Death and Doubloons Read online

  Death and Doubloons

  A Cumberpatch Cove Mystery: Book 1

  Nola Robertson

  Copyright © 2019 Nola Robertson

  Website: http://nolarobertson.com

  Published by Nola Robertson, 2019

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-7328895-5-2

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  A Note from the Author

  Also by Nola Robertson

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Someone was going to commit murder, and I was pretty sure it would be me.

  I stood in the doorway leading into the back office of Mysterious Baubles, the shop my family had owned for decades, and stared at the destruction on my desk. I’d only stepped away for five minutes, long enough to walk across the hall to the employee break room to retrieve some coffee before settling in to catch up on paperwork and enjoy my early morning breakfast.

  I considered myself to be a patient person, not someone prone to losing their temper easily or committing any kind of violence. Today, however, I was going to make an exception. I’d been pushed to the limit of my endurance and was determined it make it him, rather than me, who’d be leaving the building permanently.

  I carefully set my favorite porcelain cup filled with freshly brewed coffee on top of the nearest filing cabinet and braced my hands on my hips, then met my opponent’s dark, beady glare with one of my own. This wasn’t the first time this week I’d pondered creative ways to execute my plans for the creature’s demise. And being a five-foot, five-inch woman weighing one hundred and ten pounds, possibly one hundred and thirteen—no scale available to confirm or deny—I was fairly confident I could take the small, gray, and furry four-legged creature with little pink feet and a hairless pink tail.

  Whiskers twitching, he rose on his hind legs, utterly unimpressed and undaunted by my presence. Caught in the grasp of his clawed clutches was a morsel of the delectable cream cheese muffin I’d purchased from Mattie’s Coffee Shop across the street.

  A quick glance at the crumbs lining the plate and the gaping hole in the no longer edible dome-shaped cake only irritated me more. When my muffin-stealing nemesis had the audacity to make a production out of stuffing another tasty crumb into his mouth, I lost it.

  Growling wasn’t something I normally did either, but I was making noises like a rabid dog at the gray furball who’d cost me two out of three of my favorite morning meals. Since I lived alone and my cooking skills lacked the aptitude of anything closely resembling those of a decent chef, I either prepared something that came out of a box or visited one of the few food serving establishments within walking distance of my small yet comfortable apartment.

  The nearest thing within reach happened to be a paperweight, one of many similar touristy items sold in the shops throughout the town. Encased inside the round half globe of clear, hard plastic was a miniature pirate’s ship and the words “Cumberpatch Cove, Maine” scrawled in a beautiful neon blue script beneath it.

  Knowing I wasn’t athletically inclined didn’t stop me from cocking my arm like a professional baseball player and tossing the oval dome. Of course, it missed its target, did a double bounce across the desktop, scattering all the neatly stacked papers in its wake before slamming into the bordering wall with a loud thump.

  If mice could smile, this one was practically sneering with triumph. In a flash of fur, he scurried across the surface, shuffling the papers even more before sailing off the edge. He made a graceful landing on the seat of my chair, then continued his descent until he reached the floor and disappeared under the desk.

  The building was old and constantly in need of minor repairs. I wasn’t sure how he continually accessed my office, but it was a good guess he’d found a crack somewhere in the floorboard along the wall, and I was determined to keep him from escaping.

  “Oh, no you don’t.”

  Needing something to capture the arrogant little varmint, I grabbed the plastic trash can off the floor, which thankfully only contained some crumpled papers I’d tossed inside the day before. I hastily emptied the contents onto the floor, then shoved the chair out of the way, dropped on my hands and knees, and crawled under the desk.

  It didn’t take long to find him. Instead of scampering off, he stood on all fours facing me, his gaze focused as if studying a chess opponent. Turning the can upside down, I held my breath and slowly eased it toward him.

  Hasty footsteps creaked on the old hardwood floor, then abruptly stopped in the doorway. “Rylee, are you okay?” Abigail Spencer, Abby to her friends, Grams to me, continued in a concerned voice. “It sounded like this half of the building collapsed.” I could see the rounded tips of her brown leather pumps peeking out beneath the hem of a dark blue pleated skirt. “Are we having an earthquake? Is that why you’re hiding under the desk?” She pushed the chair aside. “In all the years I’ve lived here, I don’t recall us ever having a single one. But I suppose there’s always a first time.”

  I loved my grandmother, knew she meant well, but at the moment, I could do without her gift for exaggerating a situation. I rolled my eyes at my newly inherited business partner. My parents, Caroline and Jonathan Spencer, were the true shop owners and, after announcing their retirement plans included travel, had informed me that I would be left in charge of running the place.

  Actually, it was my mother who wanted to travel. My father only went along because it kept her happy and gave him a chance to do what he loved best—search the world outside our small coastal town for anything to prove his theories about magic were correct. Witchcraft, hauntings, the undead, anything that couldn’t be reasonably explained or verified with images and articles on the Internet, qualified.

