November 14, 2023

Jocelyn “Joss” Miller, a twenty-something barista, works at Sugar Creek Cafe, a hip coffeehouse with deep ties to the local arts and music community.  Joss is finally feeling like she’s found her purpose as her recently launched true crime podcast soars in popularity.  With her family’s blessings, Joss produces a special tribute to her grandfather.

What seems like a step towards healing instead sets off a firestorm of reactions in the community. There are a few who would rather not be reminded of how Joss’s grandfather had been murdered years ago. When the staunchest protester is found dead, Joss becomes the number one suspect.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a spin-off series from the Eugeena Patterson Mysteries. Joss lives with her grandmother, Louise Hopkins, and is Eugeena’s next-door neighbor. This first book in the Joss Miller Series is a follow-up to the story revealed in Oven Baked Secrets.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Urban Radio Station
Charleston, SC

DJ Nyla B: What’s up, Sugar Creek! We have our very own Joss Miller on the show today. Joss, thank you for being here today. 

Joss: Thank you for having me.

DJ Nyla B: Not a problem, girlfriend. Now me and you go way back. Tell our listeners about your recently launched true crime podcast. I hear it’s getting a lot of attention. Why did you start it?

Joss: Sure! The Cold Justice Podcast dives into real stories of victims of a crime. This first season is very close to home for me. The circumstances of my grandfather’s death in 1968, have never really been addressed, and I don’t want people to forget what happened.

DJ Nyla B: I feel you, girl. It takes a lot of courage to delve into personal and often painful stories. Can you give our listeners a glimpse into your grandfather’s case? 

Joss: Absolutely. My grandfather, August Manning, was a beloved member of this community. He was a kind-hearted man who, I’ve been told, was one of the greatest baseball players in the South. It was his dream to play major league baseball like Jackie Robinson. His murder was never fully investigated, but many of the young men who beat him to death were from prominent families in the community. 

DJ Nyla B: That’s tough. It sounds like you’re on a mission to seek justice for your grandfather. Can you tell us a little about what listeners can expect from the podcast?

Joss: Certainly. The podcast will take listeners on a journey through the stories of those who knew my grandfather and the impact his death had on our community. All the episodes will be available for all those folks who like to binge through a podcast. I pray it sparks some closure for my family.

DJ Nyla B: Well, Joss, your passion and dedication are truly inspiring. Thank you for joining us today. We’ll be eagerly tuning in to the Cold Justice Podcast and supporting you.

Joss: Thank you so much for having me.

Double Delights

Monday, September 12, 3:30 p.m.

It’s finally happening! You did it, Joss!

A sharp, burning pain zapped my hand, diffusing my burst of joy. “Ouch.” My hands shook as I carefully put the carafe back on the warmer, not wanting to cause any more injury to myself. I cringed as a tiny puddle of coffee inched closer to the edge of the counter. In the excitement of hearing my morning interview on the radio, I’d missed pouring the coffee into actual the cup. Snagging a cloth from underneath the counter, I dabbed up the coffee before I ended up having to mop the floor too.

I looked down at my scorched hand but still kept an ear trained on the speakers in the corner of the ceiling. DJ Nyla B. had switched back to a smooth, head-bobbing melody. I’d known DJ Nyla B. since elementary school when she was just Nyla Masters. I knew she would continue to promote the interview and the podcast throughout her shift on the radio today.

“You should slap some aloe on that hand,” a deep masculine voice advised me.

Looking across Sugar Creek Café’s counter, a customer had entered without me noticing. How long had he been standing there? 

Oh wow! He’s new — and a total snack.

My lips curved into a grin, even though my cheeks burned, and my hand throbbed. I moved toward the register to take his order, probably looking like a grade-A klutz.

“Hey there! Sorry about that. What can I get you today?”

The man had brown eyes that oozed with worry. He sported a fade around the sides of his oval shaped face and had a tuft of curly hair on top.

“Are you okay?” he inquired.

At first, I thought I must have been staring too hard at him, but then I noticed he was focused on my injured hand. Why was he so worried? Although my hand was still stinging, it really wasn’t that bad.

