Chaos at Coconuts
Table of Contents
CHAOS AT COCONUTS
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
CHAOS AT COCONUTS
Book 2
BETH CARTER
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
CHAOS AT COCONUTS
Copyright©2018
BETH CARTER
Cover Design by Wren Taylor
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
P.O. Box 24
Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-643-8
www.SoulMatePublishing.com
The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
To my girlfriends.
I’m still in touch with girlfriends from the first grade, as well as some coworkers from nearly four decades ago. I’ve also grown close to many writer friends and loyal readers.
Eternally grateful for my friends’ love, support, and friendship, I dedicate this book to them. The bedrock of my Coconuts series is about friendship. I hope you always surround yourself with good friends.
Acknowledgments
To my parents, Jay and Carol Holmes, for their unending love, support, and for keeping all of my books on their coffee table! Their marriage is a true 61-year happily ever after.
Thanks to artist Andi Osiek who created and sold tornado jewelry after the EF5 tornado in Joplin, Missouri, inspiring a touching scene.
To Andy Johnston illustrious musician, high school orchestra teacher, and Faculty Associate, Southwest Baptist University, who provided input for the tornado drill and other school trivia.
Thanks to writer Beverly Crandell who assisted me with an amusing scene that occurs in the hippie van. And to Heather Thompson who won a contest by naming the VW Microbus.
To fellow author Linda Rose who posted a photo of a distinctive cocktail which inspired a rousing scene at Coconuts.
Thanks to former classmate Emmy Cole who suggested the perfect name for my New Yorker’s catering business.
To my sister, Alison Holmes, who has regaled me with tales that I embellished for this novel.
Thank you to every single member of my reader group, Beth’s Book Babes. Your enthusiasm inspires me, fills my writerly tank, and makes me smile. If you want to join Beth’s Book Babes to receive sneak peeks, exclusive cover reveals, contests, and discuss books and writing, contact me at www.bethcarter.com
A huge thanks to my loyal readers and fans who’ve read my work and suggested the initial book, THURSDAYS AT COCONUTS, become a series. I can’t tell you how much your kind words and reviews mean to me.
Thank you to last-minute Beta readers Amanda Brown and Karan Eleni for another set of expert eyes.
Thanks to artist Wren Taylor who created my beautiful cover art, perfectly capturing the wealthy socialite newcomer.
As always, I’m grateful to Debby Gilbert, Senior Editor and Founder of Soul Mate Publishing, who believed in me early on and is always at the ready with support, encouragement, and answers.
Finally, thank you and love to my long-suffering, wonderful husband who doesn’t mind eating out—or cooking—if I’m on deadline and gives me a wide berth when I’m in the zone.
Chapter 1
“Who the hell is that?” Alex jumped off her bar stool to get a better view as a shiny, black stretch limo stopped in front of Coconuts.
Her two best friends, Suzy and Hope, swiveled their heads in an obvious attempt to follow Alex’s gaze. Hope’s eyes widened as she waved a salsa-laden chip in the air. “Looks like we have a celebrity in Crystal City.”
Suzy craned her neck around the fake palm tree near the front. “Nah. My money’s on a Branson entertainer.”
The threesome observed the hubb
ub as Gus, the flip-flop wearing server, inquired about refills. The women nodded affirmatively without taking their eyes off the scene. Soon Gus plunked fresh drinks on the table—a chardonnay for Alex, a margarita for Hope, and a merlot for Suzy.
Alex concentrated on the entrance so she wouldn’t miss a second of the commotion as a driver opened the passenger door. A toned leg wearing expensive red-soled heels appeared underneath. Photographers leapt out of the bushes and dozens of cameras flashed. Alex rubbed her hands together. “This isn’t a local. This is going to be good.”
Chapter 2
ONE WEEK BEFORE
Cheri Van Buren folded her favorite pink cashmere sweater, Gucci jeans, and added red-soled Louboutin designer shoes. It’s been years since I’ve been to Missouri. I wish it weren’t under these circumstances. She wiped away a tear as she added a second pair of chic boots to the already heaping piles of shoes near her suitcase.
