BUSTED AND BAIL MONEY

  CEECEE JAMES

  Copyright © 2024 by CeeCee James

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mariah Sinclair

  For my Family 333

  CONTENTS

  Blurb

  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

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  26. afterword

  BLURB

  Retired actress Clara Fitzwater thought a jaunt to Flintlock in her daisy-decaled van, Bread Loaf, would net her some farm-fresh eggs and a dose of theater nostalgia. But when a festival play ends with a poisoned apple and her old friend Archie framed for attempted murder, Clara’s trip turns into a curtain-raising mystery. Alongside her savvy niece Jane and Archie’s lawyer son Collin, Clara dives into a web of jealousy, sabotage, and pirate lore tied to Captain William Flintlock’s lost treasure. As theater curtains burn and secrets unravel, from a lovesick innkeeper to a shadowy businessman dubbed “The Planner”, Clara must channel her onstage flair to unmask the culprit. With time ticking and Archie’s freedom at stake, will she crack the case, or will Flintlock’s past bury them all? A cozy mystery brimming with charm, humor, and unexpected twists.

  1

  My ancient Volkswagen van, adorned with sun-bleached daisies and peace signs, rumbled into Flintlock like a hippie time machine. I’d affectionately named her Bread Loaf, and she often started with a hesitating hiccup and a few burps, but I loved my van. I purchased her a few years back and then had the local garage do a complete overhaul on it, and, while it wouldn’t win any races, she was a joy to drive.

  I have to confess, I wasn’t the one who took the van to the garage. No, Jacob, my chauffeur, took her in. But he’d never driven me around in her. She was my baby.

  For this afternoon jaunt, I was on a mission for some farm-fresh eggs.

  Normally, I’d leave such errands to Timothy, my ever-reliable butler, who’d delegate the task faster than one could say “organic.”

  I realize how spoiled I sound and confess I enjoy every minute of it. Not to say I didn’t work hard for this lifestyle. I did. Years of soap operas, movies, and even a commercial or two pay my bills, pay for this lifestyle. And now I’m retired and mean to enjoy every last bit of it.

  So, despite Timothy’s objections, the sunny winter weather was just too glorious to pass up. I took Jane, my niece, with me, my scarf swooped and sunglasses on, and went out to seize the day. My favorite motto lately.

  So, eggs it was. The real question was, “Why all the way to Flintlock?” Especially since the town was just shy of an hour from my home.

  The answer had to do with an earlier phone call with Archie Fontaine, my oldest friend and co-actor. In his usual enthusiasm, he suggested we go visit the town to enjoy a bit of sight-seeing. He pointed out, “The theater festival is on! You must see it. You girls will have a fantastic time!”

  So, what had started as a simple errand for eggs transformed into an adventure, thanks to Archie’s nudge.

  Air from my lowered window blew my dramatic scarf loose right at this moment, freeing my hair. Said hair blew into my eyes, but I was undaunted.

  “Are you having fun?” I asked Jane.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” she answered before giving a little shiver. I rolled the window up, the wintry breeze was a bit frigid, but I had a little trouble controlling the heat. Confidently, I pressed the gas pedal.

  A short while later, we entered Flintlock. I steered the van towards the town square, where banners for the annual Theater Festival fluttered in the frosty breeze.

  Seeing the bright flags gave me a tiny stab of regret. I had loved acting and sometimes missed it. It was in my blood, now years gone by.

  Jane peered out the window, then began typing notes into her phone. “Flintlock, population 10,795, known for its historic theater and autumn festivals,” she murmured, capturing the essence for her travel blog.

  “What’s that, dear-heart?” I said a bit absentmindedly as I searched for a parking spot.

  “Just getting down a few facts for next week’s blog article. Probably few people have ever heard of this town.”

  The travel blog was her new job now. She had the money to do it since she received annuities from the Enterprise corporation. After her father’s nasty business with embezzlement, she’d promptly (and with some legal advice) picked out a new CEO, and now the company was running the way it should. Even better, all the charities that had been robbed had been more than repaid, even surpassing the total of the last five years’ worth of donations.

  “Oh, I doubt that,” I said. “I happen to know a pirate was involved in establishing Flintlock. There have been thousands of treasure hounds in this area, searching for a supposed lost treasure.”

  Her brow crinkled. “Lost treasure? Really? How do you know about that?”

  I hesitated. How did I know the story? “Just one of those rumors everyone knows, I guess. I grew up with an uncle coming out here searching.”

  “Everyone knows? Well, not me.”

  That took me back. How many things did I just assume people knew that were actually due to age? Would the younger generation get this history?

  “Well, you know it now.”

  “And did he find any?”

  “Any what?” I said distractedly as I spotted an empty spot. “Oh, the treasure? Not so much as a gold coin.”

  “Hmm,” she said thoughtfully. “I want to investigate this some more.”

