The Incorruptible Ivy Jackson and the Café Corpse

The Incorruptible Ivy Jackson and the Cafe Corpse THE INCORRUPTIBLE IVY JACKSON MYSTERIES BOOK 2 ROSIE A. POINT Contents Your Free Book is Waiting! Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Craving More Cozy Mystery? More for you… The Incorruptible Ivy Jackson and the Cafe Corpse The Incorruptible Ivy Jackson Mysteries Book 2 Copyright © 2023 by Rosie A. Point. www.rosiepointbooks.com All Rights Reserved. This publication or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored, distributed, or transmitted in any form—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise—except in the case of brief quotations for review purposes. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons alive or deceased, places, or events is coincidental. Cover by DLR Cover Designs www.dlrcoverdesigns.com Hi there, reader! I’d like to formally invite you to join my awesome community of readers. We love to chat about cozy mysteries, cooking, and pets. It’s super fun because I get to share chapters from yet-to-be-released books, fun recipes, pictures, and do giveaways with the people who enjoy my stories the most. So whether you’re a new reader or you’ve been enjoying my stories for a while, you can catch up with other like-minded readers, and get lots of cool content by either… Signing up for my mailing list. Joining our awesome reader group. I look forward to getting to know you better. Let’s get into the story! Yours, Rosie One I was a firm believer in expecting the unexpected, but death was one of those things that happened without rhyme or reason. Murder was included in my assessment, but was, thankfully, easier to unravel and understand in retrospect. Spring had sprung in my hometown of Somewhere, Ohio, and though an entire year had passed since the last murder, I had a sense that we had been waiting for it to happen again. It was as if the town was holding its breath for the next “bad” thing on the agenda. I have recorded the events of this spring for my peace of mind, and in an effort to help me sort through what happened. It began, uneventfully, on a sunny morning in the Somewhere Somehow Cafe on Artefact Street, while my two friends, Melanie and Miriam, or “Double M” as I like to call them, argued about the best way to eat a cupcake. “The youth of today,” Miriam murmured under her breath, rolling her bright green eyes heavenward. “I don’t know why you think you always know better than the older generation.” “I don’t think I know better than anyone,” Melanie replied, tugging her blonde, curly hair back into a ponytail. “But if it’s good enough for Anne Hathaway, then it’s good enough for me.” I sighed, reaching down to pet Boo. My sassy border collie groaned as bored by the conversation as I was. The cafe had been open an entire year, and it was our favorite place to eat. Even better, the owner, a good friend of mine, didn’t mind when Boo came along for brunch or breakfast. The interior of the cafe hammered with activity, and had a warmth that had nothing to do with temperature. Ample light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows on two walls, and the tables were circular and wooden, the chairs an eclectic mix of armchairs and regular dining chairs. The specials menu promised delicious food at great prices. “Just because one actress says you should cut your baked goods in half, doesn’t mean you should do it too.” Miriam pressed her wire-framed glasses up her nose and gave the other woman a look that she’d perfected behind the counter at the library. It was the “your books are overdue, and you don’t have enough money to pay the fine” look. “If this Man Fathaway told you to jump in a river, would you do it?” Ever practical, Miriam. “I don’t know.” Melanie pulled a scarf she was working on from her tote on the floor and fiddled with it. “It depends which river we’re talking about. And it’s Anne Hathaway not Man—” “Everything OK here, ladies?” The owner of the cafe, Gabe, stopped beside our table, his hands tucked into the front pocket of his cream apron. “Morning, Gabe,” I said. “Everything would be OK if these two would stop arguing about the most arbitrary things.” “It’s not arbitrary,” Double M said as one, then glared at each other for a moment before smiles flickered across their lips. “It’s important,” Miriam said, “that people eat things in the right way. Or do them in the right way. Even you can agree with that.” “Especially you, Ivy,” Melanie added in, her tone softer than the librarian’s. Gabe’s head swiveled as he took in the back-and-forth. “Have they eaten yet?” I chuckled—I had been spending more time with friends lately. It made life much easier to handle now that my children were out of the house and Darren was gone. I didn’t enjoy the twisting I felt whenever I thought of my deceased husband, so I focused on Gabe’s face instead. He was past seventy, the gray hair on his head white and pressed flat against his dark forehead. He had kind eyes. I cleared my throat. “I think they want cupcakes.” “Only if she’s going to eat them the right way,” Miriam grumbled. Gabe hastily took our order then spent an extra second petting Boo before he left us in “peace” again. Double M managed not to rip each other’s throats out in the interim, and our cupcakes were soon delivered to the table, along with a pitcher of iced tea. Melanie cut her cupcake in half and squished the bottom of it over the frosting, creating a cupcake sandwich under Miriam’s resentful gaze. “Are you two going to attend the Clean-Up Crew