Suds and Slayings Read online

  Suds & Slayings

  A Bubbles Boutique Cozy Mystery

  Jemma Bard

  Suds & Slayings

  Jemma Bard

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Copyright © 2019 by Jemma Bard/Jennie K. Brown

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  http://www.jemmabardauthor.com

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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

  Epilogue

  Pumpkin Spice Brown Sugar Scrub Recipe

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “Come on, Ruby!” Violet Oleander tapped the dashboard of her 1994 Wrangler and then gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Less than a mile to go,” she assured her deep-red Jeep as the engine puttered and sputtered, climbing toward her destination just beyond the crest of a slight hill not a hundred yards ahead.

  “Come on!” She yelled the words this time. “You will not leave me stranded again!”

  Violet cringed just thinking about the last time her car had stalled on this very road—three months ago in the ninety-five-degree heat of summer. And of course, of all the people in the small ocean village of Cape Flower to bail her out, it had to be her philandering ex-husband Michael who had driven by in his Mercedes SUV that day. She had refused to let him pick her up, so twenty minutes of walking and two gallons of sweat later, Violet had arrived at the shop she owned in the popular Washington Square Shops in downtown Cape Flower.

  Violet rubbed Ruby’s dashboard once more, willing her to go on, then looked briefly to the back bench seat where her six-year-old border collie was curled into a ball of blue merle fur. “Only a hundred yards or so, boy.” Ralphie barked in response, sensing Violet’s excitement in making it to her destination.

  If only I had enough money for a new Jeep, she thought. One day.

  The engine sputtered again as Violet came to the peak of the incline, then it suddenly roared back to life now that she traveled on flat ground down Jackson Street. She sighed deeply for two reasons—one, she wasn’t stranded in the middle of town, awkwardly running into her terrible ex-husband or ex-parents-in-law. And two—the view of her quaint town and its shop-lined streets leading to the blues of the Atlantic Ocean ahead literally took her breath away.

  Violet smiled a satisfied smile and thanked her lucky stars this was the landscape that greeted her every day. She always found solace in the brick-paved streets lined with cozy boutique shops and restaurants, and found it even more so during this season—her favorite season of all, fall—when the hues of burnt orange, burgundy, and marigold yellow decorated shop windows and houses alike.

  When Violet didn’t have a Jeep full of business supplies like she did today, she enjoyed the five-block walk from her cottage on Chestnut Street to the Washington Square Shops in the center of town. And it was just another two-block walk from her shop—Bubbles Boutique—to the Atlantic Ocean.

  How did I get so lucky?

  Violet continued down Jackson Street, turned left onto Carpenter Alley, the alleyway behind a row of six connected shops, and parked in the only open spot just behind the business attached to hers—Cape Flower Roaster’s—home to the village’s finest coffees and baked goods, but most importantly, home to her favorite coffeeshop, the appropriately named Déjà Brew.

  Violet hooked Ralphie to his leash, grabbed the box of soap molds from her back seat, then entered through the back door.

  “You’re late, and coffee’s getting cold,” Cale Kincade, her best friend and employee in soap adventures, called as she walked through the back door of Bubbles Boutique.

  She set down the box of molds, locked the door behind her, and unhooked Ralphie. His nails ticked across the hardwood floor and down the hallway to the shop part of the building where he settled in his rust-colored dog bed just behind the cash register.

  Rolling her eyes at Cale, Violet spoke. “Not that you’re actually upset, but I’ll have you know I almost got stuck coming up Jackson Street yet again after going on a supply run.”

  Cale’s deep blue eyes—eyes that at one time made her want to melt, before she’d learned he was more interested in boys than girls—met hers. Cale shrugged. “Better you than me,” he spat honestly. They entered the actual boutique and Cale slid a to-go coffee cup past the honey and brown sugar lip scrub and across the counter. “Good luck.” He smirked.

  Violet popped off the lid, tucked a few strands of dark brown, shoulder-length hair behind her ears, bent over, and sniffed.

  Cale narrowed his eyes at her. “Well?” he asked.

  Violet pushed her nose farther into the cup and sniffed once more. Swirls of cinnamon and chocolate hit her senses. She didn’t even have to take a sip to know what flavors would greet her, but she did sip it nevertheless, letting the flavors bounce around her mouth—cinnamon and chocolate and…nutmeg? She smiled, certain she’d win today’s round of the coffee game. “Easy one.” Violet quirked an eyebrow. “White chocolate cinnamon latte.”

  Cale crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. “Right.”

  Violet jumped up and down. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Looks like you’re buying next week too.” She secured the lid on top and then pushed her cup into Cale’s, toasting her win, his defeat.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you secretly texting Sylvia at Déjà Brew?” he asked. “This is the third week in a row you’ve guessed it right.”

  Ever since Violet opened up Bubbles Boutique not quite two years ago and hired Cale shortly thereafter, they’d played the coffee game. Each Thursday one of them would treat to specialty drinks from Déjà Brew. If the person who wasn’t buying could accurately, and in one sip, guess the contents of the drink, they’d be off the hook for buying the next week too. If they couldn’t guess on the first shot, they’d be responsible for next week’s drinks.

