Murder Over Easy (A Sunny Side Up Cozy Mystery Book 1) Read online

  “So, think you’re ready?” Nick asked me. He’d already done his prep for the morning and left me to greet the three servers as they’d arrived.

  We’d made our introductions, but I’d never felt less prepared for anything in my life, and I’d just spent the last few months dealing with divorce lawyers, for heaven’s sake.

  “I—uh—”

  “I’ll take that as a resounding yes,” the chef said. “Get out there and break a leg.”

  “Unleash the drones!” Didi cried—she was college-aged and enthusiastic.

  I wanted to be swept up by that excitement, but I was way too nervous. I exited into the dining area and found the servers lined up in front of the counter and coffee bar, chatting. They were so calm, and I was streaked with sweat, my blonde hair standing on end and trying to escape its ponytail.

  “Should we open the doors, Miss Charles?” Karl asked.

  “Call me Sunny,” I said. “And, uh, yes, I think you should.”

  I took a sip of the water I’d secreted behind the counter, shaking a little.

  You’re fine. You’ve got a plan of action.

  I would use the register and coffee bar as my base of operations, only heading out to meet the customers when there was a problem, or it was time for a meet-and-greet. That type of thing. I’d simply ring up orders and everything would be perfectly fine.

  The doors opened, and a group of customers entered, all taking the window tables first, then the others that spread through the cafe. The doors remained wide open, bringing in an ocean breeze that was, thankfully, coolish.

  And just like that, I was inundated with action. Servers ringing up orders, me doing the same, greeting people, smiling so much my cheeks hurt, trying to fathom out how the coffee machine worked, then messing up about five orders and having to refund them.

  I stayed on the brink of panic for the first hour, then the second. Finally, during the third, I tore myself away from the counter and strolled through the room, stopping to talk with the townsfolk.

  They all wanted to know where Rita had gone, and, as one lady had put it, “Who do you think you are taking her place?”

  My rounds through the restaurant brought me to the table closest to the door. I stopped next to it and plastered up a smile. “Hello,” I said, “How are you get—?” I broke off.

  It was the elderly woman Nick had told me about. The mean granny, Frances. She wore a flowery dress and sat hunched over her cup of coffee, staring into its murky contents.

  Was I about to get screamed at? Embarrassed in front of strangers? Give my Aunt’s café a bad name?

  “Good morning, dear,” Frances said. “It’s lovely to meet you. You must be Rita’s niece, is that correct?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” she continued, waving a hand. It tremored as she placed it back on her cup. “Rita spoke so fondly of you.”

  “She did?”

  “Of course. How pretty you are, how sweet you are, how much potential you have and how you deserve better than your low-life husband. That kind of thing.”

  I choked on my own saliva. “My—”

  “Potential,” Frances replied with another smile.

  “Are you, uh, are you having a good morning?” I asked, then blinked at the silly question. “I mean, is everything up to its usual standard?”

  “Coffee is terribly weak, but it’s your first day. I’m sure everyone will cut you slack, dear. Don’t worry too much about it. I know you must be a little overwhelmed, but by the end of the week, it will be like you’ve lived here your entire life. Parfait is like that. Warm and welcoming. You’ll see.”

  Not the impression I’d gotten from her this morning. “Thank you,” I said, and slunk off, privately grateful that her temper hadn’t made its appearance. Then again, she might have had a good reason for arguing with that other woman this morning.

  Who was I to judge?

  I wound back toward the coffee bar, but a shout stopped me in my tracks.

  A group of young people had entered the cafe, a short, dark-haired girl at their center, holding up a phone and snapping pictures of herself and then of the restaurant. It was the same young woman who’d been arguing with Frances a few hours ago. Now, she didn’t so much as glance the elderly woman’s way—and Frances paid her the same attention. Or lack thereof.

  “Who’s that?” I whispered to myself.

