The Salmon Burger Murder Read online

  The Salmon Burger Murder

  A Burger Bar Mystery Book 5

  Rosie A. Point

  Contents

  Meet the Characters…

  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

  More for you…

  Thank You, Reader!

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2019.

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  Created with Vellum

  Meet the Characters…

  The Regulars:

  Christie Lilith Watson: the heroine, on sabbatical from her job in Boston as a homicide detective, she’s returned to Sleepy Creek for some rest and relaxation. And, perhaps, to confront her mother’s cold case.

  Griselda Lewis: Christie’s best friend. She owns the Burger Bar in Sleepy Creek and is always ready with a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. Great cook, easily flustered, and loves animals.

  Mississippi Waters: one of the terrible twins who own Terrible Two’s Antiques in town. Nigh on eighty-years-old, she’s a firm believer in keeping cats in the off chance one dies alone in an apartment—the cat will serve as a handy human body disposal. Snarky.

  Virginia Waters: Missi’s softer spoken twin, with plum-gray hair and a can-do attitude. She often encourages Christie to get involved in murder cases, and is very rarely grumpy, unless it’s because of her sister.

  Detective Liam Balle: the handsome detective who’s always determined to do the right thing, even if it means arresting Christie for interfering in his investigations. He has a chin dimple.

  Detective Arthur Cotton: Liam’s partner, hence the pet name for their duo: Cotton and Balle. He’s Griselda’s boyfriend, blond, slightly overweight, and criminally shy.

  Curly Fries the cat: eats like a horse, moves like a snail, black fur with a pointy face. Favorite past times include staring at Christie, sitting on Christie’s head while she’s asleep, and eating. She hates the walking portion of the day now that she’s on a diet.

  The Somerville Spiders: potentially, the gang that killed Christie’s mother twelve years ago. They’ve been in Sleepy Creek, or so it seems, ever since Christie returned. Could they be out to get her too?

  Nelly Boggs: the local florist. Mousy brown hair, timid, sweet and innocent. She wouldn’t hurt a fly and has recently lost a friend.

  Poirot the cat: The new stray cat in Grizzy’s house—markings around his eyes and mouth that look like a set of glasses and a mustache. He is both dignified and affectionate. Curly Fries’ new enemy.

  For Book 5:

  Donovan Marks: Nelly’s boyfriend and Griselda’s neighbor. Nice enough guy as guys go—he owns an annoyingly loud dog.

  Cole Finnegan: The new next-door neighbor who just so happens to have the same surname as a suspect in Christie’s mother’s cold case. Is there a connection there?

  Kevin Crokewell: Another new neighbor and roommate of Donovan Marks. He’s lived in Sleepy Creek for a while, but has been struggling financially as well.

  Pamela Hardshore: The owner of the Creakin’ Wheels and Meals charity which serves meals to folks who can’t afford them for free. Savvy, snobby, and with orangey-red hair that she does up in curls.

  Georgina Turnbull: Dark-haired and tall, she lives with her sister Betsy and generally keeps to herself for the most part. Likes a lot of cheese on her burgers.

  Betsy Turnbull: A burger-hater and a vegan. She’s not very involved in the Sleepy Creek community and owns a pest control company. Oh, the irony.

  Chef Jonesy: The head chef at the charity, he’s olive-skinned and friendly, but likes to stay out of trouble … for the most part.

  1

  I paced back and forth inside Griselda’s kitchen, stopping every now and again to stare at the offending plate of chocolate-chip cookies she’d left out for me. Next to it, two empty cups sat waiting, and next to that, the coffee pot, the brew not yet made.

  “You’re fine. It’s fine. This is totally fine,” I muttered, pausing mid-stride and directing the words at the cookies. “This is good. This is the first time you’re going to have access to your mother’s case file, so that’s good. There’s no reason you should be nervous.”

  Curly Fries, Grizzy’s resident fat cat, quite literally, watched me from next to her empty kibble bowl. It was her usual ‘stare tactic.’

  “Don’t judge me.” I pointed at her. But that was like telling water not to be wet.

  I had waited weeks for this. At least the last two—at first, when I’d come to town I’d been afraid that getting involved would open all kinds of emotional wounds. My mother’s case had both been my focus and my fear.

  Now, it was too late to turn back.

  Liam was on his way. He’d want my opinion on the documents and pictures he had. I prayed there weren’t pictures of her in there, but there would be, of course. I could only hope he would have the sense to keep them from me.

  This was the trouble. It was her case, and I had to remain professional. Somehow. Professionalism had not been my strong suite this past month. Maybe ever.

  A knock came at the front door, and my heart leaped.

  He was here.

  “Stay there,” I said to Curly, for no good reason. It felt right to say something, at least.

