The Name of the Rose Water Spritzer Read online

  The Name of the Rose Water Spritzer

  Career Crisis Café Mystery 2

  Emily Selby

  Copyright © 2019 by Emily Selby

  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.

  Disclaimer:

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  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

  Thank you for reading

  Be The First to Know

  Career Crisis Café Mystery series

  Recipe: Crustless Mini Quiches

  Also by Emily Selby

  1

  Heather Hampton buttoned up her favorite wool cardigan—lilac with white piping—and shoved her hands into the pockets. The sky was lightening, colored by the first rays of sunlight, the air still and fresh. After all, mid-October, even in the northern part of New Zealand, Northland, could be chilly. Particularly before 7 o'clock in the morning.

  The air smelled of the night rain, but the day’s weather forecast was promising. Thank goodness, as Heather and Josephine, her assistant chef-cum-baker in the café, were planning a little party that afternoon, which was the reason for Heather being out and about at such an unsocial hour.

  The important package she had been waiting for had arrived the previous day, and Samantha Woods from the Paper Plus store, which housed the local post office, kindly offered to release it, despite it being a Sunday morning.

  Living in a small town, within a close-knit community had its upside.

  Actually, many.

  Heather trotted across the street, which was basking in sunlight. The warmth on her back made her a little less miserable.

  She needed another coffee on her return.

  Heather walked past the row of little shops and other small businesses, all dark and quiet.

  Well, maybe with one exception.

  A door slammed. The glass pane rattled, followed by a piercing sound of wind chimes hit by the blow.

  A female voice cut through the silence that followed. "Oh, for goodness' sake, Rose, why don't you do your freaking yoga inside?" The voice brimmed with frustration, or even suppressed hostility.

  Heather swiveled her head. She recognized the voice, but Frida Doyle, a local artist, wasn't someone who ruffled easily. What the heck was going on?

  Another female voice replied. "Frida, you know very well that connecting with nature and absorbing the energy from the rising sun is important to me. In fact, it's important to us all. It should be important to you too. I simply cannot do my yoga indoors. I have explained to you several times. It is not something that can be done in the house."

  Heather stretched her neck.

  Funny, how she had quickly become interested in her neighbors' lives. She had only been living in Dolphin Cove for a month, but she had already taken up some of the local customs. Long gone was her New York big-city living, with its keep-yourself-to-yourself vibe.

  A medium height, slender silhouette in a long-flowing dress appeared in the yard of Frida's house across the street.

  Frida ran down the stairs and across the garden, toward her workshop, where Heather spotted another female shape. A tall woman dressed in pink leggings and a matching, equally tight top, highlighting all her curves, was sitting on a mat on the ground, appearing to attempt a yoga position.

  A month ago, Heather would have just walked on, thinking that people were entitled to do whatever they chose to do with their lives, but the previous few weeks had taught her that small towns had their own rules.

  Discreetly, she crossed the street, hoping for a closer look.

  "But you should have at least closed the door. There is a draft coming in, our guests will be cold."

  "Frida, darling, how many times do I need to tell you to let the fresh energy in, first thing in the morning? Let the new day arrive and everything will be so much better. Your house is full of bad energy. I had to get out to breathe," the woman in the pink outfit rattled on. It felt as though she didn't even need to take a breath in between her sentences.

  "If you don't feel well, or safe, or whatever, you can always go back home," Frida said, deepening her voice into a growl. "I'll reimburse all the costs, including your flights here."

  "But this is my home away from home. I'm here to enjoy every minute of it. And I'm looking forward to the course as well."

  Frida turned around. Her face tensed as she spotted Heather, whose cheeks warmed under the scrutiny.

  Heather grinned and waved. "Morning, ladies. On my way, just passing by, have a good day," she said, trying to sound casual, as though she really was just passing by.

  Frida nodded in response. Her face was pale and there was something strange about it, which made Heather think, Frida had just climbed out of bed.

  It wasn't until Heather reached the door to Paper Plus when she realized what it was. Frida's hairstyle always looked a bit messy, her dresses reminded Heather of her grandma's nighties, and Frida often walked barefoot. But the lack of the unibrow, Frida's so-called signature feature, which she painted carefully on her forehead every morning, was the undoubtable sign she hadn't had the time to apply her make-up.

  Yeah, Frances "Frida" Doyle was serious about following in the footsteps of her favorite artist—Frida Kahlo.

  Getting out of her house incompletely prepared was a clear sign of Frida’s distress. And it looked like the woman in the pink outfit was the source of it.

  Heather reached the door of the store.

  "Hello, anybody there?" she called out, knocking on the glass pane. "Sam? Samantha?"

  A plump figure with greying hair pulled back into a tight ponytail emerged from the darkness inside and approached the door.

