Creepy Cake Murder Page 5

  Though, in truth, 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 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 the decorations were fantastic.

  The thought of folks in town being afraid because of the murder upset me. And it just didn’t sit right to me 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.

  Good heavens, hadn’t I quit my job to avoid exactly that?

  The thoughts and my footsteps carried me along the winding road toward the rocky outlook where the Chowder Hut sat. Next to it, there was a lovely lookout point that would give me a view of the ocean. I appreciated those views more than anything else.

  I drew level with the restaurant, my cheeks brushed cold by the wind, 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. But something had definitely moved.

  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…

  Quickly, 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 back 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 its walls.

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

  I rounded the corner and spotted the bottom half of a human being—legs ensconced in blackened jeans—sticking out of the back window of the restaurant. 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.

  He struggled and cried out through the balaclava covering his face. “Let me go!” he whined. “Let me go.”

  “No.” I couldn’t reach my phone, but the screen was still lit up. My call had connected. I shouted out my address and the situation, not daring to release my captive in case he somehow got the better of me. This was ridiculous. What had gotten into me?

  I’d never been one to run toward danger. Before the thoughts could solidify, I reached forward and removed his balaclava.

  Shawn Clark glared up at me, the dark kohl around his eyes stark against his pale skin.

  “I suppose you think this was clever?” Jones snarled, standing in front of me, his hands on his hips. He was at least a head shorter than me, and I was by no means a tall woman. “I told you, Holmes, I told you not to interfere with my investigations.”

  I blinked.

  Shawn had already been taken away in a police cruiser, and it was just my luck that it was Jones who had turned up to the crime scene with his partner Martin.

  “I wasn’t interfering in anything,” I said. “I was just walking by and I happened to see him here.”

  “And you expect me to believe that? I know you were following him.”

  “I most definitely was not. Why would I be?”

  Jones’ already thin lips drew into an even thinner line. “I wasn’t born yesterday, Holmes. I know what your kind is like.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Likely, he meant people who had come for the tourist season in Maine. Once, he’d called me a leaf peeper. “I swear, this was just a coincidence.” But it was mightily intriguing that Jones thought I was interfering because Shawn was involved. Did that mean that Shawn was an official person of interest in Theresa’s murder? I dared not ask. “Look, Detective Jones, I have no interest interfering. Why would I? I—”

  “That’s enough.” Jones drew his hand through the air in a slicing motion. “I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen, and I was right to think it’d go down.”

  “Go down?” Bee would’ve had a sarcastic comment to counter that statement, but I was fresh out. My palms were sweat-streaked, I’d just apprehended a criminal and made a seriously poor judgment to handle it myself. What if he’d had a knife? Or a gun? What if he’d overpowered me?

  “You’re coming with me,” Jones said, crunching forward across the grit at the back of the restaurant. He took hold of my arm. “I’ve had enough fo you.”

  “What? No.” I drew my arm from his. “If you need a statement from me, just take it here. I don’t have to go down to the station.”

  “Oh yeah, you do,” Jones said, a cold glint in his beady eyes.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you’re under arrest for interfering in an ongoing police investigation.” Jones flashed a smile. “I warned you, Holmes, but you wouldn’t listen. No, you’re going to pay the price for your gossipy, interfering ways.”

  I had no choice but to go with him, that or risk having another charge smacked on top of the first—resisting arrest. My mouth had gone dry and, heavens, my brain had too.

  12

  Much to Detective Jones’ eternal anger and my equaling relief, he didn’t have any right to hold me for longer than 24 hours. The truth was, there simply wasn’t enough evidence to hold me for longer than that, or even to charge me with interfering with an ongoing investigation.

  “I’m sorry about this,” Detective Martin said, under his breath, as he escorted me down the front steps of the police station, away from the holding cell that had been my bedroom for the night.

  An incredibly uncomfortable and horrible-smelling bedroom. I had never missed Bee or Sam or the guesthouse more. Good heavens, what had I been thinking going after the intruder? In a way, Jones had been right, as much as I hated to admit it—I should never have gotten involved.

  “Really, Miss Holmes, you have my sincerest apology for my partner’s behavior,” he said. “I know that this must be frustrating for you.”

  “He was within his rights to hold me on suspicion of being involved,” I replied, bitterly. And I was never bitter. Unless it was about my disappearing ex-fiancé, Daniel.

  Martin opened the passenger side door of his cruiser for me. “Please, allow me to give you a ride back to the guesthouse.”

  I hesitated. “I’m fine walking.” Though, the last time I’d gone walking, I’d wound up intercepting a burglary. But what was Shawn trying to steal in the Chowder Hut? Surely, the safe would’ve been emptied.

  “I insist,” Detective Martin said. “It will make me feel a whole lot better about how you were treated.”

  I sighed and thanked him, slipping into the passenger seat. It was a vast improvement on sitting in the back behind the horrible grate that separated the two sections.