  I headed through, opened up, and found Liam waiting in his uniform on the front porch. He had a manila folder tucked under his arm, relatively thin. Sparse, actually—there weren’t many documents in there.

  Never judge a case file by its thickness. There might be a good amount of evidence.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Are you ready for this, Christie? You in the right frame of mind?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, left and right.

  The sunny street outside was empty, apart from a Honda Civic parked in front of our next door neighbor’s house. A car I didn’t recognize. And then there was Liam’s cruiser.

  “Chris?”

  “I’m ready,” I said, and stepped back to admit him. “Come on, let’s get some coffee. I mean, do you want some?” Calm down.

  “Sure. I can make it. Seems like you’re a little shaky.”

  I didn’t argue with him. He’d been to Grizzy’s house enough times now that he knew where everything was. Liam placed the folder on the table, then set about brewing us a pot. I sat and stared at the file.

  “Have you looked at it yet?” I asked.

  “Preliminary glance.” He brought two mugs down from the cupboard. “There’s not much to go off of in there. Look, Chris, we’ll work it out. I’ve got my questions for you. I can finally share information with you because you’re a witness. A family member. So, just … don’t stress. We’ve got this.” He poured the coffee and came over.

  I accepted the mug from him with thanks, took a sip and grimaced at the bitterness. “All right. I’m ready.”

  Liam opened the file and extracted several documents and images—Polaroids that had been taken years ago. There was an image of my house—the very same that had been razed to the ground to hide evidence of my mother’s murder.

  The detective didn’t extract any images of what had been left of her body. I forced myself to take another sip of the coffee.

>   “All right,” I said, scooching forward. “What do we got?”

  “From what I can tell, the lead detective on the case did his homework as best he could, but there are pieces of the puzzle missing that don’t make sense.” Liam turned a page. “The case as it stands is as follows: the victim is murdered between the hours of 8-and-9pm at night. No witnesses. No one hears anything.”

  I had been at a friend’s house. I had come home to the fire. Another sip of coffee went down. “Right.”

  “The house is set on fire. The fire services respond to the blaze at around 9:15pm. It’s out of control. Ruled as arson, obviously, and the victim is extracted from the wreckage. Murder committed with a blunt weapon,” he continued, extracting a picture from the pile and sliding it over. A kettlebell. It had a little yellow placard next to it. “Still have the murder weapon in evidence. No fingerprints, no DNA due to degradation.”

  “A kettlebell,” I said. It’s not your mother. It’s a victim. It’s any old case. “That’s rage.”

  “You think so?”

  “I’m assuming this was the victim’s kettlebell. The murderer must not have come prepared. Meaning he entered the house, found a blunt weapon and used it. In a rage.”

  “Premeditation is still an option,” Liam said, tapping his fingers on the picture then slipping it away again. “As for suspects. I’m fresh out. I’ve got a list of the people who might’ve wanted to see the victim murdered, but most of them either have an alibi, are dead, or were put in prison by her.”

  My ears pricked up at the mention of that. It made sense that they would want her dead. She had brought the Somerville Spiders, a notorious Bostonian gang, to its knees before moving away to Sleepy Creek.

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Liam slid another piece of paper out, and we pored over it.

  Miles Finnegan—no longer a Spider. Name changed?

  Gregory O’ Connor—died in prison shortly after conviction.

  Jason Walsh—died in his home. Knew something?

  Missy Murphy—missing, potentially on the run after the collapse of the Spiders.

  The list went on and on. Suspects were either missing or dead or just not connected to the victim in any way. Some of them had alibis for the night of the murder, others had been unreachable, and it was no wonder the leads had fizzled out.

  There were too many to consider, and most were inaccessible. But I had names, now. I could use this list and do a little research of my own. My mother’s case wouldn’t be solved in a day, I got that, but it was a start.

  Still, why couldn’t this be simple? I itched to chase up these leads myself, to find these folks and question them for information on what had happened that night.

  I made copies of everything in the file using Grizzy’s scanner-printer combo in the study, then came back.

  “Now.” Liam slipped the pages out of my grasp once I’d sat down. “There’s one link left. You.”

  “If you really think I murdered my own mother, you’re delusional. You saw my name on the list. I had an alibi.”

  “Christie,” Liam said. “Of course, I don’t think that. And yeah, you did have a rock solid alibi. I was talking about your testimony. What you could add to the case.”

  I took a breath. “I didn’t know anything about this. I came home after spending time with a friend and discovered the house on fire. I didn’t see anything or know anyone who would want to hurt my mother. Shoot, I didn’t even know she’d moved us to Sleepy Creek to protect us from the Spiders at the time.”

  “But … did you see anyone else around town? Anyone who was familiar. Perhaps someone who might be in Sleepy Creek now?” Liam asked.

  “So, you do think all the murders are connected.”

  “Given what we found out about George Brighton and Paul, we can’t rule it out.”

