching numbers, counting beans, or whatever you nerds do?”

  Ty and I had been best friends since the third grade. He’d recently passed the state CPA exam. Earlier in the year, he took a job as an associate at Henderson’s Accounting Firm. The busy tax season was over, so he had a lot of free time. Although I insisted he didn’t have to, Ty volunteered to help me out as much as he could.

  I’ll admit that the truck didn’t look like much, but it was exactly what I needed at the time. Owning my own bakery was my main goal at this point, but there was no way I could afford that. You might have figured that on your own. My current situation of being a twenty-three year old unemployed law school drop-out living at home with my mother didn't help.

  Fortunately for me, I’d scored a good deal on an older, used food truck.

  "Older things are in style now, right? What’s the word everyone uses?” I asked.

  "Retro?" Ty answered.

  “Yes, that’s the word,” I said.

  Star shook her head. “That’s not the word I’d use to describe it.”

  I purchased 1980 Chevrolet step van from an advertisement on Craigslist. The vehicle was originally used for bread deliveries.The previous owner converted the van into a food truck. In my eyes, the truck had potential. It had little body damage, only a few small dings and scratches.

  In an effort to save money, the previous owner had raided junkyards to find replacement parts for the vehicle, so the van was multicolored. None of the wheels matched. It had so many mismatched parts it looked like something created by Dr. Frankenstein in a lab—while drunk.

  Star shook her head as she stood in disbelief. It was crystal clear by the annoyed look on her face that she was not impressed.

  I had only known Star Daniels for a few days, but it felt like I’d known her my entire life. Star was eighteen and fresh out of high school. She needed a summer job to save money before going to college in the fall.


  She had only lived in Sunny Shores for a year, but due to her personality and style, she was well known throughout the town. You honestly couldn’t miss her. Star stood tall and stunningly beautiful with bright pink hair. She was the type of person that drew attention whenever she entered a room, whether the attention was good or bad.

  Star was the type of person that didn’t hold back. She was blunt and to the point. She wasn’t afraid to let you know how she felt.

  And beneath all that, she was truly genuine. I felt every word she said she meant. In that sense, she seemed very trustworthy.

  Besides, she complemented my personality in the perfect way. I considered her bluntness and brashness a good thing, even though some of the more traditional people in town took her as being rude over everything else. I knew better. Her heart was usually in the right place.

  “When I answered your help wanted ad, you stated that you needed someone to help with your small restaurant business. Your ad failed to mention I’d be working out of a creepy looking death-box.”

  Ty smiled. “Star, didn’t your mother ever teach you not to judge a book by its cover? It's what's on the inside that counts.”

  “Let’s not get started on my mother, that’s what my therapist is for,” Star replied.

  I opened the back door to the Burger She Wrote food truck and said, “Take a look inside.”

  The inside of the truck remained clean and well maintained for an older vehicle. The previous owner had recently renovated the inside and added all new appliances. But due to unfortunate circumstances, they’d failed to finish remodeling the exterior of the truck. The owner left the truck an unfinished mess.

  On the bright side, the truck was fully equipped for most of my needs. On the left side, a large window functioned to serve the food to guests. The grill sat directly behind the window, on the right side wall. In the front was a prep area that included a stainless steel countertop and two sinks. A small refrigerator and a freezer were tucked up under the counters.

  The truck housed one broken item that bothered me the most. One of the two ovens failed to heat up. I lacked the necessary funds to fix it. Since baking was my passion, this was a bit disheartening. I had to arrive early each morning to ensure enough time to bake my desserts.

  “Hmm,” Star muttered under her breath as she stepped inside. She looked around and inspected it before replying. “This could work, but you have to do something about the outside of this thing. You can’t expect me to be seen in something as hideous as this.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that, Star,” I said. “I have a plan.”

  “My sister’s boyfriend works at Tom’s Body Shop. She can score us a great deal,” Ty interjected.

  “Or…” I said as I pulled out two cans of spray paint from under the counter. “We could save money and do it ourselves.”

  Spray painting the truck wasn’t the best idea, but it was all I could afford. It didn’t matter, anyway. I had ordered enough cute decals to stick all over the outside of my truck. These included a large cartoon hamburger, a magnifying glass, and the letters to spell out the name. I didn't doubt for a minute that the finished product would look great.

  “Lime green?” Star said as she examined the spray paint can in her hand. “Really? Of all the colors you could’ve chosen.”

  Ty laughed. “Your favorite color. I should have known.”

  “Let’s get going. I’ll run to the store to get the last of the supplies, and you two can finish painting. Hopefully, it’ll be dry by morning, and we can stick the decals on before we open,” I said as my phone began to ring.

  Pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, I took a quick glance at the screen. Nonchalantly, I read the caller ID to see who was calling. I already had a hunch about who it was without looking.

  “It’s him again, isn’t it?” Ty asked while shaking his head. “Dusty.”

