Scones and Scandal (Peridale Cafe Cozy Mystery Book 22) Read online

  Scones and Scandal

  The Peridale Cafe Series - Book 22

  Agatha Frost

  Contents

  About This Book

  Newsletter Signup

  Also by Agatha Frost

  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

  Chapter 17

  Thank You!

  Newsletter Signup

  Also by Agatha Frost

  Published by Pink Tree Publishing Limited in 2021

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © Pink Tree Publishing Limited.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For questions and comments about this book, please contact [email protected]

  www.pinktreepublishing.com

  www.agathafrost.com

  About This Book

  Released: May 25th 2021

  Words: 60,000

  Series: Book 22 - Peridale Cozy Café Mystery Series

  Standalone: Yes

  Cliff-hanger: No

  With Julia South-Brown enjoying her newborn daughter’s every milestone safe in her cosy cottage, and with maternity leave cutting her off from the rumour mill of her café, she doesn’t realise just how much local news and gossip she’s missed. Between a wave of break-ins and thefts, Peridale isn’t quite the safe little village she remembers.

  But when the leader of Peridale’s Eyes, the local neighbourhood watch group, meets her end on the same day Julia’s neighbour Leah’s house is broken into and robbed, Julia finds herself pulled back into the familiar world of clues, suspects, and motives – not to mention her gran’s rival neighbourhood watch group.

  Dot South knows this is her moment to shine. For years, she’s been dreaming of starting a neighbourhood watch group of her own. Now, with a murder on her doorstep and a bunch of hapless amateurs bungling every attempt at solving it, who better to form and lead a newer, better version of Peridale’s Eyes?

  Or should she say … Dot’s Detectives?

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  Also by Agatha Frost

  Claire’s Candles

  1. Vanilla Bean Vengeance

  2. Black Cherry Betrayal

  3. Coconut Milk Casualty

  4. Rose Petal Revenge

  5. Fresh Linen Fraud

  6. Toffee Apple Torment (NEW!)

  Peridale Cafe

  1. Pancakes and Corpses

  2. Lemonade and Lies

  3. Doughnuts and Deception

  4. Chocolate Cake and Chaos

  5. Shortbread and Sorrow

  6. Espresso and Evil

  7. Macarons and Mayhem

  8. Fruit Cake and Fear

  9. Birthday Cake and Bodies

  10. Gingerbread and Ghosts

  11.Cupcakes and Casualties

  12. Blueberry Muffins and Misfortune

  13. Ice Cream and Incidents

  14. Champagne and Catastrophes

  15. Wedding Cake and Woes

  16. Red Velvet and Revenge

  17. Vegetables and Vengeance

  18. Cheesecake and Confusion

  19. Brownies and Bloodshed

  20. Cocktails and Cowardice

  21. Profiteroles and Poison

  22. Scones and Scandal (NEW!)

  23. Raspberry Lemonade and Ruin (PRE-ORDER!)

  Other

  The Agatha Frost Winter Anthology

  Peridale Cafe Book 1-10

  Peridale Cafe Book 11-20

  Claire’s Candles Book 1-3

  1

  Silence in Peridale.

  Pulling back the curtain as she watered the potted devil’s ivy on the window ledge, Julia South-Brown scanned the street below. No car engine or child’s laughter broke the calm, and even the birds seemed to be resting their vocal cords for a change. If not for the fluttering curtains in an open window across the green, she could have been convinced she was looking at a painting.

  The Perfect Peridale Spring Day, by Mother Nature.

  The bedroom in which those curtains fluttered belonged to Julia’s gran. In this peaceful moment, the light breeze was the source of the twitching and not Dot keeping herself abreast of the day’s goings-on.

  Julia’s was the only set of eyes witnessing the beauty below. High above St. Peter’s Church, the sun shone bright and warm from its cloudless blanket, lighting up the delicate petals of the flowers on the village green like stained glass.

  Mother Nature had borrowed a day from the summer ahead.

  It was about time.

  Rain had plagued them for far too much of the spring, and only a week ago, an unseasonal sprinkling of snow had welcomed in the month of May. Perhaps people had grown too used to the recent gloom to trust the forecast of a nice day, leaving their picnics unprepared and their footballs buried in the shed.

  Julia appreciated the silence regardless of the reason behind it.

  True quiet had been scarce lately.

  The last drop of water left the can, sending Julia to the small flat’s kitchen for further instruction. Running her finger along the illustrated guide taped to the cupboard next to the sink, she found the next plant.

  The monstera in the bedroom.

  The only plant that filled Julia with dread.