  Loopy Paul had been a Spider before my mother had gotten him out. He’d died trying to warn me about a potential Spider on the loose in town. Now, that man was behind bars and refusing to talk without a lawyer present.

  Yet, the crimes had continued.

  “Right,” I said. “I don’t recognize anyone strange. Unless you count the twins, and they’re not the type of strange we’re looking for.”

  Liam got up and organized the papers into the case file. He offered me a smile. “I should get these back to the station and start work. If anything comes up for you, let me know.”

  “I will.” I got up too, and Liam gave me a quick hug.

  We walked to the door, and I opened it.

  “There you are!” Missi and Vee stood on the front porch together, their arms linked.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Balle tipped an imaginary cap then swept out of the house and down the steps toward his cruiser.

  The terrible twins waited until he was out of sight before pouncing. “Where have you been this morning?” Missi asked. “You missed a total meltdown in the Burger Bar.”

  “A meltdown? Mona again?”

  “No. Georgina,” Missi said. “Furious that she didn’t get enough cheese on her burger. Can you believe the cheek?”

  “We didn’t come here to gossip, sister.” Virginia had chosen a floor-length flower-patterned dress while her sister wore a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless blouse. “We came to ask for your help, Christie.”

  “With what?” I asked.

  Missi and Vee exchanged a glance. “Let’s talk inside.”

  2

  “What can I help you with?” I stepped back to admit the twins.

  Missi pranced in like she owned Grizzy’s house, and Vee glanced left and right then entered as well.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. “You’re acting secretive.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with keeping secrets in this town, given what’s been going on,” Missi said.

  I led them through to the kitchen, and the women sat down. Missi drew the plate of cookies toward herself and narrowed her eyes. “Store-bought?” she asked.

  “Grizzy.”

  “Thank the heavens.” She took one off the plate.

  I got a couple saucers and placed them out, then set about brewing a fresh pot of coffee. “So,” I said. “What gives? You two are never this cautious.”

  “Are you saying we’re reckless?” Missi chomped on a cookie. “Oh, these are good. I have to get the recipe from Griselda.”

  “No, but you’re never timid.” I took my seat at the table. “Spill.”

  “Well, dear, people in town have been gossiping. There’s been an ill wind blowing the past month.”

  “It came with you,” Missi said. “And it’s blown over quite a few people already.”

  “I assume you’re referring to Sleepy Creek’s building corpse problem?” I asked.

  Virginia brought a cookie over her plate and nibbled on it, delicately. “I would have put it a different way, but yes, that’s definitely been troubling people. Sleepy Creekers are good at keeping their chins up, but, to be honest, everyone’s getting a bit down about what’s been going on around here.”

  “The vibe in the Burger Bar is different,” Missi added, waving her cookie around. “Everyone’s tense.”

  “So, what you’re saying is I need to figure out what’s happening quicker?” I asked.

  “No pressure.”

  Virginia tapped her sister on the arm. “No, that’s not what we’re saying. Although, that would be helpful. We’re thinking of doing something else. Something that will lift everyone’s spirits, especially people who can’t afford to hang out in the Burger Bar and soak in all the gossip.”

  “And what’s that?” I fetched the coffee pot and pouring the liquid of life into three mugs.

  “We’re going to join a charity effort. It’s newly created,” Vee said. “We’ll be delivering healthy and delicious meals to the folks of Sleepy Creek who can’t afford them. They don’t have to pay, they just have to sign up. There’s a new meal every day.”

  “Kind of like Meals on Whe
els, but for young people too. Not that they need extra help in my humble opinion,” Missi said.

  “Sister, when has your opinion ever been humble?”

  I leaned forward, winking at Missi. “I believe that’s what the kids call a ‘sick burn,’ Missi.”

  Missi snorted. She was crotchety as they came, but she was a giving woman, and I admired that they’d taken this on.

  “People are signing up for the service, in part because of Pammy’s wonderful marketing efforts,” Vee continued, “but there aren’t enough volunteers.”

  “Uh oh, I see where this is going.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Missi put in. “I told her you were too busy wooing that handsome detective to help us with our charitable endeavor, but she wouldn’t listen. Apologies for wasting your time.” She took another bite of her cookie.

  “Careful with those crumbs in your lap. You’ll attract a Curly Fries.” Our cat had already positioned herself beneath the table, her soft tail stroking against my ankles as she flicked it back and forth. Our cat? Since when do I think of her as ‘our’ cat?

  “Will you help us?”

  “What time do you need my help?” I asked. “I’ll have to balance my Burger Bar responsibilities, and the whole ‘sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong’ thing, around this.”

  “Oh, whenever you can be spared,” Vee said. “We’ve got a shift this evening, actually. Dinner time for the folks. Mac ‘n cheese.”