Hiding my pain was something I’d become quite good at over the years. “I’m all good,” I said, flashing him another smile to conceal my discomfort.

“You should probably get that checked out.” The man motioned toward my hand as if he wanted to examine it more closely, but thought better of it and pulled back.

I tucked my hand behind my back, keeping up the facade—smiling and holding eye contact. “No worries! Just one hazard of being a barista.” It was time to get the focus off me and onto this man who’d held my attention. “Are you new here? I’ve never seen you in here before.”

Sugar Creek was a pretty tight-knit community, and the café was a center of attraction. I felt like most residents and tourists came through these doors.

He smiled. “Just moved to Charleston. Started at CPD a few weeks ago as one of their detectives. Heard around the station that Sugar Creek Café has the best coffee in Charleston.”

A detective. I’d totally pegged him for a doc. 

But detective somehow upped his hotness quotient.

Calm down, Joss. You’re on the clock. Keep it together.

Kind of hard to do since the man saw me spilling coffee all over me and the counter.

“Welcome to Sugar Creek Café! Our motto is ‘Coffee for the Soul.’” I gestured toward the large letters written above us. “What can I whip up for you today?”

“Black coffee, please.”

I smiled. My cheeks were starting to hurt. “Coming right up.” As I turned, I wished the counter wasn’t so open. Customers could see everything we do, including spilling hot coffee on yourself. Thankfully, the pain in my hand had subsided. I concentrated on reversing the poor first impression I had made.

“Here you go, Detective…” 

He flashed a brilliant smile my way. “Detective Baez, Andre Baez.” He looked at my apron. “And your name is Jocelyn?”

I had another apron stitched with my nickname, but that one was in the laundry. “I prefer Joss. Joss Miller.”

Why did I sound like I’d just ran a marathon? 

Oh my goodness, the way he was looking straight into my eyes, all I could do was grip the counter to steady myself.

“Let me know if you need something else.” I turned my burning face away to look at the clock. It was almost dinnertime, two hours before closing. “We have soups, sandwiches and desserts if you want anything else.”

His tongue slid along his lips before he answered. “I will be back again. Those desserts do look really good. But I have a long night ahead of me, so this will be enough for now. I will see you around, Joss Miller.”

“Can’t wait.” He walked away, and I observed, that despite the late afternoon hour, his suit didn’t have a single wrinkle. The broad backside and what I could glimpse from under the jacket had me riveted until the door opened and shut.

I let out a long sigh, wondering what he meant by ‘a long night ahead.’ My hobbies comprised reading mysteries; police procedurals were my favorite. I sure wouldn’t mind talking to him again.

Ugh, not again! 

My bad habits stuck like superglue. It didn’t help that I’d just reached a six-month man-drought. Every time a man stomped on my heart, I’d swear off guys until another one caught my eye.

And Detective Baez, Andre Baez, had definitely snagged my attention. I had some connections at CPD too. Hmm, I might have to do some digging.

“What was that about?”

Spinning around to find not only my boss, but also the other barista on the clock, I nearly jumped out of my apron. Both of them had amused looks on their faces, but I frowned. “Y’all didn’t see all that, did you?”

With turquoise cat-framed glasses perched on her nose, my boss, Fay Everett eyed me. She wore her locs in a headband today, making them sit high above her head. A sly smile spread across her face, highlighting her smooth, deep chocolate complexion. “Were you flirting on the clock, Miss Miller?”

I opened my eyes wide at the accusation. “What? No.” I looked down at my hand, mainly out of shame because I had been attempting to flirt. That’s when I noticed a welt appearing.

Fay glanced down. “Girl, go put something on that. I can’t have you around the customers looking like you forgot how to pour coffee.”

I cringed at Fay’s words. She didn’t mean any harm by it. Since I started working here, she’d become like a big sister to me, schooling me on how to accept adulting. I’d come to her a pretty lost soul. I started as a barista two years ago. I was technically still a barista, but my boss believed in rewarding good work and promoted me to assistant manager. Today though, I felt like a total noob.

Over in the corner, I heard my coworker Hailey Ramsey, snickering. She was a tall girl with a ginger ponytail that hung down her back. We all wore caramel colored blouses with brown pants. Hailey’s pale ankles showed under her pants. Her Harry Potter looking glasses gave her a wide-eyed appearance like Marcy from the Charlie Brown comics. 

