The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 22

  Bee and I stood in silence for a moment.

  “Do you think she’s still mad because we didn’t give her the last cookie the other day?” I asked.

  Bee sniffed. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a flying raccoon.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” I said. “Come on, let’s go back to the guesthouse and have some coffee and treats.” We set off down the stone, taking the same path that Shawn had.

  Shawn who had definitely stolen a decoration from the festival, the other day. Who had been arrested, supposedly, after Theresa’s murder. Did Jones know something we didn’t?

  10

  We made it two steps down the sidewalk, away from Franny’s house and past Franklin’s, when the noises started. A crash and a bang, and then someone yelling out in pain. Bee and I froze mid-stride, and her hand clamped down on my arm.

  “Someone’s in trouble.”

  The noises had come from Theresa’s house. The front door crashed open, and a cat streaked from the interior of the house carrying a mouse in its mouth. It darted around the side and out of sight.

  “You get out of here you cat freak!” Gregory Michaud jogged down the front steps, the thatch of hair surrounding his bald spot glistening with sweat. He wore a sleeveless vest, the middle stained with sweat and a pair of jean shorts that had gone out of fashion in the year 2000. Gregory’s pasty hands were bald into fists.

  I relaxed, slowly, and Bee let go of my arm.

  Gregory said a word I didn’t care to repeat, even mentally, and spun toward the house. He caught sight of us and stumbled. His foot struck the rotting pumpkin lying in the middle of the path, and he fell forward with an unholy shriek.

  Gregory slapped into the ground, and the pumpkin gave an unattractive squelch of protest, spilling its seed guts all over his legs and bare feet.

  “Good heavens,” I whispered.

  Bee pressed a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing.

  “Are you all right?” I called, jogging forward. I entered the yard—if it could be called that—and helped Gregory from the ground.

  He grumbled and shook off his legs. “Stupid thing. Stupid…” He took a breath. “It’s that cat. It keeps breaking into the house and running amok. What am I supposed to do about that?”

  “Maybe you should try getting rid of the rats.” Bee leaned on the crumbling stone fence, one eye narrowed. “If not for the cat break-ins, for health and safety.”

  Gregory folded his arms. “Who are you?”

  “We met the other day, at, um, Sam’s Halloween dinner. I’m Ruby, and this is Bee.” I stuck out a hand and regretted it.

  Gregory’s palms were stained orange from where he’d scraped the rotten pumpkin from his legs. Thankfully, he passed on the handshake. “Right. What are you doing around here?”

  “We were just chatting with Franny,” I said. “Giving her our condolences.”

  “What for? From what Theresa told me, Franny hated her.”

  “You two spoke often?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah. She was my sister.” He cleared his throat. “And she was having loads of trouble with her neighbors. That Franny wanted to start a range war, but Theresa avoided it.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “It’s just idle chatter,” I said. “But we do want to offer our condolences to you too. Theresa used to come by the food truck and grab treats.”

  “Oh right! She told me about your cupcakes and cookies,” Gregory said, his demeanor altering, right away. “She loved them. Told me they were the best cookies she’d ever tasted.”

  Bee cleared her throat. “Well, that’s very kind of her.”

  A sad silence followed. Poor Theresa.

  But just because Gregory’s being nice doesn’t mean he’s innocent.

  “You should come by to the truck this week,” I said. “We’ll be opening again soon, you know, after the holiday, and we’ll give you a few cookies and cupcakes on the house. Won’t we, Bee?”

  “Sure thing. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “Thank you,” Gregory said, and he seemed genuinely grateful. “I’m not great at cooking, and money’s been tight around here ever since Theresa passed. You know, she was the one with the job.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. You know, if you’re in need of work, you should check the listings board at the General Store.”

  “Thanks, but I’m fine. I’m just waiting to hear from the executor of her will. Theresa left her assets to me.” He ran his fingers over his bald spot. “I hate that Theresa’s gone, but she did right by me when she put me in her will. Obviously, nothing will replace what she meant to me as a sister.”

