Later that afternoon, Kate prepped her latest cookie experiment: Thin, crisp mocha wafers. She cranked one of the small bakery ovens to 350 degrees, then resumed mixing the dough.
Technically, the Cookie House was closed—with the sign on the door to prove it. But Kate also left it unlocked for Maxi. Or anyone with a bakery emergency.
So she wasn’t all that surprised to hear the front door—combined with the tinkle of a bell—alerting her to someone in the shop.
“Now you stay right there,” a man’s voice pleaded. “I’ll be right back. Promise.”
Kate came through the swinging doors just in time to see Manny Stenkowski hesitating at the front door.
“Hey, got some news. Thought I’d come out here and trade,” he said, furtively glancing back at the porch.
“What’s out there?” Kate said, pointing.
“Oh, I got custody of John Quincy today. I figured if I had to be out here, I’d show him the town.”
Kate peeked around him, saw two intelligent almond eyes staring back, and grinned. “You guys get settled on the porch, I’ll bring us some coffee. I think I might have something that he’ll like, too.
“You missed our reopening yesterday,” Kate said as she carried a tray through the door minutes later. “I thought for sure you’d be here with the telephoto lens.”
“Hey, for what I was doing yesterday I should get combat pay. Figured the best way to get the skinny on your friend Lord might be to venture into his jungle. And let me tell you, it was brutal.”
“What exactly is his jungle?” Kate asked. The man she’d seen didn’t travel anywhere without bespoke suits, a stretch limo, and a uniformed driver.
“Swanky country club. The nineteenth hole, to be specific.”
Kate looked puzzled.
“The bar at his favorite golf course. Private, naturally. Had to pull a few strings to get in. But luckily, I know a guy who knows a guy who stocks the vending machines. Anyway, let’s just say your friend Evan paid for more than a few rounds. But it was worth it.”
Kate took a ginger snap and put it in front of John Quincy. The beagle sniffed it. Then he licked it. He must have liked the taste, because it was gone in one bite. He settled himself by her feet and looked up hopefully.
She put another ginger snap in front of him. When she looked back a split second later, it was gone.
John Quincy looked up at her with innocent brown eyes. She couldn’t help smiling. She let him sniff the top of her hand, then scratched behind his ear. His coat felt like warm velvet.
Manny grinned. “He’s a charmer,” the detective said proudly. “Anyway, it seems that for the last couple of months your friend Lord had been spreading the word that he was part of a consortium that was going to buy up Coral Cay and develop it. Starting with downtown.”
“But it’s already developed. Some of these buildings have been here for more than a hundred years. Including this one.”
“To that guy, they were just placeholders. Until he and his buddies could build what they wanted. But lately, that all changed. He’d been telling everyone that the group put the brakes on. They’d pulled out of Coral Cay and abandoned the project.”
“Why? When?”
“Little less than a month ago.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Lord was trying to buy the Cookie House on the day he died. Did he ever say why the group pulled out?”
“Oh yeah. That’s the headline. And it really would have been a headline, if he’d lived. Still might be, for all I know,” Manny said, stroking John Quincy’s back and holding out a ginger snap, which promptly vanished.
“The consortium commissioned some sort of land report,” the P.I. continued. “Soil and water quality. Apparently, it’s standard ops before launching something that big. Then, before any final permits are issued, the government guys will follow up with a second report of their own. You know, dot the i’s and cross the t’s. But this was the first report. The private one. Just for the consortium. So they could decide if the deal was worth all their time and money. And downtown Coral Cay flunked big-time. Lord’s been telling everybody that the whole area is sitting on a giant sinkhole.”