Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2) by Abby L. Vandiver Page A
Authors: Abby L. Vandiver
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marks. I read it very slowly, taking a breath each time my mouth formed a word.
“THAT FISH IS
EXTINCT!!!! WHERE DID YOU GET THE PICS???
Omigosh!
I slammed down the
top of my laptop and jerked my hand away.
Is this good? Now it felt as if
my heart had stopped beating all together. This couldn’t be a good thing. I stared at my laptop and inched my hand toward it like it might leap up and
snap at me. I lifted the lid, swiped my hand over the mouse pad and read the
email again. Then again.
Crap.
I closed the
email.
I thought about
deleting the message. Evidence and all. But that wouldn’t help. Fishywannabe knew
now that I had proof of this living “extinct” fish. I pulled up those pesky pictures
and stared at the fish that no longer existed.
Only it did.
How can you be
extinct and you’re swimming around my excavation site?
Then I thought
about how Renmar and Oliver – dead Oliver Gibbons – were always on that Island
and always so secretive about it. Memories smacked me with a jolt. Renmar never
wanted anyone to have the recipe to her bouillabaisse. Her world famous
bouillabaisse. A stew made from fish . And when Sheriff Haynes thought it
might have been the bouillabaisse that killed Gemma Burke, Renmar had had Oliver
get rid of the whole pot before the Sheriff could get his hands on it.
I wonder. Does she
make that fish stew of hers with an extinct fish?
And then I
repeated it out loud. “Extinct fish.” I laughed. “I just found something that
everyone thinks is extinct.” I shot up straight in the bed, staring out at
nothing necessarily, my eyes big and thought about that if I did just find an
extinct fish, I would be famous.
A grin curled up
the side of my lips.
Well, maybe not
famous, but at least well-known.
Almost.
At least in the
field of ichthyology.
Like anyone’s
heard of that.
A sudden burst of
energy hit me. My feet and legs fought with the covers as I tried to leap from
the bed. Today was Friday. The Maypop served Renmar’s bouillabaisse every Friday.
I was going to find out about that fish she put in it that made it win awards.
And then, I was going to call my mother and tell her I was about to be more
famous than she ever was.
Chapter Eleven
Oliver died on a
Thursday. And at the Maypop on Fridays, Renmar always made bouillabaisse. But
the Friday after Oliver died she wasn’t making her famous fish stew, she was
making crab cakes instead.
I had thrown on
some sweats and a T-shirt that said “I Dig Dead People” with a dancing
skeleton, and slipped my feet in a pair of flip-flops. But before I made it out
my room I saw my reflection in the mirror and thought about Oliver.
Extinct-Fish-Reviving-Oliver, but still Dead Oliver and realized my shirt might
be insensitive. I pulled it off and put on the one that simply said
“Archaeologist.”
I had walked
slowly into the kitchen and stopped. Sniffing the air in front of me, I tried
to catch a smell of the longtime-gone fish, prepared to pounce on Renmar if
necessary to find out what was going on. I stepped lightly into the room and
found Renmar, Brie and Hazel Cobb (I had taken to calling people by two names
just like Miss Vivee) sitting around the kitchen table. I let my eyes scan the
room. No 18-quart pot on the stove simmering. No mussels. No shrimp spread out
on the butcher block top of the island.
“Why are you
standing there, honeybun,” Brie said. “Grab a cup of coffee and come sit with
us.”
“What’s going on
in here?” I asked suspiciously as I walked to the table.
“Nothing,” Renmar
said. “We were just reminiscing about Oliver.” She patted the seat next to her,
signaling me to come and sit. “I was saying that I was probably the last person
to see him.”
Oh. My. Gosh.
I stopped dead in
my tracks. I’d forgotten all about that argument she’d had with Oliver. I swung
my eyes over to look at Renmar at the same time her eyes met mine.
Was the argument
about the fish? I
tried to
marks. I read it very slowly, taking a breath each time my mouth formed a word.
“THAT FISH IS
EXTINCT!!!! WHERE DID YOU GET THE PICS???
Omigosh!
I slammed down the
top of my laptop and jerked my hand away.
Is this good? Now it felt as if
my heart had stopped beating all together. This couldn’t be a good thing. I stared at my laptop and inched my hand toward it like it might leap up and
snap at me. I lifted the lid, swiped my hand over the mouse pad and read the
email again. Then again.
Crap.
I closed the
email.
I thought about
deleting the message. Evidence and all. But that wouldn’t help. Fishywannabe knew
now that I had proof of this living “extinct” fish. I pulled up those pesky pictures
and stared at the fish that no longer existed.
Only it did.
How can you be
extinct and you’re swimming around my excavation site?
Then I thought
about how Renmar and Oliver – dead Oliver Gibbons – were always on that Island
and always so secretive about it. Memories smacked me with a jolt. Renmar never
wanted anyone to have the recipe to her bouillabaisse. Her world famous
bouillabaisse. A stew made from fish . And when Sheriff Haynes thought it
might have been the bouillabaisse that killed Gemma Burke, Renmar had had Oliver
get rid of the whole pot before the Sheriff could get his hands on it.
I wonder. Does she
make that fish stew of hers with an extinct fish?
And then I
repeated it out loud. “Extinct fish.” I laughed. “I just found something that
everyone thinks is extinct.” I shot up straight in the bed, staring out at
nothing necessarily, my eyes big and thought about that if I did just find an
extinct fish, I would be famous.
A grin curled up
the side of my lips.
Well, maybe not
famous, but at least well-known.
Almost.
At least in the
field of ichthyology.
Like anyone’s
heard of that.
A sudden burst of
energy hit me. My feet and legs fought with the covers as I tried to leap from
the bed. Today was Friday. The Maypop served Renmar’s bouillabaisse every Friday.
I was going to find out about that fish she put in it that made it win awards.
And then, I was going to call my mother and tell her I was about to be more
famous than she ever was.
Chapter Eleven
Oliver died on a
Thursday. And at the Maypop on Fridays, Renmar always made bouillabaisse. But
the Friday after Oliver died she wasn’t making her famous fish stew, she was
making crab cakes instead.
I had thrown on
some sweats and a T-shirt that said “I Dig Dead People” with a dancing
skeleton, and slipped my feet in a pair of flip-flops. But before I made it out
my room I saw my reflection in the mirror and thought about Oliver.
Extinct-Fish-Reviving-Oliver, but still Dead Oliver and realized my shirt might
be insensitive. I pulled it off and put on the one that simply said
“Archaeologist.”
I had walked
slowly into the kitchen and stopped. Sniffing the air in front of me, I tried
to catch a smell of the longtime-gone fish, prepared to pounce on Renmar if
necessary to find out what was going on. I stepped lightly into the room and
found Renmar, Brie and Hazel Cobb (I had taken to calling people by two names
just like Miss Vivee) sitting around the kitchen table. I let my eyes scan the
room. No 18-quart pot on the stove simmering. No mussels. No shrimp spread out
on the butcher block top of the island.
“Why are you
standing there, honeybun,” Brie said. “Grab a cup of coffee and come sit with
us.”
“What’s going on
in here?” I asked suspiciously as I walked to the table.
“Nothing,” Renmar
said. “We were just reminiscing about Oliver.” She patted the seat next to her,
signaling me to come and sit. “I was saying that I was probably the last person
to see him.”
Oh. My. Gosh.
I stopped dead in
my tracks. I’d forgotten all about that argument she’d had with Oliver. I swung
my eyes over to look at Renmar at the same time her eyes met mine.
Was the argument
about the fish? I
tried to
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