  “It sounds like you had a great relationship. Good for you,” I said, leading him as gently as I could.

  “Oh, I guess you could say that. Sure. Theresa and I had only recently reconciled, about a year ago, and she’d been telling me to come stay with her for ages. She was alone, you know, and I think that was difficult for her. That’s why she got that stupid cat.”

  I struggled to keep a straight face. First the will and now this: he didn’t want to look after his dead sister’s cat? Horrible.

  “Oh, it’s fine,” Gregory said, waving a hand at me. “I put food out for it and everything, but it’s going to be an outdoor cat now. That’s all. Finally.”

  “Wasn’t it before?”

  “No.” A muscle in Gregory’s jaw twitched. “That’s the only thing Theresa and I consistently disagreed on. That cat is a plague. It used to watch me. And it used my bed as a toilet.”

  “Goodness.”

  “Exactly.” Gregory offered me a quick smile. “Anyway, nice talking to you. Thanks for coming by. I’ll definitely come out to your truck sometime soon for those cakes!” He gave a final wave and marched off back into the house. The door clapped closed.

  “That was… interesting,” Bee said.

  “Is that what we’re calling it now?” I joined her back on the sidewalk. “I’d have called it suspicious.”

  “Written into his sister’s will, strange change in aesthetic at the house according to neighbors, the cat didn’t like Gregory.” Bee ticked off on her fingers. “Animals usually have a great sense for people, you know.”

  “Oh, I know.” The kitten at the guesthouse, Trouble, had helped me take down a murderer, just by his reaction to the man in question.

  “And he doesn’t like cats. That’s another serial killer trait if I ever saw one.”

  “Jeffrey Dahmer liked cats.”

  “How, in the name of all that is donut, do you know that?” Bee asked.

  “It’s Halloween. I thought you liked being creeped out.” I laughed at her expression. “I saw it in a documentary once. Oh, all right, I’m sorry for bringing him up. Back to donuts. And the cat-hater in question.”

  “Never trust a cat-hater,” Bee grumbled.

  I peered up at the front house, noting how all the curtains were drawn, shut for what? To avoid people looking in?

  Gregory was definitely a person of interest now. He had argued with Theresa, he had only just moved in, and he’d seemed fine today as opposed to when he’d come for dinner at Sam’s. What did that mean? Had something or someone at the guesthouse upset him? Or was there another secret he had to keep?

  “You’re staring off into space, Rubes.”

  “Right. Sorry. I’m considering the options. Let’s get back to the Oceanside.” The morning was still young, and there would be plenty of time to contemplate Gregory’s connection to his sister’s murder. If there was one in the first place.

  We headed off down the street, taking a detour down Main Street for the sake of it, occasionally waving at people we recognized from the truck. Some of them stopped us to ask when we’d be opening up again, and it filled me with warmth, knowing that we mattered to the townsfolk now.

  They cared about us. And I cared about them.

  Discovering who had murdered Theresa was more importa
nt than ever.

  11

  The Oceanside Guesthouse looked just as fabulous in the morning light as it had the night before. It was the last day of the awesome Halloween celebrations. Folks had dressed up in their costumes and walked down to the pier for the grand reopening of the Lobster Shack.

  I definitely wouldn’t be going to the restaurant anytime soon—my last experience with the place hadn’t been great, especially since it had involved a killer. And if the same man still ran the restaurant, that would mean no lobster rolls for the foreseeable future.

  Together, Bee and I entered the guesthouse to the welcoming scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baking cookies. Chocolate chip, by my nose.

  “Smells like we’re in time for brunch!” I rubbed my palms together, both to warm them after the fall chill and to prepare for the deliciousness that would surely follow.

  Trouble padded out of the living room and meowed at me. He wound between my legs, purring and rubbing against me in greeting. I loved this little “hello” from him. He seemed to have taken a liking to me.

