The owner of a delightful Southern café tastes the sharp sting of suspicion in this delectable comfort food mystery . . .   It’s fall in Winter Garden, Virginia, and business at Amy Flowers’ Down South Café has never been better. So when struggling beekeeper Stuart Landon asks Amy to sell some of his honey, she’s happy to help. The jars of honey are a sweet success, but their partnership is cut short when Amy discovers Landon’s body outside the café early one morning.   As Amy tries to figure out who could possibly have wanted to harm the unassuming beekeeper, she discovers an ever-expanding list of suspects—and they’re all buzzing mad. She’ll have to use all of her skills—and her Southern charm—to find her way out of this sticky situation... Praise for The Calamity Café   “[A] delightful cozy mystery...that will leave you wanting more...You’ll be drooling over the delicious Southern dishes Amy is serving up.”—Fresh Fiction   “Leeson’s first in a new series gives readers everything they could ask for in a pleasing summer read. Likable and relatable characters are in abundance, as is a fascinating mystery that needs to be solved. But the best part of the book is the addition of several good old Southern recipes in the back.”— RT Book Reviews   “I absolutely loved The Calamity Café !!! This book was a well-written mystery, with charming characters and down-home recipes that will make your mouth water.”—Moonlight Rendezvous   “We are treated to a murder mystery and some romantic overtones…If you’re looking for a fun summer read, this would be a wonderful choice.”—Book Babble   “Gayle Leeson has hit a home run with The Calamity Café .”—Open Book Society Gayle Leeson is a pseudonym for Gayle Trent, who also writes the national bestselling Embroidery Mysteries as Amanda Lee. She lives in Virginia with her family and is having a blast writing the Down South Café Mysteries. Chapter 1 I was working on breakfast prep when my cousin Jackie popped her head into the kitchen and said, "Amy, Stu Landon is here." "Great. Thanks." I removed my plastic gloves and then went outside to greet the beekeeper. Mr. Landon and I had just entered into an arrangement wherein I'd sell his honey on consignment to my patrons. I own and operate the Down South Café, one of Winter Garden, Virginia's only two restaurants. It was a gorgeous August morning, and Mr. Landon, a tall, thin man with salt-and-pepper hair, was shading his eyes with his hand when I stepped out into the sunlight. "Did you want me to bring the honey in through the back of the café or the front?" "Just bring it into the dining room and put it on the counter, please," I said. "I've already cleared some shelf space on the back wall, and I plan to keep a jar by the register so people will be sure to notice it." Mr. Landon opened the passenger side door of his olive green antique Chevy pickup truck and got out a small plastic crate containing half-pint jars of honey. I held open the door to the café for him and then followed him inside. He placed the crate on the counter in front of the cash register. "This all right?" "Perfect." I plucked one of the jars out of the crate. Landon's Bee Farm, Pure All Natural Honey. "I want to buy a couple of jars from you straight out to serve to my diners and one to take home to my mom and Aunt Bess." I went around the counter, opened the register, and paid Mr. Landon for three jars of honey. I put a note in the register reflecting the transaction and then gave the consignment agreement I'd prepared the night before to Mr. Landon. I still had seven jars left to sell to Down South Café customers. "Thank you, Ms. Flowers. I'll come around next week to bring you ten more jars." He took a dilapidated cap from the back pocket of his overalls, shook it out, and placed it on his head before leaving. I turned to my cousin Jackie with a smile. "That one is a man of few words." "Granny says he used to be some sort of secret agent." Jackie's granny was my great-aunt Elizabeth, known to Mom and me as Aunt Bess. And since Aunt Bess is blessed with a vivid imagination, I wouldn't normally have given her theory on Mr. Landon more than a passing thought. But unlike most of the residents of Winter Garden, Mr. Landon didn't have much of a history here. He'd simply shown up one day about twenty years ago and taken up residence on the old Carver farm. He'd renovated the farm, started growing his own vegetables, and set up beehives. Since he kept to himself and wasn't very talkative, that's about all folks knew about him. Other than the fact that his honey was really tasty and that Mr. Landon swore that the stuff was good for everything from curing allergies to treating wounds. I didn't know how valid his claims were, but I did know that the honey tasted awfully good on a warm biscuit. "Why in the world would Aunt Bess think Stu Landon was a secret agent?" I asked Jackie. "And what could the man have possibly