Harper Duval’s house was everything Maxi had described. Only more.
A whitewashed Florida-style mansion with a baronial front porch, surrounded by pin oaks dripping in Spanish moss and a wrought-iron fence, it looked like it had been part of the landscape for at least 150 years.
Maxi swore it was less than a decade old. “Harper and Caroline built it right after they moved to town. Their dream house. You can’t tell from here,” she said, angling the car onto a grassy spot near the overcrowded driveway, “but it’s on a bluff that overlooks the beach. You can see the water from almost every room.”
“Wow, I’m guessing money was no object,” Kate said.
“Nope. They’re loaded. So when Harper volunteered to be the club’s permanent host, we were thrilled. His home’s almost as good as his food. The man has excellent taste. The funny thing is, I thought he might want to take a break while Caroline’s away. But I think it helps him to keep busy.”
“Away? Where did she go?”
“Rehab,” Maxi said quietly. “For drinking.”
“He runs a wine shop and his wife’s an alcoholic?”
“I know, right? The shop has always been more his thing than hers. And they haven’t decided what they’re going to do with it when she gets back. But I’m guessing the wine cave will definitely have to go.”
They fell silent for a moment, digesting this, as Maxi shifted the car into park, straightened the wheel, and pulled out the keys.
“Are you sure your club is OK with my crashing the party?” Kate said, smoothing an unruly lock of her caramel-colored hair. “I’m not a member. And I haven’t read the book. I don’t even know what the book is.”
“The Mysterious Affair at Styles. And of course they won’t mind. You’re bringing them two things they can’t resist: dessert and a mystery. Trust me, they’ll love you.”
Kate hoped her friend was right. She and Maxi had done some math and calculated they’d need about four dozen Toll House cookies for the meeting. So while Maxi spent Saturday morning at the flower shop, Kate hit Amos Tully’s market for supplies.
After they dropped off Sam’s lunch Saturday afternoon, Kate planned to go hunting for Oliver. To deliver her gift of ginger snaps. But when they walked out of the police station, he was there rolling in the grass. Like he’d been waiting for them.
After he scarfed the first three cookies, Kate managed to lure the half-grown puppy into Maxi’s car.
“He’ll stay for a while, just don’t expect anything permanent,” Maxi warned as they’d pulled into her driveway.
“I just wish someone had told me the same thing about Evan,” Kate said with a smile.
She devoted most of the afternoon and evening to baking for the book club. With a few extra batches thrown in for the family, of course.
Besides, a certain amount of tasting was integral to the process, Kate reasoned. She had to make sure she hadn’t lost her touch.
They’d packed their precious cargo into a collection of Maxi’s large Pyrex dishes with colorful silicone lids. “It’s the same stuff I use when we take food to Miami for family dinners,” Maxi confessed. “Plenty big.”
Now, as Kate stood in front of Harper Duval’s palatial door, the butterflies in her stomach felt more like pterodactyls. She didn’t know any of these people. She was invading a stranger’s home to ask for a favor. A big favor.
Then she remembered Sam. Sitting alone in that gray cell. He’d looked so hopeful when she’d volunteered to run the bakery. He was counting on her. Counting on them.
Kate took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, stood up straight, and fixed a smile on her face. “Fake it till you make it,” one of her culinary instructors always said. Well, she’d fake it until they succeeded. Until they freed Sam.
“Relax, partner, we can do this,” Maxi said as she pressed the doorbell.
“Yup, we’ve got this,” Kate agreed.
The man who opened the door was about four inches taller than Kate, though he probably had at least twenty years on her. His wavy light brown hair was thick and stylish, his clothes casual but expensive. He sported a blue blazer with white linen slacks. A lemon-yellow dress shirt, open at the neck, emphasized his tan.
“Maxi, welcome!” he said, stepping back. “So glad you could come. And you’ve brought a friend—fantastic!”
“Harp, this is Kate McGuire,” Maxi said, walking into the two-story foyer replete with marble floors, a gold filigree mirror, and an enormous crystal chandelier. “She just moved to Coral Cay from New York. She’s a pastry chef. Kate, this is Harper Duval, our host. He also runs In Vino Veritas, the best wine shop in Coral Cay.”
“Of that I am guilty. And it’s the only wine shop in Coral Cay. But I’ll take my compliments where I can get them. And please, call me Harp.”
“We come bearing cookies,” Kate added shyly, holding up the dishes.
“Then by all means, please allow me to relieve you of your burdens, ladies,” the man said affably, lifting the containers out of her hands. “And your timing is perfect. We’re just opening the wine. Let me get you both a glass.”
As their host turned to lead them into the house, Maxi and Kate exchanged glances. Maxi shrugged.
“We’re set up in the wine cellar,” Harp called over his shoulder, his deep voice offering just the suggestion of a refined southern accent. “And I hope you’ve brought your appetites, because we’ve got quite the spread. Maxi, I procured a hickory-smoked artisanal turkey from Vermont that I think you’re going to love. And there’s a beautiful roast of Wagyu beef. So tender you can cut it with a spoon. And Annie Kim brought some delectable-smelling scallion pancakes.”
They walked into a caterer’s kitchen. Kate scoped out the space and realized it was easily three times the size of the kitchenette in her Manhattan apartment.
Harper Duval grabbed a carafe from the counter and poured three glasses.
“See what you think of this,” he said, handing them each a glass of the ruby liquid. “A very nice Napa Valley Zinfandel. Goes well with red meat, smoked foods, and, in my humble opinion, just about everything. If such a thing were possible, I’d have it flowing from the taps like water.”
“For me that would be coffee,” Kate said with a smile.
“Oh, this is good,” Maxi said tasting it. “Muy delicioso.”
“It’s lovely,” Kate said, taking a sip and feeling its warmth spread from her mouth down to her core. “Thank you.”
“The least I can do. Besides, what good are the finer things without friends to share them?”
Harp took another sip and smiled contentedly. Setting down the wineglass, he produced a large, round teak platter from the counter behind him. Opening each of the glass containers, he deftly arranged the cookies, adding layer on layer in a spiral until the result resembled a giant cookie flower.
“These smell magnificent,” he said, stealing a glance at Kate. “Am I correct in assuming we have our new resident pastry chef to thank?”
“Absolutely,” Maxi said. “Her cookies are fantastic. She’s staying with us, and my kids are ready to adopt her.”
Kate felt a blush spreading on her cheeks. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “Nope, I had a lot of help with these. We wanted to make enough so that everyone could have a few,” she explained.
“That’s very generous. And we have a full contingent tonight. I think you’ll get a kick out of it. Do you enjoy Agatha Christie?”
“I love her, but I have to admit, it’s been a while.”
“Don’t worry about it. If you appreciate good food and a good mystery, you’ll do just fine.”
Harp picked up his glass in one hand and balanced the platter in the other. “Well, ladies, shall we commence to the cave?”