Tara Lush here:
I’m thrilled to share with Cozy Florida readers the very first excerpt of COLD BREW CORPSE, my upcoming book release!
While this is the second book in the Coffee Lover’s Mystery Series, it can be read as a standalone novel. It’s about Lana Lewis, a journalist-turned-coffee shop owner on a Florida island.
Business is brisk at Perkatory, Lana’s cafe. Much of the clientele pours in from Dante’s Inferno, the hot yoga studio next door. But the bright, sunny Gulf Coast days turn decidedly dark-roast when the body of the studio’s owner turns up in a nearby swamp…
The book’s release date is December 7, and I’ll have more details next month about release week events in Saint Petersburg and in Tampa, Florida! In the meantime, enjoy this excerpt!
“You know where she lives, right?” Dad motioned with his arm, indicating I should head down Angelwing Road.
I flicked the turn signal and nodded. “It’s that house near the Swamp, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, the one that looks like a tree house. It’s on stilts, set back in the woods. I went there for a yoga event not too long ago.” Dad stroked Stanley’s body as he chattered about the retreat at Raina’s.
“Lana, you should’ve come with me,” he said. “By the way, you need to get out more, now that you’re settled.”
“I was trying to tonight,” I muttered. He’d gone to that yoga session right when I returned to the island. I spent the first month holed up in my house, depressed. Despite Dad’s best efforts, I’d refused all invites. The last thing I’d wanted was to sit in someone’s blissful, hippie-decorated tree house and stretch my tense muscles. No, I’d chosen a different path: reality TV and boxed wine.
“I sure hope Raina’s okay.” His voice cracked with worry. “I know she’s gotten on some people’s nerves, but I’ve never had an issue with her. I enjoyed her classes, but hot yoga isn’t my thing, so that’s why I practice at the Wolfman’s studio.” That was the thing about Dad; no matter how much he gossiped, he always found the good in everyone.
“She’s probably fine. Why didn’t people like her?” I had my own, private notions about Raina but chalked them up to my suspicious reporter nature.
Dad shrugged. “Raina’s hyperfocused on her passion. It’s her blessing and her curse, from what I’ve seen. She’s a real champion for personal growth and yoga, but sometimes her, ah, enthusiasm can rub people the wrong way.”
I let that sink in. Figured. An ambitious woman offended people.
“She’s definitely an overachiever type. That’s the impression I get from seeing her at Perkatory. Nothing wrong with that, though,” I replied. She came in often and enjoyed our artisan tea selection. She’d been friendly, even urging me to take her hot-yoga classes a few times. I’d politely declined. She’d probably assumed I was a lost cause when I told her that my preferred yoga pose was nap-asana.
Maybe I should’ve been more open to her friendship. “You know, when she returns, I’ll ask her to lunch at that new vegetarian place on Main Street. She’ll love that.”
“You should do that. Get out more. Mingle with people. You can’t stay home all the time.” Dad added a detailed explanation of the restaurant’s menu and the new owner’s culinary background, including where he’d gone to school.
While Dad chattered, I drove in silence the rest of the way, lost in my thoughts. How had I become so introverted in the past year? I hadn’t been like that for most of my twenties. Was it because of everything I’d gone through with my ex? Or the layoff?
Or Mom’s death? It had been a one-two-three punch in the span of three years.
Dad fiddled with the air conditioner vent. “You need to get your car checked, munchkin. This isn’t working too well. Oh, look. Raina’s house should be right up there, past the next curve.”
I grunted in response, fully aware of my old car’s shortcomings.
Because Devil’s Beach was a barrier island, it was compact and easy to navigate. Twelve miles at its longest and six miles at its widest, it was ringed with picture-postcard beaches and a bustling downtown on the island’s south end. I lived in a neighborhood near the main drag in a wooden bungalow that had been my par- ents’ home until they moved to the beach house.
In the middle of the island were two things. More homes—a mix of older, modest places and newer behemoths on too-small lots—and a wild nature preserve popular with tourists and resi- dents alike.
Angelwing Park was a lovely name, but it was a misnomer. It was better known by a nickname: The Swamp. And that’s what it was—a sticky, fetid, bug-infested pile of untamed Florida muck. An elevated wooden boardwalk snaked over thick mangrove roots and tea-colored brackish water. There was a kayak launch near the parking lot, and some enjoyed paddling through the dark, silent mangrove tunnels.
I’d done it once, in high school, and found it profoundly creepy.
People also adored walking in the park on hot summer days because it was shady and cool and because they could spot a plethora of rare orchids, alligators, wading birds, and snakes. But the signature attraction was the wild monkeys.
Yes, wild monkeys.
They’d started their primate legacy at a nearby roadside zoo owned by my grandfather, but animal rights activists freed them in the 1970s. The primates fled to the preserve, and generations had lived there ever since. They were one of the top tourist attractions on the island, and the Devil’s Beach Welcome Center even sold T-shirts, shot glasses, and key chains with a monkey logo.
Raina and Kai lived on the road to the Swamp, a shady, curvy street dotted with live oaks dripping with Spanish moss. In the early evening shadows, the atmosphere was moody and dark, nothing like what you’d expect of a tropical island. I slowed to take the curve, then rolled to a stop. Flashing red lights and at least six police cars greeted us. Cruisers lined the roadside, a jar- ring sight for such a quiet part of town.
“Whoa,” Dad exclaimed. Stanley wuffed.
“Wow. All this for someone who’s been gone a few hours?” I
eased to the shoulder, behind a cruiser and alongside a thicket of trees. There were only a few houses out here, set back from the road on larger lots. People here liked privacy.
