The Crêpes of Wrath: A Pancake House Mystery (2 page)

As the clock ticked past eight, the pancake house only grew busier with the daily before-work crowd. When I’d first taken over the reins of the small restaurant, the number of patrons who came in each day had surprised me. The town of Wildwood Cove was so small that I didn’t understand how there could be a large enough population to support the business outside of the tourist season. But I’d underestimated the loyalty of the regular customers, as well as the lure of Ivan’s scrumptious cooking.

The burly chef with his buzz cut, tattoos, and a face constantly set in a glower had intimidated the heck out of me when I’d first arrived. Actually, he still did, but not quite as much as during my first few days. I’d since learned to stay out of his way and that seemed to help keep his wrath contained, although his gruffness never wavered. His breakfasts, however, couldn’t be faulted.

Although I’d spent many a summer in Wildwood Cove when I was growing up, those visits had slowed to a trickle in my mid-teens after Jimmy’s wife, Grace, passed away. After that, my mom and I had come over to the Olympic Peninsula for a long weekend here and there, but my extended visits became a thing of the past.

Over the last decade, my visits had become even more infrequent. In the seven years the pancake house had been open, I’d never had a chance to visit it, so I’d walked into a completely new situation when I’d booked time off work, packed my bags, and left Seattle for the quaint seaside town.

Now, two weeks later, I almost dreaded the time when I’d have to return to my job as a legal assistant at Henning, Blair & Bates. I didn’t exactly dislike my job at the law firm, but now that I’d had a taste of overseeing a restaurant in a small town, switching back to my normal life wouldn’t be easy.

I’d learned in short order that The Flip Side was more than just a pancake house. Although less than a decade old, the restaurant had become a fixture in Wildwood Cove, a cozy gathering place where people could count on seeing friendly, familiar faces and catch up on the latest news, all while enjoying Ivan’s heavenly creations. There was a sense of community that I’d noticed right away and it made my somewhat lonely life in Seattle seem even lonelier by contrast. I had friends in the city, of course, but I didn’t see as much of them as I once had, now that some of them had kids and busy schedules to juggle.

Though I was still something of an outsider in this town, The Flip Side’s regulars had made me feel welcome, and I enjoyed the warm and friendly atmosphere. I didn’t want to leave this new life, even if it did get hectic at times. Like right at this moment.

As I jotted down a new order, the phone rang. At the same time, another cluster of hungry customers arrived and two diners got up to pay. Leigh grabbed the phone while I directed the newcomers to an open table and gathered up dirty dishes from the most recently vacated one.

On my way back from depositing the dirty dishes in the kitchen, Leigh caught my arm.

“That was Jimmy on the phone.”

Concern knotted in my chest. “Is he all right?”

“Right as rain, from the sound of things. He says he can’t stand to stay in the hospital another day, so he’s already discharged himself.”

“What? Without the doctor’s say-so?”

“You know Jimmy.”

Yes, I did. And that sounded true to his character. I glanced at the clock on the wall and then to the tables of hungry townsfolk. “Did you remind him that we’re in the middle of the morning rush? I can’t possibly skip out on you now to drive to Port Angeles to get him.”

Leigh grabbed three plates full of waffles from the kitchen window. “He said to tell you not to worry. He’s taking a taxi and he’ll see you at the house later.” She hurried off across the restaurant to deliver the waffles.

I remained where I stood for a moment, still digesting Jimmy’s message. As glad as I was that he was on his way home, I hoped he hadn’t jeopardized his recovery by leaving the hospital before he was ready. Plus, the fact that he planned to take a taxi puzzled me. He’d once told me that he didn’t trust taxi drivers because a drunk one had killed his best friend decades ago.

There wasn’t much I could do about Cousin Jimmy at the moment, though. I had too many other things to take care of.

With a fresh pot of coffee in hand, I made the rounds for the umpteenth time that morning, refilling mugs and ensuring that everyone was satisfied with their meals. A good-looking dark-haired man in his late thirties sat alone at the last table I approached. I’d brought him a plate of maple pecan pancakes and sausages earlier and he was now more than halfway through his breakfast, munching on his pancakes as he read the latest edition of Wildwood Cove’s community newspaper.