  Over the months Jessie had lived in the flat above the post office, Julia had noticed her daughter’s plant collection growing. She hadn’t realised how seriously Jessie had taken it. The pristine, precise guide written in Jessie’s neatest handwriting made her daughter’s parting request of ‘don’t kill my plants’ feel more like a challenge – or a threat.

  So far, the indoor garden was hanging on.

  All except the monstera in the bedroom.

  After filling the can with a little more water than specified, Julia crept into the bedroom with a held breath.

  “Oh, don’t you look sad.”

  Most of the stems were sagging, only two leaves pointed upwards . . . and that wasn’t the worst of it. While the two proud leaves remained brilliant green beneath a waxy shine, the rest looked like month-old banana peels. The browning appeared in small spots first, until patches took over entire leaves. Praying for a miracle, Julia plucked another browned leaf and dumped the water into the soil.

  On her way to the door, she tugged at the corner of the perfectly made bed to smooth out a phantom crease. Not that it mattered; it had been five months since anyone slept beneath those sheets.

  The plants had been experiencing their own extended silence lately.

  Maybe the monstera knew Jessie was absent and was proclaiming its displeasure the
only way it knew how.

  Determined to make the most of the unexpected calm, Julia returned to the kitchen and binned the leaf. After pouring a fresh cup of peppermint and liquorice tea, she sat in one of the hard metal seats at the small dining table positioned on the cusp of where the kitchen met the living room.

  Last week’s issue of The Peridale Post lay abandoned, open to a full-page advertisement for a summer funfair. Dried droplets of Olivia’s repeated morning feedings had bled the ink in places, though Julia’s coat had taken the brunt of it. At least the endless rain had her in an easy-to-wipe raincoat, so the gloom had its benefits.

  Uninterested by the sports pages, Julia flicked backwards until she found the picture of Hugo Scott, a local Member of Parliament recently at the centre of a scandal concerning leaked sleazy pictures. Thankfully for Mr Scott, MP, a local private investigator had proved the pictures were fakes.

  Julia’s friend, Johnny Watson, edited the newspaper. However, she imagined the decision to bury the ‘apology’ story on page twelve next to a story about a cat who took a bus hadn’t been his. In their censored forms, the fake pictures had dominated the front pages of most local papers lately.

  The headline, however, had Johnny written all over it:

  INNOCENT! POLITICIAN’S PRIVATE PICS PHOTOSHOPPED PHONIES!

  The actual apology for the newspaper’s part in spreading the misinformation didn’t appear until the final line. A few lines before that, they gave credit to ‘retired detective inspector, bestselling author, and private investigator, Barker Brown.’ Meagre as the column’s inches were, they’d made their way into said private investigator’s scrapbook with a fervent declaration that he was done with ‘big profile’ cases for a while.

  A loud engine broke the silence as Julia came to the end of the cat story. The ginger feline, photographed in the grip of a young girl, not only went to Riverswick on the bus but also caught the correct return and was home before anyone noticed he’d gone.

  Julia finished her tea and closed the paper.

  Back to reality.

  Leaving the rinsed cup on the draining board for next week, she peeled back the curtains as a large white van pulled up in front of the café next door. Maternity leave or not, Julia couldn’t bring herself to stay hidden in Jessie’s empty flat while Katie dealt with the delivery.

  Besides, she’d left her holding Olivia.

  Jessie’s flat door locked behind Julia as she walked past the two cars parked in the street below it. Despite what Penelope Newton said, there was more than enough room to walk past Katie’s powder pink Fiat 500 and Julia’s vintage aqua blue Ford Anglia.

  The two familiar delivery men who rarely said anything to Julia were already there. The older chatted to Katie on the doorstep while the younger whipped in and out with armfuls of stacked boxes.

  Julia peered through the café’s window and past the beaded curtain, where the steel island in the kitchen seemed more than full. Why, then, was the well-muscled lad unloading yet another round of boxes off the back of the van?

  While Katie’s pink acrylic nail scribbled on a digital screen, Julia slipped unseen into her café. Kenny, according to his name badge, darted around her and added more to the pile before rushing out again. She hurried in and pulled back a sheet of bubble wrap. Punnets of strawberries filled the plastic tray, which would have been fine if at least a dozen more trays weren’t also filled with punnets.

  Other boxes held more tubs of butter than Julia had seen at any one time, and then she discovered flour in an even greater quantity than the butter. If not for Katie’s high-pitched and piercing girlish giggle, Julia might have wondered if this was some bizarre, Wonderland-inspired dream full of multiplying food. She went to the door before Kenny could run in with another stack.

  “I don’t know what it feels like,” Katie said, still on the doorstep but now rubbing the edge of the older man’s shirt. “It’s not quite cotton. A poly-blend?”