  Slowly, I backed into the space. Across from us was the town’s theater, a charming old building with ivy creeping up its red brick facade.

  Jane stepped out, stretching from the journey, with me following.

  A woman in her late thirties hurriedly approached us. She wore a badge that read “Festival Organizer - Miriam Wells,” but her smile didn’t quite reach her anxious eyes. As I spotted her excitement, in my vain little heart, I wondered if she recognized me as an actress.

  “Welcome to Flintlock!” the woman greeted, her hands clasping and unclasping together. “You must be here for the festival. I’m Miriam Wells, the organizer.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. Not a fan, then. “We’re just here visiting and playing tourists. You must mean someone else.”

  Miriam’s eyes widened. She glanced down at the clipboard she held tightly in her hand and then peered around past us as if there might be someone else. She actually had me turning to look as well.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, frowning back at the clipboard. “It says right here, ‘ Expect two women in a colorful van and treat them to the grand tour.’”

  This rarely happens to me, but I was actually speechless. Jane appeared confused as well.

  Then I heard a rusty voice call out, “There’s my girls! Surprise!” Archie popped out from behind one of the giant birch trees in the town square and strode toward us, his arms open wide, hair feathers fluttering. He wore a white chambray shirt tucked into a pair of canvas pants. I had known him for so long, I could tell he felt like a real cowboy in that outfit.

  “Archie! What have you done?” I asked with a smile.

  “It’s all settled! This gracious lady will be showing us around. We’re going to enjoy a few plays, and I’ve booked the best rooms!”

  “Oh, Archie! We can’t stay the night! I’m only here for eggs. I don’t have a thing to wear.”

  “Ah! Never you fear, madam. Timothy was in on my little secret. He has already packed for you, and with his special efficiency, I am sure. I picked it all up, and everything is already waiting in your rooms.”

  Hearing all this, Miriam gave us a smile, thin-lipped but still a smile. She was back on solid ground now. “Yes, yes. Well, we’re thrilled to have you. Of course, we will see that you have a good time. After all, the festival is…” She hesitated and then came back stronger. “It’s the heart of our little community.”

  Archie’s eyebrows lifted above his glasses. He leaned toward us with a conspiratorial whisper, “And might there be some drama unfolding off-stage as well, my dear?” He nudged me and waggled those eyebrows. He loved a good mystery.

  Archie had mastered many things in his life, but his whisper was not one of them. Miriam overheard his hoarse joke, and her eyes widened again momentarily. Then she laughed, a sound a touch too high-pitched. “Oh, with theater, there’s always a bit of drama, isn’t there? But nothing we can’t handle. And you are the fabulous Ms. Fitzwater?” She reached out a hand toward me.

  I shook it with a theatrical flourish. “Well, I love the title, lovely lady, but please call me Clara. This is my niece, Jane. I suppose you already know our dear friend Archie.”

  “Yes! Yes!” he said. He rubbed his hands together. “Very excited. Very hopeful. We’re here to immerse ourselves in your festival’s delights.”

  “And eggs,” I added dryly.

  Miriam smiled again. “I’m sure you will have a fabulous time! My bed-and-breakfast happens to have a four-star rating.” She dipped her chin humbly.

  “Even with a side-order of drama!” he added.

  “No drama here! Just wonderful food and lovely accommodations.” She quickly changed the subject. “Now, let me show you to your rooms. I will say, sir, that you reserved the very best rooms we have at the Maple bed-and-breakfast.”

  “And my van?” I asked with a bit of uncertainty.

  “It’s fine there. Public parking is a luxury we all enjoy in one of the safest towns in America!”

  It certainly seemed like a town caught in the past. Even with the cold temperatures, and snow piled along the curb, people milled about the sidewalk, children with balloon animals and the adults with happy grins.

  Still, I locked the van doors, which meant going to both sides since these were old-fashioned locks.

  I retied my scarf. Miriam led our little group at a furious pace, her brown, sensible shoes crunching on the scattered de-icer. We followed behind, and Jane leaned over to whisper to me, “Did you see how nervous she is?”

  Subtly, I nodded. “Very strange, isn’t it? The plot thickens even before the curtain rises.” I could feel my intrigue grow.

  She rolled her eyes. “You are always so dramatic.”

  I shrugged. “Can’t help it. And it’s in your blood as well. Just wait. It will pop up at some unexpected time.”

  The bed-and-breakfast was a quick walk from the parking lot. Miriam led us around the corner and to a lovely old-world structure that seemed to breathe history. The building, with its full veranda and ancient-looking wooden shutters, stood as a testament to old-world charm.

  As we approached, the faint scent of lavender mixed with the crisp air. Rocking chairs sat in comfortable sitting nooks, each with their own rattan table adorned with vases filled with the purple flowers.

  “Gorgeous!” I admired, wondering what hothouse they had come from.