Hands on her hips, she studied her massive closet, which looked more like a boutique. The gleaming shelves were filled with upscale shoes, rows of expensive purses, and enough clothes to put a women’s clothing store to shame. A faint cedar smell wafted from the drawers, thanks to her nanny, Pearl, who was more of a friend than an employee, because her parents, the Van Burens, had traveled extensively since Cheri was a young girl. Pearl had added the woodsy repellant weeks earlier, telling her, “Miss Cheri, it would be a pity for moths to ruin those fancy outfits. You’re lucky. Take care of them clothes.” As hard as Cheri tried, she couldn’t talk Pearl into calling her by her first name and often gave her clothes and shoes for her three daughters.
Snapping back to reality, Cheri studied her reflection in the closet’s floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a necessity so she could quickly examine her appearance before stepping into the glaring spotlight of New York’s sneakiest and fastest paparazzi. Opening a gigantic jewelry armoire, Cheri chose a few pieces of her favorite, more modest jewelry for her Midwestern trip. She hated packing, especially not knowing how long she’d be gone. Leaving her Manhattan comfort zone, she absentmindedly chewed on a cherry-red nail as she placed more items in her luggage.
It had been two decades since she and her parents had visited the cozy Midwestern town of Branson. At the time, she had been in elementary school but fondly remembered the lemonade and homemade oatmeal raisin cookies her grandmother always served on a spacious wooden deck overlooking Crystal Lake. She loved those memories. Now that was all she had of her sweet Nana.
She sniffled as her childhood recollections of her grandmother’s front porch flooded back. After piling sundresses, shirts, tanks, blouses, belts, skirts, palazzo pants, jeans, yoga pants, and several scarves on her bed, Cheri scanned her closet. The evenings are cool by the water. She added a cropped denim jacket, black bomber jacket, and a white sweater. There. That should cover any Midwestern event. Satisfied, she folded her clothes, crammed them inside, and closed the suitcase. After all, she wouldn’t be there long. She laughed. I’ll likely have my head stuck in my oven sampling recipes and won’t need one-third of this.
Traipsing to the fridge, Cheri gathered grapes, strawberries, Havarti dill cheese, and a Diet Coke. After she ate, she placed her suitcases by the door and contacted the security company, her doorman, and Gage, her limo driver, to verify her pick-up time. Now, I’m ready for this adventure. Branson, here I come.
Chapter 3
Always late, Alex sped to Show-Me Bank and proudly eyed the new bank sign and logo as she nearly rounded the corner on two wheels. As vice president of marketing, she had created the new name and pitched it to the board of directors who had approved her branding concept.
The new logo was more modern and larger than the former Community National Bank sign. Thrilled her boss and the board had accepted the new name, she virtually patted herself on the back. She loved her bank marketing job. Every day was different and consisted of meetings with sales representatives from radio and television stations, billboard companies, newspapers, trade shows, community leaders, and more. Thriving on variety and deadlines, Alex knew marketing was the perfect fit for her touch of OCD and perfectionism. She loved to sweat the details.
After she punched in the back door code, she chatted with two loan assistants who were making photocopies in the back room. As usual, Alex immediately made her way toward the upstairs coffee machine in the employee lounge. Occasionally she cursed the fact the coffee was too far away but other days she was happy for the exercise.
As she filled her cup to the brim, tellers plunked their time cards into the machine and then into their designated slots. Alex was salaried so she didn’t have to bother with that nonsense, which was a good thing since she rarely made it to work at 8 o’clock on the dot but it more than balanced out since she was often the last bank officer to leave at night. She searched the drawer for sweetener and creamer.
“Morning.”
Alex jumped as her boss reached across her to grab his favorite mug.
“You startled me. Morning, Jim.”
“I have exciting news for you today.”
Alex cocked her head. “Is that so? What?”
Jim Hooban, the bank president, scanned the room. “Not here. Meet me in my office in five minutes.”