“How’s everything here?” I asked as I stopped beside his table.

He glanced up from the paper. “Good, thanks.”

I held up the coffeepot. “Would you like a refill?”

“Sounds good.” He nudged his mug toward me. “You’re Marley, right?”

“That’s right.” I stopped the stream of coffee going into his mug. “You were in here once early last week.”

“Good memory.” He grinned and offered me a hand. “Michael Downes.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said as I shook his hand.

“You’re from Seattle?”

“Good guess.”

He grinned again. “Not really. Small-town grapevine. Are you planning on sticking around?”

“Only until Jimmy’s back on his feet. Then I have to get back to my own job in the city.”

“How is Jimmy? Will he be back anytime soon?”

“Hopefully. He was supposed to get out of the hospital in the next day or so, but—”

A clatter and a gasp snatched my attention away from Michael. A woman had knocked over her freshly filled coffee mug, sending dark liquid splashing over the entire table and dripping down to the floor.

“Uh-oh.” I flashed an apologetic smile at Michael. “Excuse me.”

Leigh was already on her way over to the spill zone, cloths in hand. I rushed over to help her mop up the mess and to assure the embarrassed diner that there was no real harm done. When the coffee was all cleaned up and calm had been restored, I accepted payment from another group of customers and exchanged goodbyes with them as they stepped out into the fog.

As I stacked up dirty dishes, I glanced over in Michael’s direction to gauge how he was doing with his meal. He still had half a pancake and one sausage left on his plate, but he was currently ignoring his food, his attention focused on whatever he was reading in the newspaper.

A second later, he dropped the paper on the table and pushed his chair back. Getting to his feet, he took some bills out of his wallet and tossed them on the table. After grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he strode toward the door, his face intense. I opened my mouth to wish him a good day, but he was gone before I could get the words out.

“Where’s the fire?” Leigh asked as the door shut behind him.

I shrugged and hoisted up the stack of dirty dishes to transport them to the kitchen. “Looks like things are finally slowing down out there,” I said to Ivan as I got rid of my load of dishes.

The chef grunted without so much as flicking his eyes in my direction. Not that I had expected anything else. I made a quick exit from his domain and returned to the dining area where only a handful of customers now sat, making their way through their meals.

As I cleaned and tidied the recently vacated tables, I picked up the community newspaper left on the table Michael had occupied. On my way to return it to the selection of papers near the door, I ran my eyes over the stories on the front page. Below the fold, a short column caught my eye. Although it didn’t provide much in the way of details and listed no names, I knew it was about Lisa’s brother Carlos. The targeted assault had taken place in Port Angeles and the victim had suffered broken ribs, a broken jaw, and extensive bruising, all because of a drug debt.

A pang of sympathy stung my heart. Poor Lisa. It had to be agonizing for her to see what her brother was going through and to have all her offers of help refused. Hopefully he wouldn’t get into any more trouble, but with drugs involved, I knew that was unlikely.

Leaving the paper by the door, I returned to my duties, trying to push thoughts of Lisa’s brother out of my mind. The next couple of hours passed fairly quietly and then the lunch rush was upon us. But once that crowd dwindled, the end of the workday was in sight. A quick glance out of the window showed me that the day had brightened, the thick fog finally burning off to reveal blue sky and sunshine. Maybe once I took care of a few office tasks, I could enjoy a walk on the beach.

Wildwood Beach had always been one of my favorite places in the world. The salty sea air and the sound of crashing waves settled my mind and brought me a sense of peace. As long as I was staying here on the Olympic Peninsula, I wanted to take some time to soak in the sights and sounds of the beach.

I couldn’t do so quite yet, however. It was almost two o’clock—closing time—but it would take me at least an hour to get the place sufficiently in order so I could leave for the day.

After I saw the last customers out of the restaurant, I set about washing down the tables while Leigh stepped outside to talk to her husband on her cellphone. I was alone in the dining area, scrubbing at a stubborn puddle of syrup on one of the tables, when the door opened and someone entered the restaurant.

