Lethal Letters (A Books by the Bay Mystery, Band 6) - Softcover

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New York Times bestselling author Ellery Adams grew up on a beach near the Long Island Sound. She is the author of the Books by the Bay Mysteries, the Charmed Pie Shoppe Mysteries, and the Book Retreat Mysteries. Having spent her adult life in a series of landlocked towns, she cherishes her memories of open water, violent storms, and the smell of the sea. Ms. Adams has held many jobs, including caterer, retail clerk, car salesperson, teacher, tutor, and tech writer, all the while penning poems, children’s books, and novels. She now writes full time from her home in Virginia.

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Chapter 1

Time will bring to light whatever is hidden; it will cover up and conceal whatever is now shining in splendor.

—HORACE

Olivia Limoges rolled the newest edition of Bride magazine into a tight cylinder and brought it down onto the counter with a resounding thwack!

“Enough! I don’t want to hear another detail about your upcoming nuptials. You’ve turned into a groomzilla, Michel. Your obsession over the venue and your tux and the guest list is driving everyone in this kitchen insane.” She pointed at a sous chef, who’d paused in the act of chopping onions to wipe his eyes with a dish towel. “That man is weeping, for heaven’s sake.”

“He always cries when he—” the head chef of The Boot Top Bistro began.

“It started with the tulips, right?” Olivia directed her remark at the sous chef. “Michel’s supposed to be creating the finest cuisine of coastal North Carolina, but his soufflés are falling and his sauces are burning while he frets over whether to have blush-colored tulips, hot pink tulips, or lavender tulips at his reception.” She turned back to Michel. “I will take a meat cleaver to the next tulip you bring into this restaurant, do you hear me?”

Michel opened his arms in a gesture of helplessness. “I want everything to be perfect!”

“Last summer you said that you wanted a simple, intimate affair. But your plans have grown grander and more absurd by the month. I wouldn’t be surprised if Shelley was ready to call off the whole thing.”

At the mention of his fiancée’s name, Michel’s petulant look instantly vanished, and he smiled widely. “She told me that I could have all the pomp and circumstance I wanted. Unlike you, she understands that I’ve waited my whole life for this day and I want—”

“White doves and stretch limos?” Olivia sighed. “This is about you and Shelley. It’s a joining of two lives. A chance for the people who love you to share in your happiness. You don’t need a chocolate fountain for a wedding to be beautiful. You only need you, the woman you want to spend the rest of your life with, and a few carefully chosen words.”

Michel swiveled to face the rest of the kitchen staff. “Have I gone off the deep end?”

They nodded in unison.

“Has my food suffered?”

The line cook exchanged a nervous glance with the sous chef. Michel had a fiery temper and it was clear that no one wanted to say that his cooking hadn’t been up to its usual standards. But Michel caught the furtive glance and instantly hid his face in his hands. “Mon Dieu! I have betrayed my art. And for what? Monogrammed napkins? Embossed invitations?”

“And tulips,” Olivia added. She put a hand on Michel’s forearm and gave it an affectionate squeeze. She was used to his theatrics, but this wasn’t a good time for one of his meltdowns. They needed to review the possible menus for the historical society benefit dinner before showing them to the president. “You can stop looking around for the perfect venue. The Boot Top is your kingdom, Michel. Its kitchen is your beating heart. Have the reception here. I’m sure your colleagues would be delighted to prepare the food for your wedding feast.”

Everyone wearing a chef’s jacket or apron murmured his or her agreement.

Michel looked at them and sniffed. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

“Of course we would,” Olivia answered on behalf of her staff. “That just leaves the cake.”

Michel brightened. “Shelley and I always planned on making our own cake. I’ll do the baking and she’ll do the decorating. After all, no one can hold a candle to her when it comes to sweet confections.”

Olivia thought of the Saint Patrick’s Day display she’d seen in the front window of Decadence, Shelley’s desserterie. Candy coins wrapped in gold foil spilled from a cauldron of solid chocolate. There was a forest of four-leaf-clover lollipops, marshmallow clouds, and a rainbow of candy fruit slices. Fondant leprechauns perched atop grasshopper cupcakes or cartwheeled across the frosted surfaces of crème de menthe brownies. “Shelley is truly gifted,” Olivia said. “And so are you. Can we talk about the menu for the benefit now?”

“Only if you promise to come with me to the First Presbyterian Church before I get started on the dinner service,” Michel said. “I promised to swing by with a copy of our program.”

“I thought you didn’t want a church wedding.”

Michel shrugged. “Maman does. And since I am her only son, I did what she asked.” Straightening, Michel barked out orders to the kitchen staff and they jumped to obey. Scooping the bridal magazine off the counter, he held it aloft as if it were a torch. “I am back, my friends. And I apologize for being so distracted. That’s over now. You have my word as a gentleman and a chef. Spring is upon us and we will be busier than ever. We must uphold the reputation of The Boot Top Bistro. We must dazzle every diner!”

Smiling, Olivia grabbed her head chef by the elbow. “Let’s talk in the bar and then we’ll stop by the church. Which Saturday did you book?”

“I chose a Monday,” Michel said. “The Boot Top is closed on Mondays. You won’t lose any business and neither will Shelley. She and I will take Tuesday off and be back in the kitchen on Wednesday.”

Olivia poked her head into her office and saw that her standard poodle, Captain Haviland, was fast asleep. She smiled indulgently and then led Michel through the dining room into the bar. “Why rush back to work?” Olivia asked. “What about your honeymoon?”

Michel sank into one of the leather club chairs. “We’ll go when the tourist season is over. Mid-October maybe. I want to bring Shelley to Paris. We can visit our old haunts from culinary school and then travel to the Riviera, visiting vineyards as we make our way south. It’s past time we updated The Boot Top’s wine list.” Michel gestured at the polished wood bar. “Not that Gabe isn’t the finest tender in town, but his palate isn’t sophisticated enough to be the restaurant’s sommelier.”

“Ah, the sacrifices you make for your job,” Olivia said teasingly and placed a folder on the small table dividing her chair from Michel’s.

Michel reached out and grabbed her hand. He tapped the platinum band embedded with dark sapphires on her ring finger, and said, “I’m not the only person in the room who should be making wedding plans. And yet I hear nothing of yours. Why not? What are you waiting for, ma chérie?”

Pulling her hand free, Olivia straightened the printed menus in the folder. “Mine will be a very quiet affair. Justice of the peace and a champagne toast. That’s all. There’s not much to organize.”

Michel fixed her with an intent stare. “Then why aren’t you already married? Are you cohabiting, or is the chief still living out of a drawer? I know how much you treasure your independence, Olivia. But when you said ‘yes,’ you gave up your old life.”

Olivia felt her cheeks grow warm. “It’s complicated. When he’s on duty, the chief needs to be close to town, so he stays at his place. My house is too far out. If there’s a police emergency . . .” She shrugged,...