Pleading the Fish: A Beachfront Cozy Mystery

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Books. Change. Lives.

Copyright © 2022 by Bree Baker

Cover and internal design © 2022 by Sourcebooks

Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks

Cover illustration by Trish Cramblet/Lott Reps

Sourcebooks, Poisoned Pen Press, and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

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—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Sourcebooks is not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

Published by Poisoned Pen Press, an imprint of Sourcebooks

P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

(630) 961-3900

sourcebooks.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Baker, Bree, author.

Title: Pleading the fish / Bree Baker.

Description: Naperville, Illinois : Poisoned Pen Press, [2022] | Series:

Seaside cafe mysteries; book 7

Identifiers: LCCN 2021037080 (print) | LCCN 2021037081 (ebook) | (paperback) | (epub)

Classification: LCC PS3602.A5847 P54 2022 (print) | LCC PS3602.A5847

(ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037080

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021037081

Contents

Front Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Epilogue - Everly

Epilogue - Denver

Epilogue - Grady

Recipes from Sun, Sand, and Tea

Piña Colada Pie

Blueberry Lemonade Cake

Lemon Cake

Excerpt from Partners in Lime

One

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Back Cover

To my sweet mama and her unending love of the sea

Prologue

April

I didn’t believe in my family’s curses until I met Grady Hays. Even then, it had taken a couple of years and plenty of dangerous situations for me to come around. According to my great-aunts, Swan women were cursed in two specific ways. One, we couldn’t leave the island; if we did, bad things would happen. Two, we couldn’t fall in love, lest the object of our affection surely die. The amount of evidence in support of both curses was astounding.

Still, I used to believe folks made their own luck with level heads, determination, and good decisions. I’d mastered the former two at a young age, but I’d been working on the latter all my life. Which explained the occasional life-threatening situation I wound up in. Curiosity gone awry, not a curse in action. At least, that was what I’d thought until my most recent bad choice landed Grady (not me) in the hospital only days after I’d realized I was no longer falling for him—I’d already completed the trip and landed hard. Before I’d dared voice the truth to anyone, the curse had struck, and I’d almost lost him. I couldn’t let that happen again.

So like the level-headed, determined woman I was, I’d been actively avoiding Grady ever since. For his safety.

And like the strong-willed, intelligent, kind, protective, perfect man he was, he’d given me the space I’d needed. Until ten minutes ago, when he’d materialized in my gardens, at the gazebo where I sat, alone in the dark, wishing he was there.

Can we talk? Grady asked, pleading with ethereal gray eyes. He’d traded his usual detective uniform for a suit and tie. The jacket hung, folded, over one crooked arm. He looked gorgeous and slightly tormented. The long sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled up to his elbows. His sleek black tie hung loose and askew. The top button undone at his throat. He’d clearly dressed for my best friend, Amelia’s, massive birthday party happening inside my home.

I don’t think that’s a good idea, I admitted. I miss you, and I hate the way things have been, but they’ll get easier with time. At least, I hoped they would.

He stuffed something small and dark into his pocket, a gift for Amelia, perhaps, but his eyes never left mine. How’ve you been?

Awful, terrible, and miserable came to mind. Okay, I said instead, looking away. In truth, I’d felt as if half of myself had gone missing in the weeks since I’d last seen him. And I hated the bland, awkward way my future seemed to roll out before me with an obvious missing piece. Like living the rest of my days under hazy skies when I knew the sun was just on the other side.

I haven’t been okay, he said. My body’s healed, but I’m not whole.

My eyes snapped back to him, his words so closely echoing my thoughts. What if my family is really cursed? I whispered. The hearty spring breeze picked up around us when I voiced the concern, throwing my wild brown curls against my cheeks. The scents of freshly bloomed flowers and the sea mixed with Grady’s signature cologne, and my resolve weakened by a fraction.

He moved closer, raising both hands to push the hair from my face, then cupped my cheeks in big warm palms, holding the curls at bay. Withstanding the wind for me. Shielding me from it. Forever my protector in all things great and small. I told you, I don’t believe in curses, he said, caressing my chilled skin with his thumbs. I meant that.

Everyone else believes, I said. How can this entire community be wrong for two centuries running?

My family’s legends and lore were practically historical fact in my hometown of Charm, North Carolina, a small seaside village on a set of barrier islands known to most as the Outer Banks. My ancestors had settled the town more than three hundred years ago, so to the Swans, Charm had always simply been home.