  "Hi, Heather," Samantha said, unlocking the door. "Thank you for coming in so early."

  "No, thank you for opening on a Sunday morning," Heather replied.

  Samantha let Heather in. Inside, the shop was dark and cold. Heather followed the owner, navigating the tables and shelves stocked with books, office supplies and toys, heading towards the back door.

  "It's in the storage room," Samantha said. "I'll get it for you. It's quite heavy."

  "I suppose it would be. These are the ingredients for a new cocktail."

  "I'd love to try it one day," Samantha said and fluttered her long eyelashes. "How is the licensing process going? Do you know if you will be able to serve alcohol at the Kea Café any time soon?"

  Heather suppressed the wince. Changing the café's name was an ongoing challenge. It'd been a month since she’d first mentioned it to Josephine, but the older woman had stubbornly refused to engage in any conversation around it. Heather was hoping that the garden party could provide an opportunity to bring the topic up again, with the help of their neighbors.

  "I've made the license application, and it still in progress. Apparently, it usually takes several weeks."

  The license a
pplication was another reason for having a garden party – intelligence gathering. Heather had invited a few friends and neighbors not only to strengthen the new relationships but also to get a feel for the local response to the idea of serving alcohol on the café premises.

  "Fingers crossed all goes well for you. Dolphin Cove needs new life, or fresh blood, if you like," Samantha said, disappearing in the storage room.

  Heather pushed aside a comment that popped up in her mind. Honestly, it would be a bad idea to make a joke of the recent attempt on Josephine's life and a discovery of the real reason behind the previous café's owner's sudden death.

  "Thanks, Samantha," Heather said instead. "Once we succeed, I mean, if we succeed, I'll throw a massive party."

  Samantha appeared in the doorway hunched, undoubtedly under the weight of the large package she was holding in her arms.

  "Are you sure you can carry it?" she asked.

  "I can always try," Heather replied.

  She should probably have brought her car, or at least a shopping bag on wheels, but she had just assumed she'd be able to do it.

  Her naïve optimism hadn't changed.

  Heather took the package carefully from Samantha. She wobbled. It was heavy.

  "You can leave it outside, by the door and come back with the car. I'll be in the shop for a few more minutes."

  "No," Heather replied and groaned. "I'll be ... fine."

  She trudged towards the door, trying to ignore her aching shoulders. Realistically speaking, she might not be able to carry it all the way home, but Heather didn't want to leave her precious box unattended.

  Once through the door, Heather carefully lowered the box to the concrete landing.

  A cycle sped past the shop. Heather recognized the cyclist.

  It was Frida.

  "I've got to lock up, Heather," Samantha explained appearing by Heather’s side. "Leave the box here. Everyone is still asleep, if you're worrying about theft or damage."

  "Somebody has just gone past, on a bike, even though it's early," Heather observed. It was highly unusual for Frida to cycle barefoot and in her nightie.

  "That was Frida, wasn't it?" Samantha asked.

  Heather nodded. "I heard an argument between her, and I think one of her guests on the way here."

  "As did I," Samantha said. "I often have deliveries in the morning, and my backyard opens onto her garden. There's been a lot of arguments lately."

  "But Frida isn't an argumentative person, is she?"

  "She's not, but some of her guests are..."

  Heather glanced at Samantha. She was still learning how to read between the lines when it came to the local gossip. Fortunately, the years of experience as a fashion journalist had taught her how to tease information out of people.

  "This morning, it's someone called Rose. Have there been any other argumentative guests?"

  Samantha crossed her arms over her ample chest. She narrowed her eyes. "As far as I have heard, it's been mainly Rose."

  "Do you know the woman?"

  Samantha knew a lot of people. Her centrally located shop and the post office service provided her with multiple opportunities not only to hear gossip but also to observe the comings and goings of the residents.

  "Rose Waters is one of Frida's regulars. She visits every year. It’s the second or third time she's visited this year. I don't know if she paints a lot, but I think she just enjoys the ambience of the place."

  Heather opened her mouth to ask another probing question, but Samantha turned back and walked back into the shop.

  "Sorry, I need to close," Samantha called out from the store. "Leave the package here I'll try to keep an eye on it."

  "Thanks, Sam," Heather replied and ran down the street, back to the café to get her car. As she passed Frida's house, she noticed the garden was empty, but the exercise mat was still on the ground by the workshop.

  Strange.

  Heather always thought that practicing yoga required time and patience. Rose Waters didn't seem to have either of them.

  2

  Half an hour later, back from Paper Plus with the package, Heather lifted the precious box out of the trunk of her Nissan and carried it to the kitchen. Josephine was already up and milling around the kitchen. The wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

  "Morning, Josephine," Heather greeted her roommate. "You don't need to be up yet."