  That was lovely, because I’d always wanted a cat, but my ex, Daniel, would never have allowed it. Now I couldn’t stay in one town long enough to have a pet—or rather to let a cat own me. Having Trouble around was still lovely.

  We entered the living room and waved to the Carlingtons in the corner where they sat sipping from mugs and nibbling on muffins.

  Sam appeared in the kitchen doorway bearing a smile. “Good morning,” she sang. “Would you like some chocolate chip muffins?”

  “And two coffees, if it’s not too much trouble,” Bee said.

  “Sure!”

  Sam returned with our muffins and coffees a second later—I’d been wrong about the cookies, but the muffins were just as good, with gooey chocolate pieces inside, still warm from the oven. Sam left us to eat, while Trouble curled in front of the fire.

  Bee snagged a newspaper from a table over and set to reading while she ate, picking at the muffin with her fingertips. “Of course,” she said, “they’re already making grand deductions about who it might be and what actually happened. Listen to this … strangulation before drowning.”

  “Eugh.” I pushed my plate away. “That’s off-putting.”

  “Yes, it is. But it does give us more information.”

  “How so?”

  “Don’t you think it’s interesting that Franny had that fight with Theresa in the General Store? That looked pretty intense. Physical. And clearly, whoever killed Theresa had no problem getting physical.”

  There were suspects galore again. Could it be that Theresa’s long-lost brother had had something to do with it? Gregory now had an official motive, to my mind, but why would he have done it in that particular way? He was an obvious suspect. Would he risk murdering his sister so soon after he had moved into her home? And what was with the lack of Halloween decorations and the sudden dilapidation?

  And then there was Franny, who definitely appeared to have a motive: rage. And what about Shawn Clark? Could there have been a reason for him to have done it?

  “I wonder if Theresa was rich,” I said, sipping my coffee. “After all, if she was, there might have been a motivation. Could someone have robbed her? Perhaps things got out of hand?”

  “Hmm. Her house looked broken-down, but, on the flip side, Gregory seemed happy at the prospect of getting money from the will. I don’t know, actually,” Bee replied, turning the page, “but I do know that strangulation is quite personal. I mean, it’s not like a gunshot or something.”

  “I guess.” I pulled a face.

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just that, apparently, there’s an award ceremony tomorrow. For the Halloween Day Competition! Oh, that’s exciting for Sam. I hope she wins.” Bee looked around the living room, smiling. “We’ll have to go.”

  “Yes, we will.” I finished off the last of my coffee.

  Halloween was on its way out. No doubt the Christmas decorations would be up in the stores within minutes. I could almost hear the Michael Bublé songs. It was strange to me that the stores seemed to forget all about Thanksgiving and move right on to Christmas.

  I chewed on my bottom lip, peering around at the decorations. “I wonder if there’s any other evidence we can find,” I said. “There must be something we can discover. Maybe we should talk to Millie again.”

  Bee nodded. “We’re not going to have much more time to think about this anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, we’ll be leaving town soon. Unless…” Bee leaned in, pressing her empty muffin plate aside.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Do you want to stay in Maine for Christmas? Or would you prefer to go back to New York to see family and the like?”

  “Wow,” I murmured. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Honestly, I don’t have any family to go back to at the moment. My mom and I haven’t spoken years. But what about you? Don’t you have someone you want to see over the holiday season?”

  Bee shook her silver-haired head. “Not a one. I haven’t had the best track record at making friends.”

  “Until now,” I replied, smiling.

  “Until now,” Bee agreed.

  Trouble meowed and darted into the dining area. He took a leap onto my lap and settled in it, purring and massaging with his furry paws.

  The Carlingtons got up from their table and headed out with the intent of taking a walk down to the pier, and Bee stifled a yawn behind her coffee cup. We’d had a late night last night, celebrating the Halloween festivities.