  Didi stopped next to me, carrying a large tray with empty dishes from a table on it. “That?” She rolled her eyes, the glitter on her eyelids amplifying the effect. “I went to high school with her. She was a few years older than me. Trisha Williams.” Another eye-roll. “She thinks she’s so cool, but she’s so… ugh. Trisha’s a food vlogger, though, so you probably want to stay on her good side. She’s got over a million followers across her social media accounts.”

  “Wow.” That was a lot—I wasn’t that familiar with social media numbers, but a million was still a million.

  “Yeah.” Didi hurried off toward the kitchen. And the other servers were all busy with their tables. I searched the café for help, but there was none.

  Meaning I would have to seat the group and serve them. I cleared my throat, squared my shoulders, and told myself to buck up. I’d been a homemaker for most of my adult life, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t conquer new territories.

  “Good morning,” I said, surreptitiously checking the time on the egg clock behind the coffee bar. It was just past 11am. “May I help you?”

  “Hi, yeah,” Trisha said, flicking her hair, and snapping another photo of herself. “Party of five. We’re here to eat and take pictures. We’re influencers. Do you have a discount for that kind of thing?”

  “I—I have no idea,” I replied. Honesty was always the best policy, right?

  Trisha narrowed her eyes at me.

  “But I’m sure we can work something out. Right this way, please,” I said, and led them to a booth along the wall.

  They sat down, and I hovered next to the table like a lost fly.

  “Are you going to offer us drinks?” Trisha asked, raising a micro bladed eyebrow.

  “Yes, of course. What can I get for you?”

  They rattled off their orders one by one and I noted them down on my phone, trying not to ask them to repeat themselves too many times. “Right,” I said. “I’ll be right back with those.”

  Trisha had already started talking into her phone, posing while she took a video of herself, so I skedaddled.

  I signaled to Didi and showed her the list of drinks. “I have no idea how to make any of these,” I whispered. “Iced coffee with a maple syrup sprinkling and a—what is this?”

  “Lime-o-chino?” Didi asked, setting down her tray and glancing over at her tables. “It’s a lime and coffee milkshake.”

  “That sounds revolting,” I hissed.

  “It does,” Didi agreed, “but it tastes surprisingly good. Look, I’ll help you make this round of drinks. And I’ll come back after the evening shift tonight to help you figure out how to make the rest of the drink items on the menu.”

  “Thank you. You’re too kind.” I could have cried in gratitude.

  Didi was a whiz at the coffee bar. She whipped up the drinks, showing me how to make them as she went, teaching me about the frothing wand on the front of the coffee machine, and the difference between a latte and a cappuccino. At least fifty percent of the information sank in.

  Finally, I had my tray of drinks. Didi hurried off to serve her table—the customers had been shooting her angry looks since she’d taken so long helping me—and I took the tray to the food vlogger, wobbling all the way.

  Of course, I gave everyone the wrong drink, and they had to switch at the table, but it was done at least. Now, I could find another of the servers to take control of the table.

  I drifted a few steps from Trisha’s table, hoping the drinks would tide them over until things calmed down a bit.

  “Excuse me,”
Trisha called, and clicked her fingers at me, her bright green eyes zeroed in on mine. “Aren’t you going to ask us what we want to eat? The service in this place has seriously gone downhill. The last time I was in Parfait, this was the café to eat at.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “I’m new. OK, so what can I get for you?”

  The people at the table remained silent, shaking their heads that they weren’t hungry, their gazes trained on Trisha.

  “Hmm, let me see. What am I going to try?” Trisha paged through the menu—it was laid out like an A4 newspaper and doubled as a place setting. “Hmm. Ah. I’ll take Rita’s Eggs Over Easy, please. Make sure you bring the hot sauce with you.”

  Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

  This wasn’t a dish I could rightfully hand off to Nick in the kitchen. He was already swamped and as he’d mentioned earlier, it was tradition in the Sunny Side Up Café to make eggs over easy for your customer.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to try something a little more involved?” I asked. “What about a Sunny Side Up Burger and Fries?”

