Hammered Read online

  JUST ADD COFFEE

  By Ruth Bainbridge

  COFFEE & MURDER don’t mix.

  Just ask Samantha Powell, the girl voted Most Likely to Unleash Some Snark. The twenty-eight-year-old has achieved her life’s ambition and opened a coffee shop called JUST ADD COFFEE. The grand opening was beyond glorious and Sam had her sights set on more of the same. But a pesky corpse found splayed on the floor when she opens the next morning threatens to turn her dream into a nightmare.

  Smoking hot Detective Noah Jennings is assigned to lead the investigation and Sam is counting on the himbo to find out why Doris broke into her shop and got conked over the head for her trouble. But Sam’s hopes for a speedy solution are quickly dashed when the clueless wonder targets her as prime suspect.

  As coffee sales plunge, she becomes desperate … desperate enough to enlist the aid of her bff Lyddie Wexler in tracking down the killer. The only stumbling block? Lyddie thinks Sam is guilty too, but she relents under the barrage of pressure … sort of.

  In between the bickering over petty differences, it’s full-on caffeinated-speed ahead as the chicly dressed twosome unearth the town’s most lethal secrets. Secrets like a loan-sharking operation nobody will admit exists and a Ponzi scheme that bilked investors out of millions. But it’s in the midst of the ruination that Sam realizes an even more unnerving possibility. Doris might not have been intended victim—maybe the killer mistook her for Sam!

  HAMMERED is a fast, stylish, snarky romp that will have you laughing as you match wits with a devious hammer killer. It’s the first in the JUST ADD COFFEE MYSTERIES and will introduce you to all the craziness going on in the lives of Samantha Powell and her friend Lydia Wexler.

  If you love cozy mysteries, best buds, and demanding kitties, you’ll love this series! It’s the perfect holiday read and all you need do is JUST ADD COFFEE to have yourself a load of fun! So lighten up your holiday wish list and download your copy now!

  Dear Reader:

  Thank you so much for requesting an ARC copy of HAMMERED, the first in my new cozy mystery series JUST ADD COFFEE.

  I appreciate your interest and hope you enjoy. If you do, please leave a review to let others know. Readers rely on other reader’s opinions, so it’s what you think that counts.

  For your convenience, here is a link to HAMMERED on Amazon:

  http://bit.ly/HAMMEREDREVIEW

  I thank you in advance in help getting the word out.

  Ruth Bainbridge

  Please check out Ruth Bainbridge’s other titles:

  THE CURT SAVAGE MYSTERIES: A Four-Part Series

  SAVAGE SUMMER (Part One)

  SAVAGE FALL (Part Two)

  SAVAGE WINTER (Part Three)

  SAVAGE SPRING (Part Four)

  THE DEADSPEAK MYSTERIES

  DEADSPEAK: Book One

  DEADSPEAK: Book Two

  THE NICK CROSS MYSTERIES

  ONLY ONE WILL FALL: Book One

  A DAUGHTER IS A DAUGHTER: Book Two

  STANDALONE THRILLER

  CREEPZ

  © 2018 by Ruth Bainbridge

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  CHAPTER 1

  “I got it!”

  In the midst of controlled chaos—inspiration.

  Or not.

  Samantha Powell’s dark eyes drifted upward, holding more than their weight in suspicion regarding the bubbly expression accompanying Lydia Wexler’s outburst.

  Her friend’s announcement was more explosion than remark, and that alone made Sam wary. But on the other hand, a ‘Eureka’ moment was what she was after, and it was sheer desperation that allowed her to be suckered in. Before she knew it, she was going against her better judgment, and taking a leap of faith that culminated in trusting her best friend.

  “Spill,” she verbally poked as she prepared to be bowled over by Lyddie’s genius.

  Leaning in, the curvaceous blonde across the table could barely contain the ginormous smile. A giggle preceded the revelation.

  “Jitters!” Lyddie exclaimed.

  This time, Sam’s dark eyes narrowed as the leap fell short—again. There she lay, broken at the bottom of the canyon.

  In all the time she’d known Lyddie, there’d never been one creative idea pop out of her gorgeous head. Why Sam had overridden past history and set herself up for disappointment was an issue she’d have to confront one day.

  But not today.

  There were too many other more pressing priorities on her plate—like coming up with a name for her new coffee shop that was set to open in two weeks.

  “What … what …. what? ‘Jitters’ is a great name!” the friend with the perpetually bouffant hair badgered. But badgering … that was something Lyddie was actually good at.

  As was getting on Sam’s last nerve.

  “Just no,” Sam answered.

  Firmly hissed through clenched white teeth, after hours of her and her friend coming up dry, she was so ready to call it a night, but neither was willing to actually move. Instead, the two remained huddled at the only workable table while the rest of the space around them was littered by the results of renovations being carried out to Sam’s rigid specifications. Put succinctly—

  The place earmarked to be her new coffee shop was a mess.

  The recrossing of her legs caused one well-shod foot to crash into a paper bag filled with the demolished remains of takeout food ordered for dinner. The moo shu chicken and General Tao’s duck had been delicious, but now were only memories and trash that needed disposal.