Grady’s eyes searched mine. Determination slowly changed the hope in his expression to resolve. As if he’d just realized whatever he was up to would be harder than he’d planned, and he was rising to the challenge. People thought the earth was flat for a lot longer than that, and plenty still do. It doesn’t make it true.

I frowned. Are you comparing me to a flat earther? Because this is not the same. If they’re wrong, you won’t die an untimely death and orphan your son. I pressed my lips and wrapped my arms around my middle, sickened by the thought of poor Denver losing another parent. He’d already lost his mother to cancer while he was still in preschool. I’d never take any risk so selfish that it would leave him fatherless too.

Grady pinched the bridge of his nose. Flat earthers are wrong, he said. There’s no possibility they’re right. Just like there is no possibility that you are cursed. Look. He dropped his hands to his sides and fixed me with that determined stare once more. I should’ve probably led with this, or told you about two years sooner, but I love you, Everly Swan. Deeply and without condition. That won’t change, and your family folklore won’t stop me.

I gasped, eyes misting and mind reeling. I stepped back on instinct, checking the sky for stray bolts of lightning, and one flashed. Oh! I scurried further away. No, no, no, I hissed. You can’t say that. I covered my mouth before I recanted and begged to hear him say those words again.

Grady scowled and stalked forward. Your family isn’t cursed. You aren’t cursed.

Thunder rolled.

Grady, don’t, I warned.

I came here to ask you something, he said. I wavered a while. Partially because I knew you’d react this way and partially because this isn’t how I’d planned to ask. But that’s on me, because I fell in love with a nut. He smiled and reached into his pocket.

I shook my head and backed out of the gazebo at the opening on the opposite side. My heart couldn’t afford to hear whatever it was he wanted to ask. Because whatever it was, I would agree. Grady Hays had a hold on me like none other. He was my weakness, even though he was my strength. Which made zero sense, and my thoughts began to coil like a corkscrew.

And holy tea cakes! He loved me too? My heart skittered, then took off at a sprint.

The night sky darkened formidably, as if hearing my thoughts. Thick clouds raced over the moon, plunging us into darkness. It wasn’t uncommon for storms to brew and hit quickly on the island, but typically they were predicted by local weather reports. Tonight was supposed to be a perfect night.

Laughter and voices spilled from my home, reminding me of the party going on inside. Bright, smiling faces were visible through the windows, each lit with the merriment and hoopla of the theatrical magic-library-themed event, arranged by Amelia’s boyfriend, Ryan.

Outside, the raging winds and Grady’s confession threatened to blow me into the sea.

He pulled out his hand and produced a small dark box.

My heart rate grew loud, pounding wildly in my gut, throat, and head. What is that?

He snaked a long arm out and caught me as I tripped over a cluster of newly bloomed daffodils. Hey, he said gently, broad hand spreading over my back as he hauled me to him. The frown I loved was plastered on his handsome face. His concentration face. Stop running from me.

Stop chasing me, I said, unintentionally breathless and utterly without conviction.

Never.

I smiled, and his frown deepened.

Waves broke and crashed against the beach, only yards from my home. Lightning flashed brightly, sending streaks of gleaming white against an inky sky. Electricity raised the hairs on my neck and arms.

If I let you go, are you going to try to escape again? he asked. Or can I please do what I came here to do?

Depends, I said, pulling masses of windblown hair away from my face once more. If you’re here to say love is enough to save you from my curse, you’re wrong. My dad and every other man unfortunate enough to be loved by a Swan woman is proof of that. Plenty of them dropped dead much younger than you, I said, projecting my voice against the storm.

Grady’s jaw set.

You would do the same thing I’m doing if the tides were turned. And you know it, I accused. So don’t ask me to risk a single second of your life, Grady Hays. I won’t.

Grady stuffed the box back into his pocket and wedged his big hands over narrow hips. The thin material of his shirt and pants beat roughly in the ferocious wind. He cocked his head and eyed me. What if there’s proof the curse is fake, or at least blown out of proportion?

My brows raised. Proof?

Yes. What if the truth is documented somewhere? he pressed. At one of the island historical societies, in a library or your family’s archives? What if we pinpoint where this rumor started and track it to the present? Including all the reasonable explanations for things everyone around here accepts as mystical mojo?

Really bad mystical mojo, I muttered. The deadly kind.

But I’d never considered seeking specific details before.

I looked out to sea and wondered if what he’d suggested was possible. My family kept an extensive archive at the homestead, with tomes from almost as far back as we’d been on the island. Could there be documentation to support Grady’s theory?

Was it possible I wasn’t cursed?

