Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1: 3 Cozy Christian Mysteries Read online

  Dangerous Curves Boxed Set 1

  3 Cozy Christian Mysteries

  K.L. Montgomery

  Contents

  Betrayal at the Beach

  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

  Mystery at the Marina - Preview

  Mystery at the Marina - 2

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Also by K.L. Montgomery

  Mystery at the Marina

  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

  About the Author

  Also by K.L. Montgomery

  Shooting at the Shore

  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

  About the Author

  Also by K.L. Montgomery

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

  Copyright © 2021 by K.L. Montgomery

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  Cover design by the author, made with images licensed through DepositPhotos.

  Paperback ISBN: 978-1-949394-29-0

  Published by Mountains Wanted Publishing

  P.O. Box 1014

  Georgetown, DE 19947

  mountainswanted.com

  Created with Vellum

  To all my readers who push me to keep going, to try new things, and who are supportive no matter what.

  One

  My favorite patron, thirteen-year-old Anna Cooper, carefully made her way to my desk with a towering stack of books, which she set down right in front of me with a huge, triumphant grin on her face.

  I eyed the stack—she had a good mix of classics and newer stuff. She liked paranormal and dystopian books the best, but I’d steered her toward a couple of series I enjoyed as a teen. I hated to think those were considered classics now…but…yeah, they were. No getting around that.

  “Planning on reading this weekend?” I scanned the first book’s barcode, then the next, quickly making my way through the whole stack.

  “Just a little.” She wouldn’t stop beaming, except when her glasses slid down her cute button nose, and she had to push them back up again. I noticed she’d gotten braces since the last time I saw her. “You have something to do with that?” She pointed at the huge banner hanging over the opening to the adult section.

  Friends of Bryce Beach Public Library Annual Gala

  Join us Saturday, April 27th at 7 pm

  for dinner, dancing & magic.

  Books are a uniquely portable magic.

  Support your community library!

  I glanced up at the banner I created myself with my mad graphic design skills. “Yep, I’m the Librarian Liaison to the Friends of the Library,” I announced.

  Last year I merely helped out, but apparently I impressed the right people because, this year, I was named head of the planning committee. “It’s just a fancy way of saying I’m in charge of the annual gala. I can’t believe it’s tonight. Finally! We’ve been working really hard on it.” I pretended to wipe sweat off my brow to emphasize all the hard work.

  Anna’s eyes grew round as she looked at the banner again and then back at me. She tucked a few of her dark brown braids behind her ear. “‘Gala’ sounds fancy. Do you have to get dressed up? What are you wearing?”

  I’d never known my favorite patron to take an interest in fashion, but teens were always reinventing themselves. “Eh, ‘gala’ is just a euphemism for fundraiser.” I waved my hand dismissively. “Basically, the Friends of the Library invite as many rich people as they can to the gala and try to convince them to give money to the library. They can write the donations off on their taxes, so it’s a win-win!”

  My young friend smirked. “I figured as much. I hope they give lots and lots this year so you can buy lots and lots of new books!”

  “Me too!” I assured her.

  And to help achieve that outcome, I had everything crossed: fingers, toes, and whatever other body parts were crossable—eyes? We needed to make a lot of money this year because our budget was slashed by the town council last year, and I had a whole backlist of things I wanted to order as soon as this money cleared the bank. I was going on a major shopping spree, and I couldn’t wait!

  Buying books was now my favorite past-time—ever since I gave up on baking. No matter how closely I followed the recipe, everything I baked turned out to be an epic disaster. And no one would let me forget it. Especially considering my last name is Baker.

  Anna brought me out of my book-buying fantasy with her next question: “So, what are you wearing, then?” She leaned toward the desk to collect the stack of books I’d just checked out to her, then stuffed them into the canvas bag she was wearing over her shoulder.

  I sighed. “Um, good question.”

  I hadn’t really thought that far ahead yet. I’d been busy worrying about the caterers and the entertainment (a magician to go with the theme—I wasn’t a big fan of the idea, but the Friends of the Library, particularly the mayor’s wife, insisted) and making sure my boss wouldn’t yell at me for screwing something up. She expected nothing less than perfection at all times. It felt like no matter how carefully I planned, something—even a tiny little trivial detail—would inevitably go wrong.

  “Do you have any nice dresses?” Anna pressed.