  “No? Well, it’s better than ‘Beans’!” the girl who never did know when to shut up argued.

  Sam’s dark brown eyes shot daggers.

  “You came up with that one too,” was the acerbic reply that should have ended the discussion.

  Why didn’t it?

  “I did? Then why don’t I remember, Sam? Why?“

  The soon-to-be proprietor housed in yet another black outfit tossed her pen and pad adorned with dreadful names to the side before indulging in a sip of still warm coffee.

  It was what thermoses were made for.

  “Maybe because it was Shoot the Beans first. I said that I didn’t think a coffee house should be associated with guns or projectile vomit, so it became Jumping Beans, A Pile of Beans, Brew Those Beans, Blasted Beans, and Jittery Beans—in that order. When I explained that the association of our coffee with making people jumpy or jittery was not a good marketing ploy, you came up with Jitters … which is sort of the ultimate in having an attack of the shakes. Starting to come back?”

  It had taken awhile, but—

  The snark was loose.

  It accounted for the resultant cloud formation to twist her friend’s features into an unattractive knot. The five-foot-six-inch blonde with the figure that didn’t stop wasn’t taking the criticism well—even though she must be used to it by now.

  They’d been friends since the seventh grade.

  The five-foot-seven-inch brunette with the starkly chic lanky figure dug her fingers into the enviably waspy waistline as she waited for a cogent reply and apology. She settled back in the folding chair that would so be replaced by the nice new padded ones on order.

  Lyddie “took a moment,” as she called it, checking the newly-applied lip-gloss in a half-mirror. The shade matched the shock
ing pink shirt being tugged down and smoothed over the tailored crop pants that put a nice spin on those lush hips. While one pinky finger patted at a perfectly made up face, another polished nail scratched at the corner of her pouty mouth. It was tantamount to Lyddie’s wind-up.

  The pitch!

  “I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

  Sam took a generous hit of caffeine, mulling over which retort she should use. There was always a rejoinder contest going on in her head, but then witty repartees were a full-time competition for her. So much so, she was even in competition with herself, but all jibes were cast aside in lieu of the truth.

  “Nothing I like,” Sam admitted with a sigh.

  The lack of a vigorous defense pointed more to her being more tired than she realized than to a deep-seated sense of humanity. Although she didn’t usually indulge in caffeinated beverages this late in the evening, it’d been part of her daily routine since the start of this project. It had been three months the hard way and she wouldn’t wish the birthing of a life’s ambition on anyone.

  Or would she?

  The grueling work and long hours were an integral part of the process. And although she promised herself that she’d enjoy every second of it—the horrible parts were … well … horrible. So horrible that she felt like giving up. But the reminder of the promise made to herself was what altered her mindset and kept her going.

  “Why don’t we pack it in?” she suggested as she took a glance at the digital watch on her wrist that spelled out 10:15. It was late and—

  There was no sense sitting here and driving each other crazy.

  “Absolutely not!” Lyddie challenged. “Because if we do pack it in, you don’t have a sign. As you found out, a sign takes fourteen days to complete and your opening is exactly that many days from tomorrow. To complicate matters, you took out advertising in every paper in town announcing the date of the Grand Opening—and promising a name reveal. It means that you have to have a name in order to have a sign for the debut! Du-uh!”

  She hated when Lyddie got all nasally and screechy, but then Sam was the night to her friend’s day. They were complete and total opposites—and that extended to appearance. While Sam’s hair and eyes were a dark teetering on raven, Lyddie’s hair was blonde and her eyes a brilliant blue. Then there were dispositions.

  Sam was like a glacier, icy and unwilling to compromise ideals. She was all about not cutting corners. While it was a noble goal, the downside was that she was serious and let problems get the better of her. In contrast, her bestie was ebullient and passionate. She thought optimism overrode all obstacles and it drove Sam crazy to no end. They clashed more often than not, and she often found herself wondering why she put up with the differences that made her hair stand on end. But a flashback from the past always gave her the answer of why they were friends for life.

  No matter what.

  The anger faded as Sam realized that Lyddie was right. While her friend might not be a wellspring of genius when it came to naming conventions, she was in business matters. That was why Lyddie was always chosen to lead and not follow. In her short life, her friend had been a vice president of an upstart tech company, a retail store manager, and a business consultant for a high-end clothing chain. Because of all the above and more, Sam surrendered to her friend’s acumen and grabbed the discarded pad and pen, poising to write when the brainstorm hit.

  While Sam’s wheels churned, Lyddie finished off the last of the green tea that came free with her dinner. With that gone, they both sank into the throes of deep thought. The quiet felt darn good. What with enduring the incessant hammering and sawing in the daytime, it was a chance to decompress. If it could just stay this way maybe … just maybe … Sam could recoup her faculties and—

  Think!

  After clicking the pen in her hand open and shut a few hundred times, she took to doodling. The purple ink made the scribbles look better than they deserved. After a few more random shapes, the curly cues turned productive as words magically appeared amongst the frou-frou. Her eyes tracked the progression.

  Sam’s Coffee … Samantha’s Best … Stop and Sip …

  This was more like it! The names were light years away from her other attempts.