  “It’s boyfriend material,” he said, his jaw working chewing gum as one brow arched. “Or maybe a drink tonight material?”

  Robbie, according to his name badge, winked at Katie as he leaned against the doorframe and his eyes focused distinctly south of her face.

  “Married with a baby,” she said, giggling again, “but I’m flattered.”

  Robbie’s brows darted higher as his leer grew.

  “Married and baby,” she repeated without the accompanying giggle.

  “So, that’s a no?”

  “Yes, a no.” Katie flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder and spun around. “Oh, Julia. When did you sneak in?”

  “I think there’s been a mix-up.” Julia blocked Kenny and his endless boxes. “There’s enough strawberries, butter, and flour in there for the next two series of The Great British Bake Off.”

  “Come again?” Robbie’s gaze hovered on Katie’s ample chest. When Julia cleared her throat, he blinked and added, “Oh, yeah, it did seem a lot more than usual.”

  “But I only ordered the usual stuff,” said Katie, craning to investigate the kitchen. “Oh, my. I double-checked.” She stared desperately at Julia. “I double-checked, Julia, I swear.”

  Resting a hand on Katie’s arm, Julia forced the delivery man to look her way with a few clicks of her fingers. She brewed her best smile in an attempt to appeal to his better nature, but his wandering gaze almost immediately returned to its prior engagement.

  “Sir, her eyes are here,” said Julia, pointing at Katie’s face. “Could you at least check if this is a mistake? There’s probably someone out there expecting to feed a small army with this stuff.”

  The leer vanished, taking his last desperate shred of charm with it. His gum flew over his shoulder, and he hawked and spit before resettling himself with his thumbs hooked in his beltless trouser loops.

  “Sorry, love, not my problem.” He shrugged as he stepped back into the road. “We just deliver what you order.”

  Robbie nodded at Kenny, prompting the younger man to ditch the rest of the order on the pavement. Kenny slammed the back doors and climbed into the passenger seat.

  “We’re a small village café,” Julia said, taken aback by their nonchalance. “What could we possibly want with all this stock?”

  Robbie looked up at the sign and offered another open-armed shrug. After slapping the sides of his legs, he turned and hopped into the van.

  “What a pig!” Katie pulled her phone from within a pocket in her pink, bedazzled apron and zoomed in on the licence plate as the van drove away. “That company is getting a strongly worded email.”

  “And while you do that, I have a call to make.”

  Julia dug past the baby bottle and toys in her handbag. Ripping back a bib revealed a finger-smudged screen. She scrolled to the number for her suppliers and put the phone to her ear, staring down into the contents of the bag.

  “Katie, where’s my baby?” Julia whipped around, going straight to the empty pram next to the counter. “Where’s Olivia?”

  “Oh.” Katie chuckled. “She’s downstairs with Barker. He came as the van pulled up and took her.”

  Julia’s heart rested; a major panic averted.

  “It wasn’t that I forgot she existed,” Julia said in a quiet voice. “I just got caught up in the moment and slipped into that café-owner role a little too easily.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” Katie stacked plates at a table and, after looking around the empty café, said, “One time, I took Vinnie shopping, and I forgot he existed for a whole twenty minutes. I left him by the shoes. I felt so much like my old self again, I made it all the way to handbags before realising I wasn’t pushing a pram around. Thankfully, he was fast asleep right where I left him.” She laughed and added, “Don’t tell your father.”

  “It’s best not to play the ‘what if’ game,” Julia said, putting the phone back to her ear. “We’d never get anything done if we spent all day worrying about all the times something bad almost happened. What fathers
don’t know won’t—”

  An automated electronic voice chirped through the phone, sending Julia into the kitchen. While the robot read her the options, she peered up at the boxes stacked as high as skyscrapers. She opened the back door and perched on the doorstep facing into the alley behind the café as she pressed five for ‘Existing Orders’.

  Olivia’s laughter floated up from Barker’s office below the café, followed by what sounded like a monkey, or maybe an elephant?

  Julia’s arm hairs rose as a smile pushed up her cheeks. It was impossible not to smile when a child was laughing, but hearing her own child’s laughter stirred a feeling so intense it was hard to remain on the doorstep and listen to the robot when Olivia cuddles were only steps away.

  Unfortunately for Julia, there were no cuddles on the menu. Only twenty-five minutes of hair-pulling customer service frustration while they palmed her around like a gift in pass the parcel.

  “Can I put you on hold?”

  “Do I have any choice?”

  A click was followed by a bubbly pop song distorted by thick static fuzz. Why did it have to be the same song every time? Against her will, she’d learned every word.

  The yard gate creaked open, and as if the hold music weren’t bad enough, the bird-like, pinched face of Penelope Newton poked through the gap.