  I suppose when you lived in a community where more than half the inhabitants were obsessed with the supernatural, it was hard not to become an enthusiast. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the same belief, had never witnessed anything otherworldly, and consistently voiced my skepticism about the topic.

  I lowered the can with a frustrated sigh. “I’m fine, Grams.” I wasn’t fine, definitely wouldn’t be fine until I’d captured the furry muffin-stealing thief who’d taken advantage of the interruption to scurry across the wooden floor and disappear into the gap behind the lateral filing cabinet. “No earthquake.”

  “Then what are you doing under there?”

  “Nothing.” Embarrassed, I shifted when her gaze locked on to the overturned wastebasket.

  With a swish of polyester, Grams got to her feet. “I hope your ‘nothing’ means you weren’t trying to catch Howard.”

  Dread crept along my spine as I crawled backward and asked, “Who is Howard?” I misjudged the distance to the underside of the desk and banged my head. “Ouch.” I winced, rubbing my hand over the sore spot on the back of my skull as I used the edge to pull myself up from the floor.

  Grams shook her head so her straight dark chocolate strands peppered with silver bounced against her jawline. She pressed her multi-ringed hands to her hips and scolded me with dark cinnamon eyes. “He’s the mouse who’s been living in the shop for the past few weeks.” The exasperation in her tone sounded as if Howard’s status was common knowledge and how dare I not be aware of it.

  “Why did you name the mouse?” Years of knowing better didn’t stop my mouth from operating before thinking about the ramifications of my verbal slip. Maybe the thump to my head had caused brain damage. Asking my grandmother why an animal, any animal, had a name gained me the same scowl I received every time I discussed my doubts about the existence of ghosts with anyone living in our coastal community. The existence, or nonexistence in my case, of one ghost in particular—Martin Cumberpatch. The notoriously infamous pirate Cumberpatch Cove had been named after was rumored to haunt our town, searching for his buried treasure.

  The town’s main source of revenue was derived from tourists, many of whom came here hoping to get a glimpse of the pirate’s ghost or any spirit rumored to be haunting our local cemetery. Personally, I was a need-to-see-it-with-my-own-eyes kind of gal and didn’t believe the stories I’d been forced to listen to since childhood. Besides contending with my family’s eccentricities, I was also burdened with the responsibility of ensuring the shop made a profit, which meant I had to set aside my nonbeliefs. At least around our customers.

  Grams tsked and waggled her finger at me. “Howard is special, and you know very well I didn’t name him. He is your great-great uncle on my side
of the family.”

  Uh-oh. A familiar tightness gripped my chest. According to Grams, our departed relatives spoke to her in dreams, giving her brief glimpses of their so-called quests. Personally, I thought it had something to do with the occasional shot of whiskey she had before going to bed, but that was just me. I also didn’t believe there was a swinging door to the spirit world, but Grams was convinced that under dire circumstances, spirits were allowed to return and help family members.

  I knew arguing with Grams about her reincarnation visions would be worse than crossing a minefield without a metal detector. But if I had to suffer through more muffin-stealing episodes, I deserved to know why. “If the mouse really is my great-great uncle, then what is he doing here?”

  For some reason, this particular uncle had been nominated as my family’s champion, because I could recall two other times he’d been mentioned in otherworldly visits. The first time, Howard had appeared as a neighbor’s dog when I was ten, and his second visit was as a cousin’s pet hamster. The hamster had an issue with its bladder every time I set him in my lap and hadn’t reassured me that his supposed possession by my deceased relative was a good thing.

  And, from what I remembered, neither visit preceded or prevented a monumental disaster, though I wasn’t about to point that fact out to Grams.

  “You know my dreams aren’t always clear, but I believe he is here to help you.” Grams sounded convinced.

  “Me, why?” I couldn’t imagine anything I needed help with. Other than running the shop and keeping Grams out of trouble, a full-time job by itself, I didn’t have much time for anything else.

  Before she could give me an answer, the faint tinkling of a bell echoed from the hallway. It signaled someone’s arrival and the end to our conversation.

  “I’ll take care of the customer”—Grams frowned at the disarray on my desk and the contents from the trash can scattered on the floor— “while you clean up this mess. And don’t do anything else to upset Howard.” She cast one more admonishing glare in my direction, then, with a twirl of her skirt, left the room.

  All I could do was shake my head and survey the damage. The untouched coffee was cold, the muffin inedible, and the top of the desk, which usually had some semblance of organization, was in shambles. I picked up the paperweight, noting the new crack running along one side of the plastic dome, and cringed.

  Logically, I knew it was a contradiction in beliefs to be superstitious about marring the smooth surface when I was skeptical about the supernatural. Just to make sure I had nothing to worry about and hadn’t inadvertently earned myself several years of bad luck, I planned to check one of the many handbooks on the subject shelved in the far corner of the shop.