  “Thank you!” Miriam said. “This is one of the original buildings of the town.”

  We walked inside. The entryway was kept in pristine condition, its entry table also adorned with lavender. I peeked into the living room and saw antique furniture and a collection of vintage photographs that added an air of mystery.

  Miriam guided us up a curving stairwell that smelled of lemon polish and time. We were then led down a long hallway lined with white doors. Our rooms were all on the same side, each room unique.

  I left the other two to explore their rooms and hurried into mine. A pink chintz quilt covered the bed, and a huge antique vase held what looked to be two dozen pink roses. Opposite from the bed, a fireplace flickered with a low-burning fire. There was a table with a fruit bowl filled with fresh apples and oranges. I caught my breath when I saw that my room had a balcony adorned with hanging ferns and two more old rocking chairs. Immediately, I dropped my purse on the bed and opened the doors.

  The view offered a serene overlook of the town’s cobblestone streets. Lanterns lined the way to the theater, while the distant sound of laughter and the clink of glasses from a nearby café filled the air.

  “Hello, everyone!” I called out to the town. God bless Archie! He knew how much I’d enjoy this.

  “Hello yourself!” a man called from below. I glanced down to see a dark-haired young man holding a to-go coffee cup. He saw me looking and waved. His nose was red from the cold, and a muffler covered his neck. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he added.

  “Yes! Are you here for the theater festival?”

  He chuckled. “I guess you could say that! I’m the starring lead man in the main play!”

  “Oh! How lovely! We will see you later, then!” After a moment, I added, “Break a leg!”

  He shot me a thumbs-up and continued on his walk.

  “There’s my auntie, always making friends,” Jane called. I glanced over to see her out on her own balcony.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” I asked.

  “Amazing! I can hardly wait to write!”

  There was a knock on my room door. I turned to see Archie welcoming himself in. He had by now donned a nondescript fedora and a dark coat that looked like it belonged to another era.

  “Archie! You outdid yourself this time!”

  He clasped his hands before him and positively preened. “I knew you’d love it. There’s a play tonight, and guess who’s starring in it?”

  My mouth dropped. “Not you?”

  He shrugged gently. “I may have been asked to do a cameo.”

  I laughed. “You never could resist the stage.”

  “So, are you ready?”

  “Just let me find my jacket.” Timothy, as amazing as usual, had packed my red fur-cuffed coat. I laid it over my arm. “Lead the way, maestro.”

  Downstairs, we followed the sounds of happy voices coming from the back of the house. As we passed the parlor, I saw a bit of movement. Jane and I paused to see Miriam put something in a trunk tucked in the corner. We must have startled her, because she jerked when she saw us, then waved.

  “How is everything?”

  “Wonderful, thank you!”

  “Lunch is ready. You are just in time.” She gestured down the hall.

  We found a lovely meal set, served family-style, in the formal dining room. We enjoyed a quick bite with our fellow guests. The conversations around us bubbled with the same excitement I felt myself. We needn’t be worried about being late to the show because all the guests were there for the same thing.

  The stroll to the theater was steeped in the usual pre-show excitement, but there hung an unusual hush over the townsfolk, a silence that seemed strangely misplaced.

  I couldn’t help but shiver, not from the cold, but appreciating how the streetlights stretched out long, spooky shadows as the sun dipped into early winter twilight. I buttoned my coat all the way up and hid my hands in the fur cuffs.

  “What a fun night,” I said.

  “Indeed, my dear. And notice how the wind is whispering its secrets through the leaves?”

  “Oh, you two!” Jane said, exasperated. “Always so dramatic!”

  I grinned and took Archie’s arm.

  Upon arriving at the theater, the usual chaos of opening night was in full swing. By the door was a large poster with the play name, “The Swan.” My eyes caught onto “Starring Thomas Keating!”

  That must be the young man I saw earlier. We walked inside, bustled along with the crowd of people.

  Inside, the dark entryway was lined with framed pictures of plays long past. Shelves were interspersed among them, holding props of yesteryear. I saw old bottles, several feathered hats, glasses, and fake pistols. Excitement tickled my spine.

  Archie guided us to some red-velvet seats right in the middle of the theater. Jane scooted in after him, with me behind her.

  “Are you ready for your cameo?” I leaned over to him to whisper.

  “You’ll see!” he said slyly.

  Down in the front, I spotted Miriam standing by the stage. She appeared even more anxious, if that was possible. Suddenly, I was struck that something was going on with her beyond opening night jitters. A man in a dark suit approached her, his face stern as if he were someone not to be messed with. They spoke together in hushed, hurried tones, his gestures sharp and pointed, with hers more defensive. Their interaction piqued my curiosity.

  Archie now stood and slowly moved down toward the front of the stage. I figured he must be getting ready for his cameo, so I leaned over to nudge Jane and pointed.

 

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11