  “Eggs over easy, please.”

  “OK,” I managed, and almost took the menu from her before realizing she needed it for a place setting.

  I retreated, my heart sitting in my throat. What if I messed it up? I searched around for Didi, but she was busy, and I’d already stolen enough of her time. I brushed my hands off on the Sunny Side Up apron I’d tied on this morning as part of the staff uniform and headed for the kitchen.

  Nick was inside, enveloped in delicious cooking scents and clouds of steam. He spotted me and gestured with an egg flipper. “Mind watching this bacon while I run to the bathroom?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  I fumbled a pan out of the cupboards and placed it on the stovetop. It took me two minutes to figure out how to switch the gas on. I got the oil from the pantry, then returned to the kitchen and slopped it into the pan.

  “So far, so good,” I whispered. “Now, where are the eggs?” I found them in the fridge.

  I cracked two into the pan and practiced doing exactly as Nick had shown me, all while keeping a panicked eye on the bacon.

  Nick returned and took over. “Doing a superb job on those eggs,” he said, smiling. “Take a breath, Sunny, you’re doing great.”

  “Thanks,” I said, managing a wavering smile. The moment of truth had come. Egg flipping.

  I closed one eye, stuck my tongue between my teeth, and turned the eggs over using the technique he’d showed me. And…

  It worked! The yolks didn’t break or anything.

  I served the eggs onto a waiting plate, pride welling in my chest at what I’d created. They looked pretty darn good, if I said so myself. I grabbed a bottle of hot sauce on the way out of the kitchen.

  “There you are!” Didi waved. “Oh wow, you did it! Your first ever plate of eggs over easy.”

  “I can scarcely believe it,” I said. “I’ve never cooked eggs before.”

  “First time for everything. Here, let me take a picture of this momentous occasion.” Didi took my phone out of the front pocket of my yellow apron, a picture of an egg on the front. She snapped a picture of me smiling, sweat-streaked, but successful, then popped my phone back into my pocket again.

  “You know,” I said, “I should’ve learned to cook ages ago, but we had a chef for that and…” I trailed off, blushing. It was silly to talk about my past now. And crass. “Never mind. I’d better get this over to the vlogger’s table.”

  I did exactly that and set the eggs down in front of her with pride.

  She frowned. “Uh, no toast?” she asked.

  “Oh! Right. I can get some.”

  “No, I don’t have time,” Trisha sighed. “This will have to be fine.” She splashed hot sauce over the eggs, then took several pictures of them.

  It was silly to be prideful, but I couldn’t help worrying that the eggs would be cold by the time she took the first bite.

  I tucked my hands behind my back and twisted my fingers, nervously. What if they didn’t taste good? Ridiculous. Eggs are eggs are eggs. They can only taste one way.

  Trisha cut through the middle of an egg and golden yolk oozed onto the plate. She took yet another picture, before finally spearing a piece on the end of her fork and eating it. She chewed, cleared her throat, then chewed some more.

  Her face paled. She sucked in several deep breaths and shook her head.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it not done well enough?”

  Trisha didn’t answer. She keeled over and plonked face first into her plate.

  The inside of the café erupted into screams.

  4

  I sat on a barstool in front of the cash register, my hands on my thighs, my eyes wide and staring directly ahead. I’d seen a few shocking things in my time—pictures of my ex-husband on vacation with his mistress in Puerto Rico, some of which had been on the racy side. And I’d also watched plenty of true crime shows with my Aunt Rita—it had been a passion of ours during my teen years—but nothing could have prepared me for this.

  Trisha Williams was dead as… well, as a dead thing. I couldn’t summon up a metaphor in this state.

  The café had turned to chaos after she’d collapsed, but Nick had come striding out of the kitchen and called everyone to order. The police had been summoned, and now the detectives were questioning everyone.