  When Violet first opened the shop, she and Cale had made it an everyday coffee game, but two daily, five-dollar specialty coffees added up fast. So they played once a week and stuck to the Keurig machine the rest of the days of the week.

  Violet grinned and took another sip of the perfect fall drink, really taking in the notes of cinnamon spice. “Not cheating at all,” she finally said.

  Cale waltzed toward the front window, a window that when you looked out and across the street peered into Across the Bay Gift and Novelty Shop, Cape Flower Flowers, The Ugly Cup Brewery, Harry’s Jewelers, and the tattoo shop on the corner—INKed. He flipped the closed sign over, telling the villagers and tourists alike Bubbles Boutique was open for business.

  And boy, oh boy, did Violet need the business. A new luxury bathing goods shop had opened just a few blocks away, and between the new competition and the repairs Violet needed for her own shop, she hoped and prayed she’d have enough sales today to at least break even.

  Cale grabbed the wooden easel announcing in perfectly stenciled chalk the soap scents of the day—maple butter, lavender vanilla, and the appropriately seasonal pumpkin spice—and walked it outside. But as soon as the door
swung open, its little bronze bells jingling over his head, two angry voices floated into the shop.

  “You can’t do this,” the first voice demanded. Violet knew immediately who that voice belonged to—Nate Matthews, owner of the tattoo shop three storefronts down, on the corner of Decatur Street called INKed. “We had an agreement, and you can’t turn back now,” he shouted.

  The other voice retorted. “A verbal agreement,” he said sharply. “Nothing written in stone.”

  Violet met Cale outside. “It’s Gordon Preston,” he whispered, gesturing toward the street corner where Gordon and Nate now spoke in hushed voices.

  Violet grimaced at the mention of Gordon’s name for two reasons.

  One—years ago, when the current owner of the buildings that lined Cape Flower’s Washington Street Shops went bankrupt, Gordon Preston had swooped in with his bag full of money and purchased the buildings himself. Although he’d been seen as a savior in the eyes of many of the locals, anyone who had common sense saw Gordon’s true agenda—to raze the historic brick-front buildings and construct one large resort, complete with modern water features, scraping so high, it’d peer over all the other historic buildings to a view of the ocean.

  But those plans never came to fruition.

  As soon as the paperwork was signed and Gordon possessed the entire shopping district of Cape Flower, Mayor Lightfoot, who was onto his plan, had every single one of the buildings declared as historic sights, thus banning any structural change of their facades. So Gordon couldn’t raze the buildings, couldn’t destroy the beautiful architecture that lined the streets, and couldn’t build his monstrosity eyesore of a resort in the heart of Cape Flower, New Jersey.

  But Gordon Preston fought back as best he could. When Mayor Lightfoot’s wife wanted to open a yoga studio on Jackson Street, Gordon denied her rent. Two months later, Gordon’s own wife, Jacqueline Preston, who knew absolutely nothing about yoga, opened up Habitat Yoga just two storefronts down from Violet’s.

  And if anyone crossed Gordon in any way, he had a habit of raising their rent high enough they’d be forced to close up shop.

  That was just one reason Violet cringed with any mention of Gordon Preston’s name.

  And reason number two—Gordon happened to be Violet’s ex-husband’s father.

  Ugh.

  After she and Michael separated, Gordon and Jacqueline Preston had both distanced themselves from Violet, but once she decided to open Bubbles Boutique, she’d tried as best she could to be kind to the terrible man, and so far, she’d managed to stay on his good side.

  Chapter 2

  Violet and Cale came back into Bubbles Boutique and set out the fliers for tonight’s Bubbles and Bubbles event just as the first customer of the day walked in. Violet knew as soon as the woman stepped inside what type of scent she’d want. “Welcome to Bubbles Boutique,” Violet chirped.

  “Thanks!” the woman said, glancing over the wall to her left lined with over a hundred and fifty different scented soaps. She grabbed a few samples—cucumber, lily of the valley, rosemary mint—sniffed, and then placed them back in their respective alcoves on the shelf.

  Violet tucked a few strands of chestnut hair that had again escaped from behind her ear back in place, then moved forward to meet her customer. “I’m thinking lemon-verbena,” Violet said, grabbing the lemon-verbena sample from the shelf and passing it to the woman.

  She took one sniff, smiled an oddly amused smile, then blinked a few times. “How did you know?”

  Violet shrugged. “Just had a hunch.”

  And she did. For whatever reason, Violet’s hunches when it came to her customers came frequently and were often right. She’d worked in the soap business long enough to learn how to match a person’s personal style to scents.

  Flowing skirts, feather earrings, and tattoos like Violet’s aunt Loretta—something with a musk background or patchouli.

  Simple, understated jeans and a fitted T-shirt like Violet herself—something subtle like honey-lavender or almond.

  Tailored outfit, heels, pristine posture like the woman in front of her now—something clean like lemon or lime verbena.