  “Nice dresses,” I repeated like it was a foreign phrase rolling off my tongue for the first time. “Well, I have the dresses I wear to work and church. Guess I’ll just wear one of those.” I shrugged because my gala outfit was down at the very bottom of my priority list.

  Anna’s nose wrinkled up as she fixed her gaze on me. “I think you can do better than that, Ms. Baker.”

  I bit my lip to avoid laughing because the seriousness on her face was epic. “Anna, my dear, I do appreciate your concern, but I’m a fluffy forty-two-year-old librarian who’s never been married. And though I’m completely fabulous in many ways, I haven’t worn a fancy dress since my high school prom, and I probably never will.”

  An apology showed up in the downturn of her lips and furrowing of her brows. “I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t be harassing you about your clothes,” her face brightened, “but I could totally see you in a pretty red dress. Hope you’ll take some pictures of the gala for the library’s social media accounts. It sounds like fun…you know, if you’re into that sort of thing.” She gestured to her bookbag. “I’d still rather be home reading.”

  She wasn’t the only one. “Thanks, and of course I will.” A smile crept across my face at her earnestness. She was an old soul in a tiny teenager’s body. “And I’m sure I’ll find something suitable to wear.”

  “You can’t actually be forty-two,” Anna continued, completely straight-faced. “I would have said thirty-five at the oldest.”

  Now I was laughing. Teenagers almost always gave it to you straight; I liked that about them. They were a tough crowd sometimes, but I adored working with them. I loved my job as a Young Adult librarian, and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  “I hope you enjoy your weekend,” I told her as she turned to head for the door with a spring in her step. She could tell she’d made my day, and she seemed a little high on the victory. I loved that for her. And me. I could be a cranky, moody chick from time to time—despite my first name—but I really did enjoy my teens. Particularly Miss Anna Cooper. They kept me young.

  “Oh, don’t you worry! I will!” she called over her shoulder, her new braces sparkling in her wide grin. “Good luck with the gala!”

  “I’ll post lots of pics,” I promised, waving to her. Then I turned back to my list of approximately four million things I needed to do and added one more bullet point at the very bottom: find something to wear.

  I’d gotten home from work late, of course, which meant I had even less time to tackle that last-minute addition to my to-do list: the wardrobe conundrum. I threw my bag down on the kitchen table and was immediately assaulted by my two cats: Bond, my male tuxedo cat, named after James Bond (naturally); and my female long-haired calico, Paige, full name Paige Turner (because I’m a super clever librarian). She also refused to answer to a plethora of nicknames: Paigie-Poo, Pooh Bear, Paigie Patootie, and my personal favorite, Paigella DeVille, which she earned when she was being less than cuddly and congenial.

  “Hi, yes, I missed you too!” I cooed as I rubbed their furry little faces in tandem. This was why God gave me two hands. I was sure of it.

  I scooped their food into their respective dishes and patted them both on the heads before they scurried over to sample the flavor of the day. Fish. Ewww. The smell lingered in the air as I rushed down the hall to the bathroom.

  I lived in a quaint little wood-shingled cottage not far from the beach, though nobody was that far from the water in our small coastal town of Bryce Beach, named after Nathaniel Bryce. He and his crew of men sailed from England in 1637. They were aiming for the Massachusetts colony when they were blown off-course and ended up quite a bit farther south. Like the Puritans and Pilgrims, the Bryce Beach founders were pursuing religious liberty, which took them on their treacherous journey across the Atlantic.

  The library where I worked, aptly named Bryce Beach Public Library, boasted a prized possession: a Bible that dated back to the very first church established in town, and it was signed by none other than Nathaniel Bryce and the other founding fathers, the five surviving men he’d been shipwrecked with just off the coast. They swam to shore, set up a little village, and the rest is history! Like, literally history. Every kid who grows up in Bryce Beach learns the story by the time they’re in fourth grade.

  I turned on the shower, and while waiting for it to warm up, I bravely marched to my closet to secure a garment for tonight’s event. I pushed hanger after hanger farther and farther back on the rack after eliminating most of my dresses. Too short. Too tight. Too flowery. Too polka-dotty. Then, finally, it was like God sent a choir of angels to serenade me, because I was pretty sure I heard a heavenly “Ahhhhh!” as a halo of light shimmered around a pretty cranberry-red dress I’d forgotten I even owned.

  Didn’t Anna say I would look lovely in red? I remembered, pulling it off the hanger and holding it up to my body. Wondering what the chances were that it would actually fit me, I threw it on the bed to await its fate while I took my shower.