I gave her the eye. “You could have taken his order. You knew I was tired.” I had been trying to sneak that cup of coffee for myself. I’d been working nights to get the Cold Justice podcast recorded and posted, and it was like a full-time job.

Hailey shook her head vigorously. “No, I would have made an even worse impression than you. You always know how to turn on the charm. That guy liked you.”

With a huge grin on my face, I headed to the back where we kept supplies. Next to Fay’s office and a small lounge used for employee breaks, Fay had a farm sink installed a year ago, which we all adored. I grabbed the stainless steel faucet and spread my fingers apart under cold water, reveling in the coolness. 

Fay showed up at my elbow with a bottle of aloe vera gel. “Let me see your hand. I’m not trying to pay you worker’s comp. Girl, I can’t afford that.”

I rolled my eyes. “No need to be dramatic. I should have been paying attention.”

Fay grinned back at me. “Mmm, I know why you were distracted. We don’t get too many folks like him walking in here. Looked like he walked in off a movie set.”

“He’s a detective, new to CPD.”

“Oh yeah? Well, that explains why that suit fit so well across those broad shoulders.”

I looked at Fay. “Aren’t you and Joe still together?”

Fay had been in a relationship with Joe Phillips, a local plumber who dropped by the café at least once a week, and usually not for coffee. He always made a beeline for Fay’s office. If Sugar Creek wasn’t a close-knit neighborhood where everybody knew your business, our regular customers would think we had plumbing problems all the time.

She glared at me. “I can look if I want to. Men do it all the time. Plus, I’m probably too old for Mr. Detective. I’m already skirting the lines of being a cougar.”

I giggled. “Joe is only three years younger than you.”

“Yeah, I know, but it still messes with my head. I’m in my forties and he’s still in his thirties.”

“Thirty-nine. He will catch up with you next year.”

My hand was feeling slightly better with the aloe.

Fay grinned, “Congratulations, by the way. I heard DJ Nyla B mention your podcast on the air. That’s great that she’s helping you promote.”

“Thank you! And I appreciate all the support I can get.”

Fay wrapped her arm around me. “I know you started the podcast for a good cause. More people need to hear about what happened to your grandfather.” A gleam appeared in her eyes. “Work your magic and maybe your detective friend can help you with future podcast episodes.”

I tilted my head to the side, realizing the boss lady had struck an idea. “We just met. Very awkward meeting, I might add. But you know, I could use a real detective alongside my research.”

Fay nudged me in the back. “While you are recruiting help, someone needs to help me encourage Eleanor to go home. She’s been typing away all day. I tell you what, if that woman didn’t buy coffee and food all day, I would have to kick her out. She really uses this café like an office.”

The café had lots of regulars. Most people in Sugar Creek stopped in at least once a week. Others, like Eleanor Olsen,  practically lived at the café, showing up in the morning and leaving when we closed. Eleanor was an author with several published mysteries. I’d read all of her books and they were really good. I could never guess who did it. She claimed she loved the café’s atmosphere and insisted being here helped with her writer’s block. 

I couldn’t blame her. Sugar Creek Café was not trendy and sleek like the popular franchise coffeehouses. Fay’s vision was to create the illusion of walking into someone’s home. There were various tables, all round, some small and others wide. Each table was fitted with high-back wooden chairs. Along the walls of the café were booths with high backs for privacy. And if you really wanted to make yourself at home, Fay had a seating area in the back of the café with plush chairs and couches. That’s usually where some of our residents stayed most of the day. Eleanor claimed a booth, and it was well known to Sugar Creek regulars to stay away from sitting there.

 I grabbed the carafe, my mind drifting back to my earlier mishap in front of Detective Baez. Maybe he would become a regular, too. I walked from behind the counter to find Eleanor wasn’t the only one in the café this evening. 

Sammie Morrison, an older black man in his seventies, sat at one of the tables and across from him was Claude McKnight, whose long hair long was pulled back in a man bun. Claude was maybe ten years older than me, which placed him in his late-thirties. Sometimes the two men liked to play chess. I hadn’t figured out the story behind their friendship, but I knew about having unique friendships. 

