COFFIN COVE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 1), JACKIE ELLIOTT [most recommended books txt] 📗

at the ready. For the next few minutes, Adrian and Amy discussed the social media strategy, and she took a few candid black-and-white photos of Adrian studiously gazing at a piece of paper on his desk, and one five-second video of him striding around the office with a phone to his ear, his brow furrowed in concentration. They mused about the captions for a few minutes and settled on #leadership and #dedication. Amy glided out the office to update the company’s Instagram, and Adrian decided it was time for a late breakfast.

Adrian’s father used to be a daily customer at the Steveston Café at the end of the main street. He arrived each day, 6 a.m. sharp, and held court with the steady stream of fishermen who ate bacon sandwiches and drank steaming hot mugs of black coffee, laughing, joking and exchanging fishing tales. Occasionally, when Adrian was little, his father would shake him awake early and take him for breakfast, feeding him fried eggs on toast and shushing the men when the tales got too lewd.

The café was still there, attached to the bar and hotel. The facade was undergoing renovations to fit in with the new trendy vibe of the village. But inside, it was still the same Formica seats, plastic tablecloths and familiar plates piled high with fried food.

Adrian hadn’t been in there since his father handed over the business. He knew Nikos still went for breakfast a few times a week, hungry for company since Iris died, but Adrian avoided even looking in the café’s direction, disliking the accompanying pang of guilt. He knew that Brenda sometimes joined his father there to tell tales, he assumed, so why would he give them the satisfaction?

He smoothed down his tie and walked in the opposite direction, along Moncton Street, the heart of Steveston Village, then made a turn towards the waterfront. He was always filled with pride to enter the brand new Hades Bistro, with vaulted ceilings, faux-industrial chrome fittings and a gourmet menu. It had been his vision to diversify his father’s business and acquire a seafood eatery in Steveston, and opening the bistro was his main focus when he took over from Nikos. His project was a perfect fit with the trendy artisan atmosphere of “new Steveston”. These days, the narrow streets were more likely to be blocked by a film crew and movie sets than pick-ups piled with nets, traps and fish totes.

Adrian liked the changes. He’d had several photos of himself taken with various C-list celebrities, which boosted his Instagram following quite nicely, and he regularly invited local politicians and businessmen for dinner at the bistro.

“You are who you surround yourself with,” Adrian was fond of quoting.

Adrian was shown to his regular table overlooking the Fraser River by an immaculately dressed, smiling hostess. A cappuccino materialized with an artistic chocolate swirl in the shape of the Hades logo, and the hostess placed a leather-bound menu in front of him. He studied it for a while. It was all good. No sign of pancakes, waffles or greasy fried eggs. The head chef had worked at several international restaurants and had written on his resume that he’d been trained by Gordon Ramsay himself. Adrian wasn’t sure if anyone had checked, but he used it for marketing purposes and paid the man more than his entire office staff put together.

Adrian couldn’t help but notice that he was alone in the bistro. Just early in the season, he told himself.

Lately, Brenda had been fussing at him about cash flow.

“You have a lunch-bucket mentality,” he said, trying to brush her off. “We have to spend money to make money.”

But she persisted, asking questions about incoming volumes of fish, sales invoices and payments to fishermen.

“None of this adds up,” she said. “We just don’t have the quantity of fish delivered to support these sales figures.”

He’d sent her out of his office but knew that she’d be ferreting around every chance she could, so he made a mental note as he sipped his coffee to hire a different bookkeeper and move Brenda onto filing or something. Perhaps she’d finally leave.

As he sat waiting for his breakfast to arrive, he decided to make a call. To follow up on another project. One he was convinced would top up Hades’ less-than-healthy bank account. Steve was in charge, but lately, he had been leaving Adrian out of the loop. So he called Steve and was irritated when the call went straight to Steve’s voicemail.

His meal arrived. He was fiddling with the artistically arranged slithers of smoked salmon over poached eggs when his phone buzzed. He grabbed it.

“Steve, where are you? What’s going on?” He stopped as Steve interrupted him.

He dropped his fork and got up from the table and started to pace nervously as he listened. Twice he tried to say something, but the voice at the other end gave him no chance to interrupt. Eventually, he turned the phone off and sat down again. Steve had been reassuring, confident that they were on track.

But Adrian was uncertain.

Had they done the right thing, he thought, as he held out his cup for another cappuccino, wondering if it was too early for something stronger than coffee.

Chapter Fourteen

Brenda watched Adrian leave the office for breakfast. Amy was watching too, and as soon as she heard the reception door swing shut, she slipped her phone in her purse and grabbed her coat.

“Just off to take some shots of the river,” she announced brightly and disappeared before Brenda had a chance to answer.

Brenda rolled her eyes. Digital marketing manager, indeed, she snorted to herself. But the empty office gave her some privacy to make a few phone calls. She knew Adrian wouldn’t return for hours, and Amy knew that too. So it was a good bet that she’d have a chance to dig a little deeper