  When I returned ten minutes later, it was still there, looking up at me like Cinderella begging to go to the ball. I toweled off, slid the dress up, and lo and behold, like some sort of miracle, it zipped right up. I was right. This dress was the product of divine intervention; I just knew it.

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I checked out the fit. I was never what I would call happy with my body in any outfit, but to my surprise, this dress wasn’t half bad. Which is to say I looked sorta good. Alright, that might be pushing it. I definitely looked okay. Super okay!

  I brushed out my frizzy red curls, scrunched them with some curl cream, then hastily redid my makeup, knowing any second my doorbell would ring. My coworkers and best friends, Molly and Evangeline, were picking me up any minute, and they would get on my case if I was still fussing with my hair and makeup.

  I’d only achieved half a smoky eye when the doorbell ding-donged at the front of the house. I scurried in my bare feet—I hadn’t yet tackled the footwear issue—to open the door, though if I waited long enough, they’d surely show themselves in.

  “You’re not ready yet!” Evangeline screeched. “I told you, Molly.” Her hands flew to her slim hips as her lips drew themselves into a tight purse.

  I wasn’t exactly Miss Mary Sunshine, despite my name, but my colleague Evangeline was even grumpier than me. We considered it an endearing quality. If we were Care Bears, she’d be Grumpy Bear. Plus, if I were a cataloguer, I’d probably be grumpy too. I barely passed my cataloging class in library school. I couldn’t imagine doing it for eight hours a day! It required a level of patience and meticulousness the Good Lord did not bless me with.

  Molly, who was the polar opposite of Evangeline, with long, wavy blonde hair and a full, curvy figure like my own, turned her pale blue eyes to me, sweeping them down my body. “Oh, I love your dress! You look amazing, Sunshine!”

  “Thanks, Molls!” I twirled around, relishing the way the silky red fabric lifted and swished around my thighs. If I wasn’t careful walking over a subway grate, I could very well have a Marilyn Monroe Seven Year Itch moment. Fortunately, we didn’t have a subway in Bryce Beach. I didn’t even think we had a bus or a taxi.

  How could I buy myself some time? Oh, I know…

  “Hey, there are some cookies on the counter if you want a snack while you wait,” I plied them.

  A look of horror crept across Molly’s face, while Evangeline stifled a chuckle. “Cookies you baked?” the former asked, her voice wavering with trepidation.

  I rolled my eyes. “They’re from the bakery on the boardwalk.”

  My baking fiascos were well known. For most of my thirties, I tried my hardest to live up to my surname, Baker. My mother was a wonderful baker—people clamored for her famous chocolate fudge three-layer cake three towns over. My Grandma Baker’s pies regularly took home blue ribbons from the county fair. But my attempts always ended in utter disaster. When I turned forty, I finally gave up on ever mastering baking. Heck, I couldn’t even claim beginner status. No wonder I hadn’t ever snagged a husband!

  “Well, are you gonna go finish getting ready or what?” Evangeline growled as she examined her nails. They were usually painted black to match her goth aesthetic, but she’d changed her nail polish to echo her purple dress.

  “Hello to you too,” I called over my shoulder as I pranced back down the hall. Could I get away without wearing shoes? I knew my friends were going to insist on heels to go with this epic dress, and I was already dreading them with every fiber of my being.

  I finished my eye makeup and swept on some lip gloss before giving myself a final once-over in the bathroom mirror. It was as good as it was gonna get. Thankfully, no one would be paying attention to me tonight—not like they ever did. Despite my red hair and m
outhy nature, I tended to fade right into the background. Besides, the goal was to bring in as much money as possible for the library. Nothing mattered except everything going smoothly with NO hiccups.

  After grabbing my coat and purse off the sofa, I turned to my posse. “Well, ladies, are we ready?”

  “Sunshine Baker!” Evangeline broke out my full name. “Where in the world do you think you are going with no shoes?”

  I glanced down at my still bare feet. “Oh, yeah.”

  Molly laughed as I tiptoed to the closet in my foyer and pulled out a very sensible pair of black flats. Then she adamantly shook her head and broke out the same line Anna Cooper used on me earlier today: “I think you can do better than that!”

  Evangeline was tapping her toe against my hardwood floor. She must use all her patience up on cataloging books. It was such a tedious process, after all.

  “Grab some heels, and let’s go, Sunshine,” she urged me. “You don’t want to be late to your own event!”