  “I think I should stretch my legs,” I said. “It will give me time to mull things over. Do you want to come along for a walk, Bee?”

  “No, thank you. I think I’ll curl up in an armchair by the fire and read, um, the paper.”

  “Bee, I’d better not catch you with another of those scary stories. You know they’ve been tiring you out.”

  “You won’t catch me,” she replied with a wink.

  I laughed, rose from the table, and thanked Sam in the kitchen for the delicious brunch. I gave Trouble one last scratch on the head then started out for my walk.

  Hopefully, the sea-kissed air would wake me up and give me some fresh ideas about the case.

  12

  I strolled along the road, away from the guesthouse and toward the Chowder Hut. It would be closed on a Sunday, but it wasn’t like I planned on visiting and chomping down on a couple of their famously crunchy breadsticks. Though, that would be nice.

  Shoot, I’d just had a muffin, and I was already hungry again.

  Come on, Ruby, think. Whodunit?

  I broke down the suspect list in my mind again, but no answers were forthcoming. Whether I liked it or not, I didn’t have any other leads or evidence. The only hint that anything had been wrong was that Shawn Clark guy, the dark-haired and makeup-wearing young man who’d stolen the décor at Halloween.

  But stealing and murder were two different crimes and not necessarily linked.

  Oof, maybe I’m in too deep. Good heavens, I don’t need to solve this crime. It’s not threatening the truck or anything.

  I’d grown attached to some of the people in Carmel Springs. Now that the suspicion had been lifted from our shoulders, people in town had warmed to us. Millie was so sweet, and Sam was a treasure, and almost all the guests had been wonderful so far. Even Mayor Jacobsen was kind and jovial—he’d talked loudly about how delicious the food was at the guesthouse and how fantastic the decorations were.

  The thought of folks in town being afraid because of the murder upset me. And it didn’t sit right that there were secrets lurking in this cozy town. It was my background—a terrible habit to get into, solving mysteries and uncovering the truth.

  Hadn’t I quit my job to avoid exactly that?

  The thoughts and my feet carried me along the winding road toward the rocky outlook where the Chowder Hut sat. Next to it, there was a lookout point that woul
d give me a view of the ocean.

  I drew level with the restaurant, and a flicker of motion caught my eye.

  I paused. What was that?

  The Chowder Hut was definitely closed. There were no cars parked out front, and the windows were dark.

  A sharp tinkle of glass breaking came next, and I froze, my palms growing sweaty.

  Someone was breaking into the restaurant. It had to be…

  I crept toward the source of the noise, pulling my cellphone from my pocket. I unlocked the screen, my finger hovering over the touchscreen. I could easily call Detective Jones. I had his number, thanks to the previous run-ins we’d had with him.

  But a break-in didn’t necessarily equal anything related to the murder. So why call him? It would be better just to call 911 and report the incident. The dispatcher would send out regular cops, and I wouldn’t have to see Jones at all.

  Shoot, it might not have been a break-in at all. It might have been a bird crashing into the sliding glass doors.

  There was only one way to find out.

  I walked around the side of the restaurant, past the wooden walls that rattled in the wind, and the windows that looked in on the friendly interior, complete with buoys hanging from the walls.

  Another shuffle of noise reached my ears, and this time, I did hit the button to summon the cops.

  I rounded the corner and spotted the bottom half of a human being—legs ensconced in blackened jeans—sticking out a window. They kicked and struggled. The intruder had gotten caught on the sill.

  “Hey!” I cried, dropping my phone and running forward. For once, I wasn’t frozen in fear—perhaps it was the thought of the burglar getting hurt on the glass that had driven me into it. By the time the idiocy of my actions registered in my mind, it was already too late.

  My hands hooked around the guy’s legs, and I brought him backward. Using the moves I’d learned in my karate training, I incapacitated the guy, leveraging his weight against him. And it was a man. A young man. I caught his hands behind his back and held them there, pressing him into the ground on his stomach.