The Solace of Bay Leaves
Spice Shop Mysteries
ASSAULT AND PEPPER
GUILTY AS CINNAMON
KILLING THYME
CHAI ANOTHER DAY
The Solace of Bay Leaves
A SPICE SHOP MYSTERY
BY LESLIE BUDEVVITZ
Published 2020 by Seventh Street Books®
The Solace of Bay Leaves. Copyright © 2020 by Leslie Budewitz. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, digital, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or conveyed via the Internet or a website without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, organizations, products, locales, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover images © Shutterstock
Cover design by Jennifer Do
Cover design © Start Science Fiction
Inquiries should be addressed to Start Science Fiction
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10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
ISBN: 978-1-64506-017-8 (paperback)
ISBN: 978-1-64506-018-5 (ebook)
Printed in the United States of America
For my Circle sisters
who model bringing peace and creativity to this chaotic world.
Jordonna, Jules, Marsha, Rebecca, Nancy, Sue, Maggie, and Carla
Ingredients for a Killer Blend
a.k.a. The Cast
THE SEATTLE SPICE SHOP STAFF
Pepper Reece—Mistress of Spice
Sandra Piniella—assistant manager and mix master
Cayenne Cooper—salesclerk with a secret
Matt Kemp—salesclerk and retail wiz
Reed Locke—part-time salesclerk, full-time student
Kristen Gardiner—part-time salesclerk, Pepper’s BFF
Arf—an Airedale, the King of Terriers
THE FLICK CHICKS
Pepper
Kristen
Laurel Halloran—widowed restaurateur and houseboat dweller
Seetha Sharma—massage therapist
Aimee McGillvray—vintage shop owner
IN MONTLAKE
Bruce Ellingson—bond broker who went for broke
Deanna Ellingson—neighborhood real estate agent
Cody Ellingson—their son
Maddie Petrosian—Pepper and Kristen’s childhood pal
Jake Byrd—aspiring developer
MARKET MERCHANTS, RESIDENTS, AND FRIENDS
Nate Seward—the fisherman
Glenn Abbott—neighbor and city councilman
Misty the Baker—guardian of Market tradition
Jamie Ackerman—painter and Market newcomer
THE LAW
Detective Michael Tracy—homicide
Detective Shawn Armstrong—homicide
Officer Tag Buhner—on the bike beat, Pepper’s former husband
Special Agent Meg Greer—FBI
One
Legend says that in the late 1950s, aspiring rocker Jimi Hendrix often met friends in Seattle’s Pike Place Market and played late into the night, on the steps in front of a passage called Ghost Alley.
“THIS IS MAGIC,” NATE WHISPERED TO ME AS THE WAITER poured our wine. “I can’t believe I’ve never been here.”
I smiled my thanks to the waiter. There are pockets of magic in every city, and since Nate and I got together a few months ago, we’d made a point of exploring them. The glow of new love adds its own magic to the mix, and we’d made a point of enjoying that, too. But this was our first evening at Jazz Alley.
Across the dark, gleaming table, Eric Gardiner raised his glass, catching a flicker of light. His wife Kristen, my BFF since before we were born, raised hers. Nate and I followed suit. “Cheers,” Eric said. “Great to finally have a Friday night out, the four of us.”
I heard my phone buzzing in the small beaded bag at my hip. I ignored it. No interruptions tonight. Besides, the Spice Shop was already closed. Nobody needed me for anything important.
“How you scored seats for the dinner show,” I said, “don’t even tell me. She always sells out the house.” Diane Schuur, one of Seattle’s best-loved musicians, wouldn’t take the stage until after plates were cleared, but the promise and the wine had already begun to work their spell.
“What looks good?” Nate scanned the menu. Fish scores high in Seattle restaurants, but as a commercial fisherman, Nate is picky about his pesce, not to mention his salmon, crab, and halibut.
“The crab or sole,” I mused, “and Key lime pie. I had it once in Florida and ever since, I’ve thought that’s what vacation tastes like.”
On the floor between us, Kristen’s phone buzzed in her purse. A flash of worry flitted across her face and she fished for the bag, then snuck a peek under the table. Cell phones were frowned upon here, with good reason. But they’d left their girls home alone, so I didn’t blame her.
She held it out for me to see. The text wasn’t from one of her young teenagers, bored or ticked off at the other. It was from our good friend, Laurel Halloran.
Detective Tracy is in my living room, I read. FBI on the way.
“The girls are fine,” Kristen told her husband, showing him the screen as she nudged him to slide over and let her out.
“It’s Laurel,” I told Nate. “Something’s up. Be right back.”
I followed Kristen down the hallway to the women’s room. Inside, we huddled in the corner and she made the call, her blond head next to my dark one, the phone between us. This was not a place, or a topic, for speaker phone.
“They have new evidence,” Laurel said, her voice barely a whisper. She lives on a houseboat on Lake Union, and short of closing herself in her own bathroom, there aren’t many places to hide. And like most cops, Detective Michael Tracy seemed to possess almost super-human hearing. “He won’t tell me what it is until the FBI agent gets here. What do I do?”
Kristen’s eyes met mine.
“Put the coffee on,” I said.
THE cool damp that had hung in the air most of the day had turned liquid in the short time we’d been inside. Eric pulled the SUV into the alley behind the club, close to the rear door, so we managed to avoid getting soaked.
No such luck at the docks. I hadn’t brought a coat, not expecting to be outside