I put the car in park but left the engine running, then turned to Dad. “I’m going to walk over to check things out. See if I can find Noah to get the scoop.” And maybe salvage our date.
“I’ll come with.”
“No, you and Stanley should stay here. This isn’t a social hour. Noah’s working.”
When I saw the hurt look on Dad’s face, I sighed. “I’ve been to a lot of crime scenes. Cops don’t like nosy people.”
A sharp rapping noise on the driver’s side window made me gasp. I whirled, only to find Noah—my boyfriend and the island’s police chief—peering into my car.
I fumbled with the window and lock, then gave up and pulled the latch to open the door. That’s what he did to me —left me flustered and nervous. I’d interviewed serial killers, politicians, and celebrities in my previous life as a reporter, but somehow Noah Garcia made me feel like an awkward teenager with a stomachful of butterflies.
But I didn’t want him to know that. Taking a deep breath, I climbed out and shut the door. The sun had set, leaving behind a fiery orange sky. Suddenly I became self-conscious about being in a silky slip dress, the night air warm against all my exposed skin.
“Hey,” I breathed, twirling a lock of my hair around my finger. “Hey yourself. Wow.” His dark gaze took in my outfit.
I grinned stupidly. “Wow yourself.”
Noah was wearing an untucked white linen guayabera, tan
linen pants, and retro suede-and-leather sneakers. He’d rolled his shirt sleeves, exposing bronze skin. On some men, the ensemble would have looked sloppy. On him, it looked effortless and sexy. I sneaked a glance at his muscular forearms.
He chuckled. “I didn’t have time to change into my uniform. I was about to fire up the grill when I was called out. I take it you got my message. How’d you know where to find me?”
“My phone’s dead. Dad somehow wore down the battery, and I figured I could charge it at your place. So I owe you an apology for not getting your messages. Once I saw your note, I went to Perkatory, figuring that I could call you from there. But I ran into Dad, who already knew about Raina.”
“Naturally,” he replied good-naturedly.
“He said Kai called the café. So I put everything together and came here.”
Noah ran his fingers through his dark hair and glanced at Raina’s home.
“What’s going on, anyway? Is she okay?”
He gave a subtle shrug. “She’s missing. But only for about five or six hours.”
Weird, because that didn’t seem like cause for alarm. “Is she even considered a missing person at this point? I thought someone had to be gone for twenty-four hours before police got involved. Or is that an only-on-TV thing?”
“It’s a myth. But we want to give it some time.”
“But why all the commotion?” I glanced at the line of police cars. “This must be the entire island force. And then some. Is that a county sheriff’s car?”
“And a state trooper, and the FDLE,” Noah said. The Florida Department of Law Enforcement was a statewide investigative agency. They rarely got involved in local missing-person cases, though.
“Weird. A woman can’t leave her house and spend time alone for a few hours without a battalion of cops swooping in? Maybe she’s doing yoga on some beach somewhere. Or visiting a friend. Or maybe she has a lover.”
Noah leaned in and lowered his voice. The smell of his spicy cologne made me unsteady on my feet. “I know that and you know that, Lana. Trust me, no one’s more annoyed about all this than me. But Kai’s the son of a powerful state senator here in Florida who chairs the Criminal Justice Committee. That com- plicates matters, and now Tallahassee’s gotten involved. It’s why I had to cancel our date and come here. I got a call from the FDLE commissioner himself. He sent the state agents down. Said we’re too small of a department to handle such a case.”
My eyes widened. My reporter antennae sprang to life. “Oh, really?”
Noah smirked. “I can tell you’re writing a news story in your head already.”
“Who, me?” I pointed to my chest, an innocent grin spreading on my lips.
“Yes, you.” His tone was growly yet playful, and my stomach did a little flip-flop.
I studied his face, the red and blue lights of the police cruisers bouncing off his smooth skin. “Well, I’m not reporting tonight.” Or ever again, probably. I shoved that thought aside. “Do you think you’ll be able to leave anytime soon?”
The little, flirtatious smile that played on Noah’s lips made my face feel hot. He turned to look toward Raina’s house and pressed his hands into his hips. “I think I’m here for a couple of hours at least. The boyfriend is pretty upset, and his dad is on edge because he’s running for reelection. Even got the governor to call me.”
I snorted. “Justice favors the rich.”
Noah shook his head. “This one’s beyond my control, cup- cake. We’re going to stay until we find her. We’re calling all of her contacts and yoga students now.”
I sighed dramatically. “Okay. Fine. I’ll take a rain check.”
“You’d better. And you’d better wear that dress too.” The cor- ner of his mouth quirked upward.
I giggled. “I’m going to drive Dad back to his car; then I’ll be home. If you finish anytime soon, call me. Or stop by. I can whip up dinner. Or we can go somewhere to eat. If you still want—”
“Lana, I’ll get in touch as soon as I can.” His phone buzzed, and he held it to his ear. “I’ll be right there.”
He tapped on his cell, then slipped it into his pocket. “Gotta run. Call you later.”
With a wink and a squeeze of my upper arm, he dashed off. I slid back into the car, still feeling the heat of his fingers on my skin.
“What did you find out?” Dad leaned in eagerly.
I fired up the car and pulled a U-turn in the street, driving slowly away. “Not much. Kai’s dad is some big-shot politician, and that’s why Noah and all these other officers are here. I didn’t get the impression that he thought it was anything serious. Raina hasn’t been missing for more than a few hours. There’s little they can do at the moment except try to track her down.”
“Hmm.” Dad’s tone was skeptical. “We haven’t had a missing person on the island since . . .”
His voice trailed off. He didn’t need to finish his sentence, because I knew exactly who he was thinking of: my best friend in high school, the girl who’d gotten me into journalism.