Alex nodded, glugged half her coffee, and refilled her mug. She walked downstairs, scooted her purse underneath her desk, and grabbed a legal pad. As she crossed the lobby, she greeted New Accounts customers before she entered her boss’s expansive office. He still hadn’t made it back from the employee lounge—likely chatting with a loan officer—so she settled into a chair across from his desk and doodled on her pad.
After several minutes, she absentmindedly straightened her navy pinstripe suit and tugged at the collar of her ivory blouse. I wonder what the good news is. I hope Jim’s idea of good news and mine are the same. She balanced a legal pad on her lap and sipped lukewarm coffee as Jim walked inside. He took his time turning his computer on and scanning voicemail. Alex fidgeted and glanced at her watch. She wanted to remind him that he had said to be there in five minutes but didn’t dare. He was her boss. Besides, she was the one who was always late.
Finally, Jim cleared his throat. “Alex, after your presentation, including such great branding for our new bank name, the board met to discuss several options.” He grinned. “We’ve decided to expand.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Expand?”
“Yes. Build a new bank and possibly buy more community banks.”
Alex poised her pen to make notes. “Fantastic. Where?”
“We will eventually have two more branches, but for now, we’ve identified a busy intersection on the southwest side of town at the corner of Oak and Lynn.”
“That’s a great location near restaurants, gas stations, and a shopping strip.” She talked while she wrote. “It’ll be perfect for attracting new businesses.” Alex loved challenges. “When are you thinking about breaking ground?”
“Oh, that’ll be a few months. We’re working with the city on the egress right now. The left turn lane is tricky since there’s also a convenience store next door but I think we can convince city leaders that it’ll work just fine. I have a meeting scheduled tomorrow with our city attorney.”
“What can I do in the meantime?” Alex asked.
“Start preliminary planning for a grand opening. A huge, impressive grand opening. We’ll invite current customers, employees, board members, nearby business owners, the Chamber, and of course, hundreds of our new neighbors who live near Oak and Lynn. You can target that specific area, right?”
“Sure. That’s easy with direct mail. We can target specific zip codes, ages, even income ranges with demographics. If you want psychographics, I can determine—”
Jim held up his hand. “Don’t get too in the weeds with your marketing mumbo-jumbo.” He winked. “I know you’re on top of the ins and ou
ts and I’m glad. I prefer to crunch the numbers.” He laughed. “For now, start the planning process. Think about the big picture. We have several hoops to jump through before we can break ground.”
“This sounds like a big project.” Alex rubbed her hands together. “I love challenges. I’ll put a committee together right away.”
Jim leaned back. His plush, tan leather chair creaked. “That’s another part of the good news. You won’t need a committee.”
Alex furrowed her brows. “I beg to differ, boss. With an event of this magnitude, it would be helpful to involve several employees. Besides, many of them will eventually relocate to that branch, won’t they? It would be beneficial if our bankers got familiar with the neighboring businesses and customers.” She tapped the pen on the paper wondering how he could argue with that logic and added one last punch. “Think of the hundreds, if not thousands, of potential customers we can contact before even breaking ground.” Satisfied she had made her case, Alex sat back and waited for his answer.
“Sure. Sure. At some point, you might need a committee but you won’t need their involvement. Not yet. I have a better idea.”
Alex couldn’t imagine what her boss was thinking. She crossed her arms. “I’m listening.”
“Hannah, come in.”
Chapter 4
Hope wrinkled her nose as she sipped Hilltop High School’s acrid coffee. She waved to Britney who bounded steps two at a time, obviously in an attempt to race to class. In the hallway, Hope passed her colleague, Willow, the cool, new hippie art teacher. After chatting with Willow for a moment, she approached her own office.
When Hope stepped inside her door, one of the smartest students in school—most likely the valedictorian-to-be—was already seated in a gray vinyl chair in front of her desk. She sat across from him and reached into her drawer for ibuprofen.
“Hello, Will. This is a nice surprise. Hold on a sec. I’ve got a massive headache.”