“Sorry, we just closed,” I said as I glanced up.

I froze when I saw a guy with curly blond hair standing inside the door. He grinned at me and a rush of memories flooded my mind.

Blissful summer days spent at the beach. A major crush. Hopes of a first kiss. Eyes the striking deep blue of a bold summer sky.

Eyes currently focused on me.

“That’s all right,” he said, still grinning. “I didn’t come to eat.”

I realized I was staring at him. Heat rushing to my cheeks, I scrubbed harder at the blob of dried syrup in an attempt to cover the awkwardness that had suddenly taken over me.

“No?” I said as I scoured the table.

“No.” He paused, but I kept my attention focused on the syrup. “Need some help with that?”

I glanced up again. The amusement on his face only made my cheeks warmer.

“No, thank you.” The last speck of syrup released its grip on the tabletop and I stopped scrubbing.

“You don’t recognize me.”

I dropped the cloth on the table and swept a tangle of brown curls out of my face, trying to buy myself some time to gather my wits. I didn’t want him to know how untrue that statement was, how I’d thought about him several times over the years, and many more times since my recent arrival in Wildwood Cove. The temptation to ask the locals about him had been almost too much to resist, but fear had held me back. I didn’t want to know if he was now married, or if he’d turned into a lazy drunk.

Looking at him now, though, I could see that I didn’t have to worry about the latter. No lazy drunk had ever looked as good as he did. My eyes strayed to his left hand. No ring.

My heart flip-flopped.

“Brett Collins,” he said, apparently taking my silence as confirmation. “About eighteen years ago, you were staying in town with Jimmy during the summer and hung out with some of us local kids from time to time.”

“Of course.” A smile took shape on my face as I shook off my surprise and the worst of my awkwardness. “Holey buckets. It’s been a while.”

“You can say that again.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“News gets around in this town,” he said. “I’d have come by sooner, but I was out of town for a couple of weeks. Just got back yesterday.”

I tried not to get distracted by his blue eyes, or by the fact that he’d gained several inches of height and a good deal of muscle over the years. Time had been kind to him.

His amused grin had made a comeback and heat returned to my cheeks as I realized I was staring at him again. I forced myself to blink.

“Sorry,” I said with a shake of my head. “You caught me by surprise.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha.” My smile broadened.

The front door flew open and Leigh burst into the pancake house, her cheeks flushed.

“Leigh?” I said as she came to an abrupt stop, staring at me and Brett with wide eyes.

“Jimmy,” she gasped.

“He’s here?” I almost smiled again, but the expression faltered when only half-formed.

Leigh’s expression was one of shock, maybe even horror. It definitely wasn’t one of happiness at seeing her boss home from the hospital.

A sickening lump of fear settled into my stomach. “What’s wrong?”

“Myler’s Point,” she said, still short of breath. “On the rocks. I called 911.”

The weight in my stomach grew heavier. I bolted past Brett to the front door, bursting out into the sunshine. The pancake house opened out onto a paved promenade that ran along the top of the beach. Darting around a woman pushing a double stroller, I pounded across the promenade and jumped up onto a log. To my left, Wildwood Beach curved toward a rocky point. Shading my eyes from the sun, I peered out in that direction.

Almost right away, something caught my eye—a fleck of white among the black rocks.

My heart pounding, I leaped down from the log and jogged across the beach toward the point. My green Converse sneakers sank in the soft sand, making swift progress difficult, but I pressed onward.

As I drew closer to the rocks, the white object took on more definition. It looked like a person, a person in a white T-shirt, sprawled in the cleft between two sharp rocks.

A strangled sound escaped my throat and I kicked up my pace, my feet slipping and sliding in the sand. My right foot sank and twisted to the side. I fell, landing on my hands and knees, sending a hermit crab skittering beneath the nearest piece of driftwood. I scrambled back to my feet, fear and desperation humming along every nerve in my body.

“Marley, wait.” Brett jogged up from behind and took my arm as I was about to resume my run toward the rocks. “Let me.”

Maybe it was something in his voice that made me let him go ahead. Or maybe it was the expression I’d seen on Leigh’s face back at the pancake house.