Mint Murder (A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 5) Read online

  Mint Murder

  A Mission Inn-possible Cozy 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

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2021.

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  Created with Vellum

  Meet the Characters

  Charlie Smith (Mission)—A spy-in-hiding, Charlie’s come to her grandmother’s inn in Gossip, Texas, under the guise of being an assistant. Really, she’s hiding out from her ex-husband, Kyle Turner, a rogue spy who is out to get her.

  Georgina Franklin (Mission)—Charlie’s super-spy grandmother who raised her. Georgina (or Gamma, as Charlie calls her) is the most decorated spy in the history of the NSIB. She’s retired, but still as smart and spry as ever.

  Brian Marble (Smulder)—Charlie’s agent partner who came to Gossip to keep her from getting into any more trouble than she is already. Handsome and smart, he usually does the right thing, even if it means hurting his friends. But with Charlie around, that’s becoming increasingly difficult.

  Lauren Harris—The happy-go-lucky chef at the Gossip Inn. A master baker, she’s always got a delicious cupcake prepared for the inn’s lunches and dinners. She’s jolly, with bright red hair she wears in pigtails. She recently had a baby.

  Jason Harris—Lauren’s perpetually stressed-out husband. Jason works a lot and doesn’t have a lot of time to hang out at home but tries his best. He’s short, with brown hair, and a bit of a belly.

  Jordan Ames—Once homeless, Jordan is now the live-in carer for the cats at the kitten foster center attached to the Gossip Inn. He’s got red hair, is often prone to sniffles, and keeps to himself.

  Cocoa Puff—Georgina’s chocolate brown cat. He’s friendly as can be, at least with people he trusts. Often he sleeps on Charlie’s bed and accompanies her around the inn, helping her dust the various trinkets and tables.

  Sunlight—A ginger adolescent cat who stayed on in the kitten foster center. He is particularly attached to Charlie, who’s considering adopting him. Not that she can—she might have to leave soon…

  Jessie Belle-Blue—Jessie is Georgina’s worst nightmare. As the owner of the local cattery, she hates the fact that Georgina has opened a kitten foster center in direct competition to her and will do whatever it takes to come out on top.

  Detective Crowley—The local detective who’s often saddled with the cases Charlie and Gamma wind up investigating. He may or may not have a stupendous, unrequited crush on Charlie.

  Darling Gould—A Hollywood starlet from the seventies, she’s come to celebrate her birthday at the Gossip Inn. She’s one of Georgina’s oldest friends from back in high school, though she had no idea Georgina was a spy.

  Gerry Gould—Gerry is Darling’s husband. He wears a toupee and is threatened by younger men with full heads of hair. He’s an older gentleman.

  Callie Gordon—A young, up-and-coming actress who is attending Darling’s party. She’s soft and sensitive and interminably shy but looks like a doll — blonde hair, peony blue eyes, and a rosebud mouth.

  Sherise Rogers—If ever there was a woman who could hammer a nail into the wall with her forehead, Sherise is her. She’s strong-willed but means well. She’s Darling’s close friend around her age.

  Brixton Norridge—A young, stunningly handsome British man, tall, muscular, and with a charming disposition who often escorts Darling around on her trips to the shops or the movies.

  1

  “You know, they weren’t going to come,” Gamma said, her arms folded over her winter coat and her gaze fixed on the sleek, black limousine snaking up the gravel drive toward the Gossip Inn.

  “Why?” I asked, adjusting my jacket. Texas winters weren’t as cold as some I’d experienced, but the morning carried a stiff breeze that stung the tip of my nose.

  Not exactly the perfect weather for greeting our esteemed guests, but I’d take any excitement at this point. Months had passed since the last “incident” at the Gossip Inn, and there had been no news of my ex-husband’s movements.

  A rogue spy, Kyle was bent on finding me and punishing me for outing him to my agency, the NSIB, and I’d figured he would’ve found me by now.

  The limo parked in front of the inn.

  “Why?” I repeated, hurriedly.

  “Oh, Charlotte, I just answered you. You need to pay more attention,” Gamma said, though her tone wasn’t unkind. “They didn’t want to come because Darling’s husband is afraid of ghosts.”

  “But…”

  “He heard the rumors the inn was haunted and threw a fuss about coming out here for her birthday.”

  “We’re not haunted.”

  “I know that,” Gamma said, primly, her British accent more pronounced when she was displeased or, strangely, cold. “You simply can’t talk sense into some people. But Darling’s the one who wears the glitter-spangled pants in the relationship, so here they are.”

  “I hope not literally.” I wasn’t a fan of glitter. Anything sparkly that drew too much attention was a no-no in my books.

  Oh, relax. If Kyle hasn’t found you yet, he’s not going to.

  Wishful thinking.