  “It was Dustin,” I said as I fiddled nervously with my phone and put it in my purse. His name was Dustin, not Dusty. I hated when people referred to him by that name.

  “Who’s Dustin?” Star asked.

  “No time for small talk now. We have a lot to do,” I said as I gathered my keys and walked out of the truck. I desperately tried to change the subject since I already knew Ty’s opinion on Dustin. Even though my head knew he was right, my heart thought differently.

  Ty walked over to Star and spoke quietly in her ear. “I’ll explain later. I have a feeling we’ll have plenty of time to talk while trying to paint this entire truck tonight.”

  Like I said before, my little cozy beach town was full of people with secrets and demons. I never said it didn’t include me as well.

  2

  If there was one common complaint my friends and family had with me, it was that I was too boring and predictable. I was notorious for being an over-planner. Most called my outlook on life boring, but I preferred the word stable. Was it so awful I wanted to stick to a consistent routine?

  As part of my boring… normal routine each morning, I walked to work. It wasn’t a long walk since my mother’s house sat only two miles from Grove Park. The walk provided great exercise and helped keep me in decent shape. It was difficult enough trying to keep the pounds off while spending the majority of the day cooking. To make matters worse, the beach was full of life-size Barbie dolls parading around in skimpy bikinis.

  The morning walk provided a meditating effect as well. I found my morning stroll calm and relaxing, as it was a great way to clear my head. The walk allowed me to mentally prepare for the long day ahead. Experiencing the cool morning breeze from the ocean and scent from the orange groves was a great way to start the morning.

  The operating hours for my food truck were from 11 a.m. until 8 p.m. On a normal workday, I would leave my home at 6 a.m. and not return home until after 9 p.m. It was a long day.

  Without caffeine, I wouldn’t be able to function on the busy summer schedule. So each morning, my first stop was the Breezy Bean Café.

  The Breezy Bean Café was a local coffee shop located downtown, on the corner of Ocean Avenue and Orange Way. The shop itself was small and only had room for a long rectangular counter and five four-top tables.

  But in the case of the Breezy Bean Café, size really didn’t matter. The Breezy Bean was one of the more popular downtown establishments in Sunny Shores. The shop was very busy during peak hours due to its close location to the beach and magnificent coffee.

  Bonnie May Calloway owned and operated the Breezy Bean Café. She’d lived in Sunny Shores her entire life. Besides owning a local business, Bonnie May held a position as one of the town council members.

  Bonnie May never admitted to anyone her true age.I would guess she was in her fifties, but she had the demeanor and energy of someone in her twenties. She had never married or had any children of her own. This may have been the secret to her youthfulness.

  “That’s a lovely new perm, Bonnie May,” I told her as I sipped my morning coffee. “What color is that?”

  “It’s called buttered toast, or at least that’s what my hairdresser told me.”

  Bonnie May went to the hairdresser more times in one year than I had in my entire lifetime. Every time you turned around, her hair would be a different color or style.

  I smiled and asked, “Do you even remember what the original color of your hair was?”

  “Auburn… I think,” she said. We both began to laugh.

  “Excuse me,” called a voice from a table behind me. “I’m in a big hurry. Could you bring me my check? Preferably sometime this century.”

  Bonnie May put her head down and mumbled under her breath, “I’ll give you something, you little…”

  The voice from the back corner of the café was that of Missy Harmon. Missy was the wife of city councilman John Harmon. She was staring straight at Bonnie May, obnoxiously waving her American Express black card around in the air.

  I didn’t know Missy or her husband well. They’d both moved
to Sunny Shores during the time I was away at school. What little I knew about Missy was that she was at best a trophy wife. She didn’t seem to do anything else but go around town spending her husband’s money.

  “Coming right up, dear,” Bonnie May replied after taking a deep breath. She managed to conjure a smile on her face and appeared unfazed by the level of rudeness displayed by Missy.

  She took Missy’s card back over to the register to process it, and turned to me and whispered, “Never let them see you sweat, Kara. As long as the checks clear or the credit card’s approved, the joke is on them.”

  “Have a blessed day,” Bonnie said as she handed Missy her card and a credit card slip to sign.

  Missy walked to the counter and slammed her credit card receipt in front of Bonnie May. The entire time, she had her cell phone to her ear, avoiding any eye contact with Bonnie May. As she left the restaurant, she made sure to raise her voice so Bonnie May could catch the last part of her conversation.

  “Why can’t we get a Starbucks around here?”

  “That woman is unreal,” Bonnie May said as she picked up the signed credit card receipt. “Just look at what she wrote.”

  Missy not only signed the credit card slip but left a note as well.

  “Coffee was OK, but service was slow.”

  According to Bonnie May, Missy did this every time.

  “I don’t know what’s more annoying, the note or her prissy signature,” I said as I examined the receipt.

  “What’s her deal?”

  “My guess would be that she’s new money.”