  “Did you know that suggestions from fat people have a seventy-five percent more chance of being rejected on the basis of their weight alone?”

  Kaboom! There it was. An intrusion on the silence and sanity.

  Like a scud missile, Lyddie’s random remark was strategically designed to knock all semblance of concentration into the stratosphere. Yes, the taboo subject of Lyddie’s weight had been resurrected to sabotage any chance of productivity.

  And just when she was on a roll.

  The pen went down with a clatter.

  “How would anyone even test for something like that?” Sam fired back. “Were the people seeking ideas blindfolded? Did they have suggestions shouted to them while seated at a conference table? No, that can’t be it. If they couldn’t see the shouter, how would the ideas be dismissed on appearance? So that means that the idea was suggested twice: once by a thin person and once by someone not thin. No, that would be stupid BECAUSE THIS WHOLE SUBJECT IS STUPID! And if you’re implying that’s what I did, I did not! I rejected your ideas because they were NO GOOD AND I DON’T CARE WHO SAID THEM! Now let’s drop this and …”

  “You didn’t let me finish,” Lyddie stated with authority.

  Even when being a troll, there was that immaculately groomed presence. It lent a false credibility to all the nonsense spewed. The full mouth slathered in shine opened as Sam braced for more of the same.

  “In a separate study,” Lyddie continued, “the same researchers concluded that skinny-minnies are ninety-nine-percent more likely to engage in unreasoned hissy fits of temper than their buxom counterparts.”

  A sly grin crept in on her bff’s face, and in another half-second, Sam joined in the smile fest. Why not, since—

  The joke was on her.

  “You are a witch, Lyddie Wexler. A complete and utter witch.”

  “Believe the term you were searching for is ‘vixen’. I’m a vixen shark killer.”

  “You mean a killer of vixen sharks,” Sam quipped.

  “I would never kill a shark, Sam … vixen or otherwise,” the beauteous blonde professed with a raised taking-an-oath hand. The sincerity seeping out the pores was effective.

  “And at,” Sam responded, glancing again at her watch, “ten-forty-five, Lyddie Wexler is pardoned from banishment to the realms of Bad Idea Land by coming up with a gut-busting funny.”

  “I do not have bad ideas!” her friend countered.

  “Not bad … the worst … worse than worst … we’re talking ‘worstest’,” Sam taunted.

  “Just because you squeaked under the wire is no reason to take it out on me.”

  Sam did not squeak under the wire!

  The fake research studies plus this unfair categorization only proved her friend knew what buttons to push.

  Under the wire, indeed!

  The goal was to open a coffee shop before thirty—and Sam had beaten the deadline by two years. She’d just turned twenty-eight and hardly shimmying under the low-held limbo pole. And it hadn’t been easy.

  Unlike the Wexlers, the Powell family wasn’t wealthy. She’d had to work for every cent accumulated. She’d worked jobs as a barista, make-up artist, and real estate agent—sometimes simultaneously to reach the finish line.

  All to finance her dream.

  But it hadn’t always been that way. For a while, Sam had forgotten she was allowed to have a dream, let alone finance one—and that was where Lyddie came in. It was a glorious moment in the past when Sam was given her freedom back. She remembered the day as if it happened yesterday and was the defining moment that erased all differences and petty disputes. Yes, everything went back to that afternoon … and that shove …

  Lyddie had been magnificent, unlike the updated version who was
about to be annihilated for making that remark about squeaking under the wire.

  “What did Bailey do this time?” Sam drawled, lengthening each word to the nth degree.

  This time, it was Lyddie who threw down the pen. As she gave another tug to the to-die-for blouse before scratching at a painted brow with a pinkie, the poison dart penetrated her skin.

  “You can tell?” she replied.

  Could she?

  A dirge should have been playing in the background.

  “Lyddie, we’ve been friends for a kajillion years. I think I know when you’re having problems with the losers you date.”

  “Baily is not a loser …” Lyddie defended.

  She was back to using that nasally tone. But in another second, she broke into giggles and crumpled the empty paper cup that had once contained tea before tossing it in with the rest of the garbage.

  “Okay, maybe he is,” she admitted with a titter.

  “With that admission out of the way, I’m waiting for an answer. Was what he pulled that bad? Was it a deal breaker?” Sam asked, pushing back against the metal slats of the chair that was a leftover from the previous management. Why people frequented Cunninghams to endure this kind of discomfort was beyond her ken. It was why she was making sure there would be comfortable seating in her coffee shop without a name.

  Coffee Shop Without a Name?

  No … too reminiscent of that song.

  “Yes. Bailey committed the ultimate in betrayal—he compared me to you.”

  Sam’s mesmerizing eyes widened and then closed before reopening.

  “That’s low even for him,” she remarked.

  Lyddie bit on her plump bottom lip, which was known to pucker for fishface selfies.

  “Not going to disagree. It was completely out of line and why we’re kaput!” Her hands made the universal gesture of a cranial explosion. Sam held back on saying she was glad. With the on-again, off-again nature of Lyddie and Bailey’s relationship, she didn’t want to get her leg caught in the trap of taking sides.