  A chauffer had emerged from the limo in the interim. He gave us a severely starched tilt of the head in greeting then marched to the limo’s back door and opened it.

  A bejeweled hand emerged, and the chauffer took it, helping the owner out and into the watery sunlight.

  Darling Gould stood tall in her designer heels, her gray hair, long and glossy, hanging past a pale, heart-shaped face. To my chagrin, she wore a pair of glittery pants and a matching black peacoat that clung to her trim waist. She reached up with long, French-manicured nails and removed a pair of oversized glasses from her face.

  I wasn’t the type to stay awestruck for long, but Darling had a real presence.

  What had I expected? Miss Gould was Hollywood Elite. A starlet from the seventies who had made her name in blockbuster films, watched the world over. And she was friends with my grandmother.

  They’d gone to the same high school, for heaven’s sakes. What were the odds?

  Darling puffed out rosebud lips and cooed. “Georgina!”

  “Darling!”

  The women embraced, laughing and patting each other’s backs.

  “Look at you, Georgina.” Darling held my grandmother at arm’s length, scanning her with emerald green eyes. “Gorgeous, as always. You haven’t aged a day.”

  “They say actresses make fabulous liars, and now I know it’s true.”

  “I’m offend
ed,” Darling replied, pressing a hand over her heart. “Name one time I’ve lied to you.”

  “I seem to recall eating a spoonful of lard instead of ice cream after school dinner.”

  Darling giggled. “That was a good one.”

  A second car pulled up, this one a smaller SUV with tinted windows, and the door opened. A young man emerged, tall and handsome. He wore an expensive suit that fit his frame perfectly and strode over to us.

  “Darling,” he said, his accent as British as my Gamma’s.

  “Oh, Brixton, dear, you’re right on time.”

  “I didn’t want to disappoint.” He offered Darling his arm, affection written all over his face.

  My Gamma raised an eyebrow at Darling. “Where’s Gerry?”

  “He should be here soon.” Darling took Brixton’s arm. “My husband is anything but punctual, in particular when it comes to celebrations.”

  “But Darling,” Brixton put in, “who wouldn’t want to celebrate your birthday?”

  Darling tittered another laugh. “Isn’t he delightful, Georgina?”

  My grandmother didn’t answer but gestured to me. “Allow me to introduce my assistant, Charlotte. She’ll be taking care of your party this weekend, with my help of course. We’ve cleared out all the rooms for your guests, so it will be a private affair.”

  “I knew you’d come through, Georgina.” Darling winked at my grandmother. “And it’s nice to meet you, Charlotte.”

  “You too.” I nodded to her, trying to act the shy part that was my cover story. Charlotte Smith, the wilting flower of a maid, wouldn’t say boo to a goose or any other barnyard animal. And a Hollywood celebrity? Forget about it.

  Charlie Mission, however, had strong opinions about infidelity. And the looks Darling kept giving Brixton spoke volumes about their “friendship.”

  None of my business. Just show the rich people a good time, get them out of here, and hope that Special Agent in Charge Grant gives you some news about Kyle soon.

  My stomach burbled at the thought. Did I really want news about Kyle? The sooner he was caught, the sooner I’d have to return to my life as an agent for the NSIB. Did I want that?

  The arrival of a third car interrupted the thread of anxious thoughts—this vehicle, a low-to-the-ground red sports car, skidded to a halt, spitting gravel. An older gentleman wearing a toupee emerged, jerking on the lapels of his coat to straighten it. He wore brown leather gloves and a scowl he directed toward Brixton.

  “Gerry,” Darling said, her tone hardening. “I see you made it.”

  “Of course I made it, dear. I wouldn’t miss your birthday for the world.” Gerry strode over, each step powerful.

  This is the guy who’s afraid of ghosts?

  Brixton didn’t release Darling’s arm. The younger guy straightened and stared down at the husband. “Oh, really? I seem to recall you saying birthdays were a waste of time,” Brixton replied.

  Gerry smirked. “I was referring to your birthday, Brick.” The husband’s accent was American, and he had a disposition that spoke of confidence.

  Seriously. This guy’s afraid of ghosts?

  “Don’t start this again,” Darling said. “Not in front of company. Gerry, you remember Georgina?”

  “Do I ever.” Gerry nodded to my grandmother. “Still running an inn in the middle of nowhere, Texas, I see.”

  “Bitter as ever,” Gamma’s reply came as fast as the crack of a whip. “That’s fine. We have plenty of sweet treats to combat your particular flavor.”

  Brixton sniggered.

  Awkward!

  The guests studied each other through narrowed eyes, and even Gamma was tense. A stunning feat—the only person I’d ever seen get under my grandmother’s skin was Jessie Belle-Blue, her kitty-rearing enemy.

  “Uh, folks?” I forced a smile. “Let’s get you settled in.”