  I returned the dome to its designated spot on the bookshelf with the rest of the odd souvenirs I’d collected during the occasional family vacation throughout the years. Afterward, I refilled the trash can and organized my desktop, silently cursing Howard the entire time.

  It was a long-standing rule that Spencers did not, under any circumstances, harm another member of the family, even if the member was already dead. Now that the mouse held an honorary spot under my grandmother’s watchful eye, my plan to set out traps later today was no longer going to happen.

  Even though I didn’t believe the mouse was a reincarnated relative, it didn’t mean I would purposely do anything to hurt Grams’s feelings. No matter how outrageous or misguided they might be.

  Chapter Two

  While I’d been picking up trash and reorganizing paperwork after my battle with Howard, the bell had tinkled several more times. I didn’t think there was a single store or business on Swashbuckler Boulevard, the town’s main street, that didn’t have a similar old-fashioned bell hanging over their doorways. I walked into the shop, taking a quick survey of the customers milling around and perusing our collection of unique and, what I considered to be an odd, selection of items.

  The store had a little bit of everything. There were glass cases containing unusual jewelry, some with supposed magical value. We had shelves stocked with herbal remedies, scented candles, and tarot cards. We even had a section dedicated to pirate lore, including eye patches, stuffed talking parrots, toy cutlasses, and swords.

  I spotted Grams on the other side of the room engaged in a conversation with a middle-aged woman wearing a bright green T-shirt emblazoned with a pirate ship logo and an oversized bag draped over her shoulder. My grandmother might be pushing seventy, but she had the sharp wit of a twenty-year-old, rarely missed a thing, and handled the role of sweet, attentive clerk with an admirable, if not somewhat misleading, finesse.

  I hadn’t missed the tight smile and reproachful roll of her eyes currently aimed in my direction. Okay, so it might take Grams a little longer than I’d thought for her to get over my attempt to return our so-called, yet-to-be-proved, long-deceased relative to his home in the spirit plane.

  I stepped behind the counter where we kept the cash register and saw Jade’s golden-brown leather purse, an imitation of a famous brand I could never remember, sitting on the shelf under the counter. She was a full-time employee, one of my two best friends in the world, and my complete opposite. She was into fashion, primping, and polished nails. I was more comfortable in a pair of worn jeans and a baggy T-shirt. Not that I didn’t own a decent dress or two, along with a few pairs of nice pants. Being the acting manager meant being in charge. It also meant I had to look professional, or at least professionalish when I came to work.

  Jade must have been running late before she arrived, because she normally made a point of stopping by the office for a visit before starting her shift.

  I pushed worrying about appeasing Grams out of my mind and focused on the appointment I had with Jessica Jenkins. She was due to arrive any minute, and I needed Jade’s help locating her order.

  No matter how much I stressed the importance of using the back storeroom for additional items or special customer orders, things had a tendency of relocating to unusual places. Places I would never think to look.

  The interior of the shop was like a maze. Even though the majority of the center-aisle shelves and displays were much taller than me, Jade was easy to find. All I had to do was follow the humming. A vocalist my friend wasn’t, and I’d been glad my mother had nixed my father’s suggestion to install a music system into the shop when I was still in my teens.

  There’d been too many days in my past that I’d spent avoiding unwanted attention, mostly because my younger self didn’t rank high on any popularity list. Something I was sure was related to the craziness of my family.

  My goal to remain invisible to anyone other than my close friends was made worse by Jade’s obsessive need to break out into a lyrical rendition—more of a crackly squawk—to whatever song was playing wherever we went.

  I turned left and headed down an aisle I’d appropriately dubbed dark and ominous because the shelves were lined with everything a paranormal enthusiast coveted. I followed that with a quick right and found her kneeling on the floor facing away from me. She was busily stocking a lower shelf with herbal remedies, my insistent mother’s contribution to the wide variety of items we sold.

  I quashed the impulse to jump-start Jade’s morning by sneaking up on her. Actually, I was more afraid of having something tossed at my head. She used to play softball and had a good throwing arm. I ought to know. I’d worn a welt on my forehead for nearly a week from the last time she’d been spooked and tossed a candle at me.

  “Morning,” I said in combination with weighting my footsteps to make the wooden floor creak and announce my arrival.

  “Hey, Rylee,” Jade said cheerily as she glanced over her shoulder. She got to her feet and smoothed out her black cotton skirt before fluffing the ruffled hem hitting the middle of her thighs. She slipped her bare feet into a pair of two-inch open-toed teal heels sitting next to her on the floor, boosting her slim height even higher.

  I couldn’t ever remember a time when my friend wasn’t obsessed with footwear. The higher the heel, the better. An obsession I could never understand. She was always prodding me to change my mundane fashion and invest in a pair of shiny pumps, using my shorter height and the possibility of attracting a man’s attention as a motivator.