“Hey, Sammie and Claude. I see you two slipped in while I was in the back.”

Sammie tapped his fork on his plate. “Had to get some of this sweet potato pie. Fay said she just made it this morning.” He held up his cup. “Oh yeah, coffee too.”

I chuckled. “Everyone knows you come here for Fay’s sweet potato pie more than for the coffee, Sammie.”

His face crinkled around his eyes with joy. “She makes it just like my mama. I told her if Joe doesn’t treat her right this time, let me know.”

His table mate, Claude, broke in. “Now, Sammie, you know you’re old enough to be Fay’s daddy.”

Sammie sucked in a breath. “Don’t you know age ain’t nothing but a number?”

We all laughed.

I’d heard Sammie played a mean guitar, and several other instruments. It occurred to me that I hadn’t been seeing him in the cafe that regularly. Though he still was a tall man, he also seemed frail at times too. He used to help us coordinate Friday night jams, but stopped coming to them about a year ago. Sammie introduced a lot of musicians to us, both old and young.

That’s why I fell in love with working here. An artist herself, Fay loved opening the doors to all walks of life, but she had a soft spot for artisans. Every second Friday of the month, Sugar Creek Café hosted a singer, a band and often spoken word poets. Fay rotated art on the walls from local artists like Claude. Not many people knew Fay had created several of the vibrant art pieces of women featured on the café’s walls.

Before I kept going, I reached out and touched Sammie’s shoulder. “Thank you for letting me interview you about my grandfather. It’s good to know so many people remember him.”

Sammie got a faraway look in his eye. “August was special. Many people knew him as a baseball player, but he could sing. He could have gone either way, played in a league like Jackie Robinson or sang like Sam Cooke.”

I bit my lip to hold back emotion for a man I’d only seen in photos but had heard so much about in the past few years.

Claude broke the silence. “I heard the podcast episode today, Joss. Great start! Any ideas on your next couple of episodes? You got to keep it going.”

“Thank you, Claude. Yeah, I have a notebook full of ideas. And, people have been emailing me stories too. It’s been amazing! Oh, and everyone has been talking about the artwork you did for the podcast. It really makes it stand out among the other podcasts. I’ll email you some of the feedback.”

Claude grinned, “That’s great. I loved creating it for you.”

“You guys enjoy your evening. Let me check on Eleanor.”

Usually, Eleanor Olsen started the day with a caramel latte or, if she was being more health conscious, she ordered a green tea chai. I knew her writing was going strong when she started the day with black coffee. As I approached the booth, I could see her shoulders hunched over her laptop.

Eleanor was quite a hip dresser for her age, often sporting a tracksuit and sneakers. Today she wore a pale pink one with gray stripes down the sides of her pants. Her fuchsia pink cat glasses sat perched at the end of her regal nose.

“Eleanor, I’m loving your outfit and those glasses.” When I wasn’t in my barista uniform, I’d been described as having an eclectic style.

“That means a lot coming from you,” Eleanor said, “And, you’re just in time. This plot has me stuck, which means it’s probably time for me to call it a day.” She dropped her voice. “Quite the showstopper we had in here earlier.”

I raised an eyebrow at first, not sure what she was referring too. Then I blushed, “Oh, you mean…”

She returned a raised eyebrow. “I’m an old woman, not a dead one, Joss. Did I hear he was a detective? You seemed really friendly.”

“It’s my job, Eleanor. Customer service. Yes, he’s a detective. Detective Baez.”

Eleanor picked up her freshly poured coffee and took a sip. “Mmm, I take it he’s new. Probably homicide. They just had a detective retire. You know I know everyone at CPD.”

I shook my head. “I bet you do, Eleanor.”

“Can I get a slice of that sweet potato pie before Sammie finishes it? I know Fay wants me out of here soon.”

I chuckled. “Sure, thing. I will wrap you up a slice.”

I turned to head back behind the counter, and the café door flew open causing the familiar chimes to clang harshly against the door. 

The girth of a large woman filled the doorway. Catching sight of me, she pointed her finger. “You! Why can’t you leave things alone?”