The Crêpes of Wrath: A Pancake House Mystery Read Online Free Page B

the pancake house. When we stepped inside, Leigh locked the door behind us and made sure that the CLOSED sign was showing in the window. I stood a few feet from the doorway, staring ahead of me without seeing much of anything.
    Jimmy, gone forever.
    I couldn’t seem to process that.
    I blinked and finally took in the sight before me.
    One entire wall of the pancake house was made of stone and featured a giant fireplace with a log mantel. Together with the dark exposed beams running overhead, the white ceiling, and the dark flooring, it gave The Flip Side a rustic yet warm and welcoming atmosphere.
    The first time I’d stepped inside, although nervous about taking care of the place in Jimmy’s absence, I’d immediately felt comfortable. Maybe it was the cozy decor or the friendly people, or possibly a combination of the two. I didn’t know for sure, but something about the pancake house had put me at ease.
    But now Jimmy, the heart of The Flip Side, was gone.
    What would happen to the restaurant? To Leigh and Ivan?
    My mind stalled, as if too numb to cope with such questions.
    “I can make you a cup of tea, if you’d like,” Leigh offered.
    “Actually, I think I’d rather go to Jimmy’s house,” I said.
    As much as I loved the pancake house, the news of Jimmy’s death would travel quickly through Wildwood Cove and I didn’t like the thought of curious townsfolk showing up to peer in through the windows or knock at the door, hoping for more details about the tragedy.
    “Do you want me to come with you?” Leigh asked.
    “Thanks, but I’ll be all right. Will you let the others know where I’ve gone?”
    “Of course.”
    I tried my best to smile but only managed a slight trembling of my lips. “Thanks, Leigh.”
    After a quick stop in the back office to grab my tote bag and switch my apron for my favorite blue hoodie, I set off along the promenade in the opposite direction from Myler’s Point, not looking back. Numbness had seeped into my mind, but I couldn’t say the same for the rest of me. The ache deep in my chest remained and tears burned in my eyes. The light wind had an edge to it, and I shivered as it played with my hair and cut through my jeans and hoodie.
    When I reached the edge of town, the promenade curved away from the shoreline and came to an end at the nearest road. I continued on in the same direction, leaving the pavement for the sand, the ocean on my left and a grove of Douglas fir trees on my right. As I walked by, a chipmunk darted up a tree trunk, pausing to chatter at me once it was safely off the ground. Overhead, birds chirped and twittered, the sounds familiar and comforting.
    Beyond the grove of trees, Jimmy’s house came into view, situated only a stone’s throw from the beach. The sight of it brought me a sense of relief, of sanctuary. I’d always loved Cousin Jimmy’s house. The rambling blue-and-white Victorian had such a quaint and whimsical character, with gingerbread trim, covered porches at the front and back, and a two-story tower situated in one front corner. As a child, I’d spent hours reading on one of the cozy window seats or sifting through dusty treasures in the attic, and the spectacular ocean views never got old.
    Memories of summers long past spent with Cousin Jimmy and his late wife, Grace, rushed to the forefront of my mind, vivid and almost overwhelming. I blinked back tears and climbed over a log to approach the house. When I spotted Jimmy’s orange tabby cat, Flapjack, sitting in one of the back windows, my tears spilled out onto my cheeks.
    Never again would Jimmy come home to his cat, to his house. Never again would his laughter or irrepressible spirit fill the Victorian.
    My tears were about to get the best of me when something moved over by Jimmy’s detached workshop, catching my eye. I stopped and took a closer look. A man was loitering by the workshop, his back to me. I wiped away my tears and struck off in his direction.
    “Excuse me,” I