  "I prefer to have plenty of time. I wanted to test some new recipes."

  "Oh lovely. What are they?"

  Heather set the package on the table and glanced over her shoulder at the coffee machine. Was there enough for another cup for her?

  "Secret," Josephine grumbled. "I told you we needed more finger foods. It'll be too cold to sit down and I'm sure people will want to move around."

  "But they forecast seventy-three degrees for this afternoon," Heather protested.

  "What?" Josephine asked, a shock clear on her face.

  Divided by the same language... Heather sighed. She hadn't learnt to measure temperature in Celsius yet.

  "That'll be somewhere eh... about... warm," she replied, reaching for her phone. "The app says twenty-three in Celsius," she added having checked the weather app.

  "That's in the sun," Josephine grumbled.

  "So, we'll put the tables in the sun."

  "What about the wind?"

  Heather stifled a sigh. Josephine could be such a killjoy, particularly when she was pointing out some obvious gaps in Heather's thinking.

  Her wishful thinking...

  "Can't we put up some sort of canopy or windbreaker?" Heather asked, getting a knife from the drawer.

  "And where would we get one of those from?"

  Josephine was standing by the table, her glasses balanced on the tip of her nose.

  "Don't we have something like that somewhere in the storage room?"

  "You mean that pile of rotten old rags in the back of our shed? The one half eaten by moths?"

  Heather slid the knife along the sealed edges of the package, doing anything to avoid the piercing frosted glare from behind those glasses.

  "Maybe this is a good opportunity to buy a new wind protection? After all, if we want to expand the café, and serve people on the beach, it will definitely come in handy."

  "And how are you going to buy it today, on a Sunday? We have seven hours left until the party. Even if you set off to Auckland immediately, I doubt you'll be back in time."

  Heather pressed her lips. It would take her a while to fully integrate the reality of living in a small town away from civilization. Obviously, Josephine must have known that a large windbreaker would be hard to obtain in the nearest large town, the city of Whangarei.

  The Bay of Islands, beautiful as it was, was situated well away from the major shopping centers, which also happened to be one of its biggest attractions.

  "Okay, Miss Killjoy," Heather said, lifting her chin up. "So, if not under the trees, and not away from the trees, without a windbreak, where do you propose?" She stared Josephine, her neck tensed.

  Under any other circumstances, Heather would rather avoid conflict, but was walking right into one now. She must have been in caffeine withdrawal. Maybe she simply needed to top up the caffeine levels in her system.

  She grabbed a clean mug from the shelf above the coffee maker and poured herself a good helping of the steaming, golden brown brew. She took a big sip, scalding her tongue and upper palate.

  "Um..." Josephine released a long sigh. "The best solution would be to hold the party indoors. And because the café is still closed, this would class it as a private party. Therefore, we could still serve your drinks."

  "But the weather is so beautiful, and the trees are flowering," Heather protested. "I wanted to make the most of the day. Okay, let’s compromise. We’ll start outside and, if it really gets cold, we could always go back inside."

  Another long growling sound left Josephine's throat. "That would work, I suppose. We co
uld even stay outside on the deck, there are heaters we could put on if needed."

  Heather relaxed her shoulders. She still struggled to understand Josephine. Sometimes she thought the woman argued with her for the sake of it, but then, completely out of the blue, she would surprise Heather with a good compromise.

  Like, for example, now.

  "That is a good solution, too. How come, we didn't..." Heather said and paused. She just remembered why they hadn't considered setting the party on the deck. And surprisingly, both Heather and Josephine agreed on that point. The last little "welcome to the neighborhood" party they'd organized around the table just outside the café, on the terrace, ended badly. Fortunately, Josephine survived the attempt on her life.

  "Never mind," Heather said, waving her hand dismissively. "I'd better get on with perfecting my new drink. Here's the last ingredient I've been waiting for." She took a small, carved glass bottle out of the package and held it up to the sunlight. The translucent liquid glimmered even though the pinkish hue was coming from the label on the bottle, rather than the liquid itself.

  "What's that?" Josephine asked.

  "It’s rose water, distilled from rose petals. Non-alcoholic, so I can use it to for those who prefer an alcohol-free version of the cocktail as well."

  "That sounds fancy. What else goes into your cocktail?"

  Heather smiled. She loved talking about drink mixing. Taking the mixology course might have not paid off yet, but it was definitely the highlight of her career crisis.

  "Apart from rose water, we need some lemon juice, honey, blood orange juice, sparkling water and vodka for those who want that extra fire in the drink."

  "Why did you get those roses then?" Josephine asked, jerking her chin pointing at a bunch of flowers sitting in the vase on the fridge. "I thought you were going to make the rose water yourself."