  I grabbed a bag from the pile the chauffer had unloaded behind Darling’s limo and started up the steps that led to the Gossip Inn’s comfy front porch.

  The long winter was nearly over, but the inn was about to get a lot chillier.

  And, hopefully, more interesting.

  2

  The rest of the guests for Darling Gould’s birthday celebration arrived in a trickle over the following few hours. And, man, were there a lot of them. Most of them were A-listers from Hollywood, others were old friends of the birthday girl—uh, woman—and a few were assistants to young up-and-comers.

  The Gossip Inn had never had such an eclectic mix of guests, and that was saying something, given that we’d had a dude who wore an Easter Bunny costume and hopped down Main Street during a parade.

  For the past couple hours, I’d been run off my feet, settling everyone into their rooms. From Gerry with his perpetual scowl to Brixton who had wiggled his eyebrows at me when I’d shown him to his room.

  The last two guests to arrive, a young wallflower of a woman with flyaway blonde hair, Callie, and an older battle-ax, Sherise, who’d clicked her fingers at me imperiously the minute I’d come down the front stairs to greet them, followed me to the second floor.

  “The second floor?” Sherise asked, behind me, her accent had a Louisiana twinge. “My, my, Darling’s trying to make me feel special.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Callie said, nearly whispering it. “I’m sure she’s just trying to be nice. Maybe she wasn’t in charge of who got which room.”

  “If you think that, Callie, you’re dumber than you look.”

  “Sherise, there’s no need to be rude.”

  The bickering was a constant backdrop of noise as we navigated the long hallway with its nooks for trinkets that had come from the old museum portion of the inn—now converted into the kitten foster center.

  I spotted Cocoa Puff under one of the tables and smiled.

  Nothing put me in a better mood than the sight of my grandmother’s fluffy brown cat. He always gave me the time of day and was accustomed to the coming and going of guests. He meowed at me, and I stopped to scratch behind his ears.

  “Is this our room?” Sherise asked, sarcastically. “Missing a few beds, isn’t it?”

  “Right this way,” I said, biting back an equally facetious reply. Keep your head down. There’s a lot of famous people here this weekend. You cause a fuss, and you might wind up in a tabloid headline.

  That would be a disaster. If I broke my cover one more time, my boss, Special Agent in Charge Grant, wouldn’t hesitate to sweep me away into “the underground” where I’d have to sit silently, waiting for the NSIB to do their work.

  If only they’d let me track down Kyle myself. I could do it. Face him one last time. Overcome the hurt and anger and stop the threat to the agency and myself.

  “This is your room, Miss Rogers,” I said to Sherise, opening the door with an ornate golden key. I brought her bag inside and placed it at the foot of the bed then handed her the key.

  “Oh, it’s lovely, Sherise,” Callie said, fingers fluttering at her pale throat. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  The room was decorated in violets and creams, with a plush four-poster bed, a dresser, an armchair, and a bookcase stocked with books. The window overlooked the inn’s back yard, the lawn arcing down toward the trees and the creek beyond.

  Sherise sniffed. “You and I have vastly different opinions on what constitutes lovely. But I’ll make it work.”

  “I can’t wait to see my room,” Callie said. “I hope it’s as nice as this one. Oh, I wonder which rooms the others are in. Do you know, Miss… uh?”

  “Smith,” I said.

  “Miss Smith.” Callie offered me a pleasant smile. “Do you, hmm, do you perhaps know which room Mr. Brixton Norridge is staying in?” Two pink spots appeared in her cheeks.

  “Pull yourself together, Callie,” Sherise snapped. “You know Brixton’s previously engaged with another woman. He’s got no time for you, and you should have no time for him. I swear, you young women love to give chase—it’s scandalous. Disgusting. Desp
erate. No man wants to feel hunted. They want to be the hunter.”

  Callie bowed her head.

  I opened my mouth, on the brink of making a comment about sexism in courting rituals but restrained myself. Ha. I’m getting better at this whole not putting my big foot in my equally big mouth thing.

  “Your room’s next door, Miss Gordon,” I said to Callie then slipped out into the hall. The sooner I got done with settling everyone, the sooner I could head downstairs and help Lauren in the kitchen.

  “Help Lauren in the kitchen” was a secret spy code for “eat my fill of snacks when her back was turned.” And if my boyfriend, Brian, was around, all the better.

  Things had been fun and easy with Brian, lately. So much so that I’d stopped thinking about him as my agent babysitter, and he’d stopped mentioning the incident where I’d mistakenly left him with a gunshot wound to the heinie.

  Ah, progress.

  I settled Callie in her room, handed over the key, and directed her to the itinerary Gamma had helped prepared for the party week, then I made my way downstairs to the kitchen with its timid green tiles and ticking clock.

  It was such a familiar place I didn’t notice the “intruder” until I’d taken my place in front of the sink where a pile of dishes awaited me.