  “Hmm,” the woman murmured, smelled the citrus-y soap again, and narrowed her eyes. “Sold.”

  Violet smiled back, revealing the slight gap between her two front teeth, and grabbed a fresh bar from the slot. “I’ll take one to the counter for you. And if you’re interested in any products for the man in your life, I just got some great samples—”

  “No man,” the woman snapped. She cleared her throat, her eyes looking from the everything-pumpkin display on a decorative metal rack to the shelf of sugar scrubs to her right. “This really is a quaint little shop you’ve got yourself here,” the woman said, moving to the bin of bath bombs smack-dab in the middle of the store and then to the display of lotions for hands, face, and the entire body in general. The woman’s eyes then proceeded to scan every last inch of Violet’s quaint shop before she met her at the check-out counter.

  “Thanks,” Violet finally said. “I’m the owner of Bubbles Boutique, Violet Oleander.” She reached out a hand, hoping the posh woman didn’t notice her chipping pink fingernail polish, grabbed the woman’s freshly manicured hand, and shook.

  The woman smiled. “I’m Willa Page.”

  “Oh.” Violet quickly let go of her hand, letting it drop to the woman’s side. She was unable to keep the look of surprise from her face, and consciously willed her eyebrows to drop back into a more natural place. After swallowing down her unease, Violet spoke. “Willa Page? The owner of Soaps-N-Such that just opened across town, right?”

  Willa faux-smiled. “Yes. Just three blocks away actually.”

  Three blocks away in a square half-mile village was practically on the other side of town.

  Willa quirked an eyebrow. “Have you had a chance to visit my shop yet?”

  Violet took a sip of her coffee drink, the cup nervously quaking with her hand. “Not yet, I’m afraid. I’ve been too busy here and haven’t had the chance, unfortunately.”

  Willa glanced around the small room. “You don’t look that busy to me.” She pursed her lips, surely enjoying every minute of her little drop-in.

  At those words Violet wanted to do two things—either break down in tears or tell the awful woman in front of her to leave her store. But she did neither. Instead, in typical Violet fashion, she politely said, “Maybe I’ll pop in sometime soon.”

  In all honesty though, Violet had no desire to go into her competition’s shop. From what she and Cale had heard, Soaps-N-Such was a bit high-brow compared to Bubbles Boutique. Eloise Prinkett, resident Cape Flower gossip, told Violet that relaxing spa music played whenever you walked into Soaps-N-Such, employees greeted customers with a bright-white hot towel, and mini-massages were even offered in a back aromatherapy-scented room.

  Even though Violet had lost a few customers to the new competing business, Cape Flower residents and tourists alike enjoyed the charming feel of her homey shop. She just needed business to pick up a bit more to afford some much-needed repairs. Although she had a cheating, rich ex-husband in Michael, Violet had been a naive twenty-two-year-old when they got married and signed a pre-nuptial agreement. Blinded by love and a man with a knack for wining and dining and wooing, Violet thought they would never need the pre-nup anyway—that they’d be madly in love forever with no chance of a separation, let alone a divorce.

  “Well now,” Willa said, breaking Violet from her thoughts. “Do stop in soon. I’ll make sure you get a massage on the house.”

  “Great.” Violet handed Willa her soap with a giant faux smile plastered on her face. “It was nice meeting you,” she said.

  “And you too.” Willa smiled, but Violet could see the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  Just as she reached the door, Cale waltzed inside, his eyes immediately shooting to Willa’s bag.

  No no no, Cale. Don’t do it! Violet thought to herself.

  In true
Cale fashion he did it. “Let me just take a look!” he said, clapping his hands together and then peeking inside Willa’s bag. “Mmm,” he muttered. “Verbena. One of my favorite scents.”

  Most customers found Cale’s antics charming—his peeking in customer’s bags and then rambling on and on about how amazing the products they bought were. But Violet could tell Willa was less than charmed. In fact, she looked a contradicting mixture of disgust and amusement.

  Violet put a hand to her face and then gestured to Willa. “Cale, this is—”

  But before she could finish the introduction, Cale cut her off. “I love the fresh lemon-verbena scent.” He winked. “One of my favorites.” Before Violet could protest, Cale reached on the windowsill behind him and grabbed a flier for tonight’s event. “Come back for Bubbles and Bubbles Night tonight,” he said, handing the flier to Willa.

  Violet shot him a look. The last person she wanted at tonight’s event of soap-making while sipping on some of Cape Flower’s best effervescent champagne was her newest competition.

  “Looks…interesting,” Willa chirped, a smirk crawling up her face. She turned to Violet. “I’ll be there.” She wiggled her fingers, then walked out the door, the bell jingling above as she did.

  Cale turned to Violet and shrugged. “She seems nice,” he said.

  “Nice,” Violet huffed. “Nice for the woman who’s our newest competition.” She patted her jeans-covered thigh, calling Ralphie to her. Sometimes all it took to calm her down was petting her favorite non-human, and it did just the trick right now.

  Cale ran to the front window, watched Willa as she strutted down the sidewalk, and gave her another head-to-toe scan. “That’s Willa Page?”