  The booth where it had happened had already been cordoned off, and the body removed.

  Apparently, they wanted to ensure nobody left the Sunny Side Up Café until the police had taken their details and statements.

  And that included me.

  “You all right?” Nick asked, from next to the counter. “You’re pale. Have some water.”

  I shook my head. “Just didn’t expect it. She just… she just died. Right in front of me. What happened?”

  “No idea,” Nick replied. “But I’m sure the cops will figure it out. We’ve got some good ones in Parfait. That guy over there? He’s new. Transferred from Miami, so he knows his stuff.”

  “That’s good.” The sooner this got sorted out, the better. I didn’t want my aunt’s café to suffer because of what had happened. “You know, it’s just my luck that something like this would happen on my first day here. I swear, I’m a bad omen.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Nick patted me on the back. “It’s just bad luck.”

  “Yeah, and I’m the source.”

  The detective he’d pointed out—a handsome Latina man wearing a buttoned, short-sleeve shirt, a pair of pants, and a lanyard bearing his identification—walked over before Nick could reply.

  “Are you Miss Sunny Charles?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s me.” I swallowed halfway through the word ‘that’s’ and made a horrible glugging noise in my throat.

  “I’m Detective Garcia,” he said. “Mind coming over here with me, ma’am?”

  “Sure, no problem.” I followed him to a booth that was two away from the other cops, nervous diners, and would-be witnesses. I sat on the comfy covered vinyl, sweat gathering on my brow.

  The day had worn on, and the cool breeze had vanished. It was humid, and the beautiful view of the beach and the boardwalk did nothing to soothe me.

  “How are you?” the detective asked, removing a notepad from his pocket. He set it on the table between us and placed a ballpoint pen atop it.

  “Um, I’ve been better,” I said.

  “I understand you witnessed Miss Williams’ death firsthand?”

  “Yes. I was standing right next to her table when it happened,” I managed. “She… I think she was choking. She started sort of clearing her throat and went pale, but she didn’t grab anyone or gesture that she needed help. Trisha just… she just fell over into her plate and died. Oh, it’s horrible.” It came out of me in a stream. The pressure had built to a point where I had to release it. “You know, she was going to recommend the café and the eggs I made her, I’m sure of it, and now she’s—I can’t believe
this has happened.”

  Detective Garcia flipped open his notepad, keeping the cover up so I couldn’t make out what was on the page. “Tell me more about what she was doing before she passed.”

  “She was talking to her friends. And eating, of course. I served her some eggs over easy with hot sauce. First time I’ve ever made them, too, and they went so well.” I could hear myself babbling but was powerless to stop it. “You don’t think it was the eggs, do you? Can rotten eggs kill a person? That’s a stupid question, don’t answer it. I know that they can’t immediately kill a person like that, but it was so shocking and—”

  “I’m afraid I have bad news, Miss Charles,” Detective Garcia said, his expression serious. “You’re going to have to close the café for a few days while we conduct a search and document any evidence the killer might have left behind.”

  “K-killer?” I blinked rapidly. “But she was choking.”

  “Our preliminary findings suggest this was no accident,” Garcia said. “You’re going to have to close this place down.”

  “For how long? Look, I just started here today. This is my aunt’s place. I can’t let her down. She trusted me to—for how long, detective?” The panic had reached a fever pitch.

  I couldn’t allow anything to happen to my aunt’s café. She’d dreamed of owning one for the years we’d lived in the city together. She’d spoken so fondly of retiring and starting her own place out by the beach. I simply couldn’t be the reason she lost her life’s dream.

  “For as long as we take to find the evidence we need.” He removed a card from his pocket and gave it to me. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t leave town.”

  Nick had been kind enough to give me a ride home from the café, but we’d passed the time in silence. I was lost in worry about the murder and the consequences related to it. What if my aunt’s café couldn’t reopen? What if… oh heavens, what if I had brought the bad luck that took down the successful establishment?