My gaze snapped back to Grady, ready to set a research plan into action, but his determined face was no longer posed six inches above mine.

He was on one knee before me, wobbling slightly in the relentless wind. The small box in his hand. Everly, he said, speaking my name with pure adoration and reverence. I love you. I have loved you for a long while now. In various little ways from the start, then in every possible way, until I couldn’t deny or ignore the truth any longer.

Wind howled through nearby trees, and rain began to fall as I struggled for breath.

I admire your tenacity of spirit, your wicked laugh, and your lemon cake. He grinned. Fat drops of rain slid over his cheeks and forehead as he looked into my eyes. I aspire to be like you, to be more trusting and less jaded. To have your big heart and to love others the way you do, selflessly and with abandon. Most of all, I love the way you love me, despite myself, and the way you love my son. I don’t deserve you. I know that, but it doesn’t change the fact I want to be by your side, in all things, whatever comes. Always.

Tears burned my eyes, blurring my vision as he opened the box.

A beautiful diamond, sapphire, and emerald ring sat inside.

I found this in an antique jewelry store, he said. It sounds crazy, but it spoke to me, and it said it belonged to you. He rose and removed the ring from the box, putting the case back into his pocket. This diamond reminded me of you, brilliant and mighty, delicate in appearance, but stronger than any other stone. The sapphires and emeralds reminded me of this place, the plants and the sea. A golden band to represent the sand. He lifted my hands in his, the ring pinched between his thumb and first finger. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Do you trust me?

I nodded, speechless and unprecedentedly peaceful in the midst of a bellowing storm.

Do you love me? he asked, flipping his gaze from one of my eyes to the other. Seeking truth and undoubtedly finding it.

Yes.

Marry me, he said. And I promise you I will outlive everyone you know out of sheer hardheadedness and the compulsive need to please you.

I laughed, and more tears began to fall.

Trust me, he implored. You are not cursed. You are the embodiment of life and love and goodness. You don’t deserve to live in fear of loving me or of being loved by me, and you can’t stop it anyway. It’s too late. I’m already yours, heart and soul.

I threw my arms around his neck without answer, beaten and battered by stinging wind and rain. And I cried against his collar. The choice he asked me to make was impossible, excruciating. Gutting. If I chose wrong, he would pay the ultimate price.

Grady drew back, resting his forehead to mine. "What if I’m right? he asked, echoing the path my thoughts had been on. What if I’m right, and we miss out on fifty or sixty years of life together. On countless epic adventures, on children and grandchildren. What if we don’t get to grow old and gray and wrinkly together because we were afraid."

He tilted his head and kissed me slowly. Everly, he whispered against my lips. Don’t be afraid.

I exhaled a lifetime of fear and kissed him back.

The storm faded behind my closed lids. And I saw a vision of myself in white, walking the aisle in his direction, then another of me heavy with his child. I saw myself at Denver’s graduation, and with Grady years after that, cradling grandbabies in our arms.

I slid my fingers into his wet hair and pressed myself against him, despite the storm trying to tear us apart.

My future had always been and would always be Grady Hays.

There was never a decision to make.

So I said yes.

One

How do you feel about sand sculptures? Amelia asked. Her cheery voice rang through my cell phone speaker as I motored along Bay Street in my golf cart, Blue.

I smiled, enjoying the stifling July heat. Summers in Charm were hot and humid, the brilliant southern sun oppressive and relentless. Determined rays brought color to everything in sight, from pinked cheeks and tanned skin to the endless bouquets of beautiful flowers and native greenery. I loved it all.

I like sandcastles, I said. Are you thinking of hitting the beach after work and looking for company? A drop of sweat fell from my brow, and I nudged my large, white-rimmed sunglasses higher on my sweaty nose.

Everly, she scolded. You know exactly why I’m asking.

I did, and that fact only made my stomach clench. She was trying to sort out the details for my beach wedding. The beach is pretty perfect already. Don’t you think?

I do, she said. I just want to make sure we’ve thought of everything, and you get the wedding day you’ve always dreamed of, you know? Ice sculptures are popular at indoor venues. I thought sandcastles could be a fun seaside twist.

Simple is probably better, I said. I’d get married in cutoffs and flip-flops if you’d let me.

Everly, she said again, this time breaking my name into syllables. This is your wedding, not a high school bonfire.

I smiled at the little phone screen attached to my dashboard, where her thin, freckled face frowned back.

Fine. I’ll mark sandcastles off the list, but you are wearing a wedding gown. She tightened her sleek blond ponytail, then raised a pen.

I put my eyes back on the road.

Amelia had appointed herself my personal wedding coordinator the moment Grady and I had announced our engagement. I’d easily agreed. Both because I was intimidated by the thought of organizing such a large-scale event and because until I found the answers I needed about my family’s alleged love curse, I wouldn’t be able to think of much else.

So far, the loosely laid wedding day plans included a small beach ceremony, followed by a massive town-wide reception at the Swan family homestead. Grady’s old friends from DC and the U.S. Marshal Service would likely attend the party as well.

Welcome to Charming Reads, Amelia called, flicking her gaze away from the camera.

Amelia owned and operated the town’s only bookshop, and she rarely had more than a minute or two between customers. Which meant I was about to be off the hook.

Gotta go? I asked, shamefully crossing one set of fingers on the steering wheel. I was excited to marry Grady, thrilled even, but our quest to disprove my family curse was off to a pathetic start, and we’d been looking for three months. It was getting difficult to emotionally separate phrases like wedding day from others like Grady’s untimely demise. Nothing about the latter made me happy, so getting amped up about the former was basically a nonstarter.

In a minute, she said. Do you want to meet for lunch and go over options for the guests’ swag bags?

Can’t, I said, taking the final turn toward my destination. I’m meeting Aunt Clara at Northrop Manor now. Are you attending the fish fry tonight? I parked Blue beside my great-aunt’s Prius.

That’s the plan, she said. And if Ryan’s flight isn’t delayed, he’ll be with me. I’m expecting to pick him up at the airport this afternoon.

I smiled despite myself. The nosy Manhattan reporter-turned-friend made Amelia happy, and that made me happy. Sounds like this is shaping up to be a great day.

Amelia squealed. Okay. I’d better go check on my customers, she said. See you tonight!

Bye, I told the phone, already back to my home screen following the disconnected call.

I climbed down from the cart, then collected my purse and picnic basket.

Before me, the historic Northrop property extended as far as the eye could see, eventually spilling into the sound on the other side of an extensive manicured lawn. The home was yellow with a maroon roof, black shutters, and matching door. The structure had been commissioned at the turn of the last century by a mega-wealthy industrialist. Since then, the place had been bought and sold by other incomprehensibly wealthy families. Most recently, Grady’s mother-in-law. Thankfully, she’d sold the place to the town historical society before returning to DC last year.

Now, after months of preparation, the property would soon open as a living museum. Tonight, locals would celebrate the victory with a fish fry. The party was a thank you gift to the countless volunteers, donators, and workers who had made the transformation from private home to public museum possible. There were few things Charmers loved more than preserving and honoring history, especially island history, and the lineup of guest speakers, historians, and actors in period costumes already on board for the season was remarkable.

I squinted at the glint of sunshine off distant waters as I hurried toward the front door. Even my favorite sunglasses weren’t enough to dim that shine.

As president of Charm’s Society for the Preservation and Retelling of Unrecorded History, my great-aunt Clara had been given an office inside the manor. Her society was dedicated to preserving and passing on stories of our land, culture, and people that no one had ever bothered to write down. I’d suggested the group take a few minutes to properly document the tales now, but she said that wasn’t the point. Storytelling was apparently an art.

The whole thing seemed like an excuse to spread really old gossip to me, and it probably amounted to the longest-running game of telephone on record, but it made a lot of people happy, Aunt Clara included, so who was I to argue?

Last night the museum had offered Aunt Clara a reoccurring role, telling the unrecorded stories to visitors and guests, and she’d eagerly agreed. I was bringing lunch from my café to celebrate.

I waved at the elderly security guard seated on a stool in the entryway. Hey, Oscar, I said, setting my sunglasses on my head and smiling. I fished inside my basket and retrieved a jar of mint iced tea, then set it on the welcome table at his side. I added half of a paper-wrapped pita I’d stuffed with grilled tomatoes, peppers, and pesto at its side, then set a thin stack of napkins on top. Aunt Clara says you eat junk from the vending machine at lunch, I explained. She also says you need to watch your blood sugar, so she asked me to bring you something more nutritious.

He smiled at the delivery. She did?

I nodded, and his smile widened. Your aunt’s a good woman, he said, eagerly unwrapping the sandwich. Always worrying about everyone else.

It’s in our DNA, I said, appreciating that he hadn’t assumed she was nosy or meddlesome. Aunt Clara genuinely cared. About everyone. And everything. I brought her lunch too. You’re welcome to join us if you want.

Oh, no, he said, raising bushy caterpillar