  Martin got into the car, as well, and started the engine. He pulled out onto the street and drove past folks shopping or sippin
g coffees in the Corner Café. I resisted the urge to sink down in my seat—it wouldn’t matter either way. Goodness, knowing Carmel Springs, everyone and their granny’s uncle’s brother knew that I’d been arrested yesterday.

  Hopefully, they hadn’t gotten confused as to why. What if they think I killed Theresa?

  “Jones was apoplectic with rage when he realized he had to let you go,” the handsome detective said, breaking the silence.

  “Oh.” I licked my lips. “Well, he shouldn’t have arrested me in the first place. I was trying to be a good citizen.”

  “I think Jones is trying to be one too, in his own way.”

  I didn’t care to agree with that sentiment. He’d been nothing but mean since we’d met him, but he was likely an OK cop. Apart from the whole ‘arresting me out of frustration’ thing. “I don’t understand why he thought I was interfering. Was it because of Shawn?”

  Detective Martin glanced at me askance. “I’m not at liberty to say much, but Shawn is definitely a person of interest. In several crimes.”

  Now, that did intrigue me. At least, I’d learned something of use during this experience. “I assume thievery is high on the list of crimes?”

  “Can’t say.”

  Instead of rolling my eyes at him, I looked out of the window at the activity near town hall. Of course! Today was the announcement of the winner of the Halloween decorating competition. Sam would be excited for that—I was just thankful that I’d make it back in time to go with her.

  The cruiser pulled up outside the Oceanside. We’d barely parked before the front door slammed open and Bee stormed out, wearing her fluffy bee costume, her gaze on fire with the fury of a thousand droplets of fudge taste-tested before they were cool. There’s nothing quite as painful as a sugar burn.

  “You’d better go,” I said. “She’ll flay you instead of Jones. You’ve got a uniform, so it won’t make much of a difference to her.” I got out of the car, and Detective Martin screeched off, apparently taking my warning seriously.

  “Let me at ‘em!” Bee growled, but the car was already gone. Detective Martin knew what was good for him. Bee stamped her foot, and almost looked ready to chase after him. She grunted after a second. “Come here.” She drew me into a brief hug. “Are you all—ooh! Poo!”

  “Poo?”

  “You smell terrible.” She stepped back, holding her nose. “You’d better go upstairs and shower before the award ceremony. You can tell me all about Jones’ crimes on the way there. It will help me decide on a fitting punishment for him.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Bee,” I said, managing a laugh. Suspicion brewed, simmering unanswered. I was close to something. I could almost sense it.

  It had to do with money and with Shawn. With Theresa too.

  But what was the answer?

  13

  Folks had gathered all around the stage that had been erected outside of the town halls. Everyone wore their Halloween costumes in celebration of the final announcement. The faces of clowns and goblins and witches and minions were filled with hope and excitement.

  Children, who had clearly had far too much sugar, darted through the crowds, laughing and playing, the sound a lovely and slightly annoying back drop to the chatter and the odd shout from one of the onlookers for Mayor Jacobsen to get the show on the road already.

  Sam stood in her witch costume, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, and Bee looked about ready to breathe fire. “The nerve of that man,” she muttered, every now and again. “He had better not be here today. He had better not be here.” She broke off and sneezed violently.

  “Are you OK?” I asked. “You coming down with something.”

  “Rage.” Bee sneezed again. “That or I’m allergic to Detective Jones.”

  “Really, Bee, you can’t let him get to you like this.”

  “I can and I will. He seriously needs a reality check. He can’t even keep control of his own cases,” she said.

  I’d already told her all about Shawn Clark’s strange break-in at the Chowder Hut and Detective Martin’s hint that he might have somehow been connected to the murder. It seemed quite open and closed to me, but goodness, I wasn’t a law enforcement expert.

  But who else could it be?

  I scanned the crowds, searching for familiar faces, and spotted Franklin and a squat woman with styled cherry-red hair chatting off to one side. The owner of the Chowder Hut, a tall, thin woman who wore a Joker costume, was to our left. Detective Martin was positioned near the front where Mayor Jacobsen had taken to the stage.

  Many of the other faces were familiar—people I had served on the truck, or who had become brief friends or acquaintances in passing. It was a nice feeling, standing among them, but I reminded myself not to get too comfortable.

  I’d taken it upon myself to tackle Shawn to the ground when, really, it hadn’t been my place. Was it because I’d become too attached to Carmel Springs and its people?

  The mayor tapped on the microphone and squeal rang out.

  “Good heavens!” Bee cried, and sneezed for a third time.

  She was definitely coming down with something.

  “Attention everyone,” Mayor Jacobsen said, clearing his throat repeatedly. “I’d like to welcome you all to the final event in our Halloween celebration.”

  A smattering of applause rang out. “Get to it already!” someone yelled. “Who won?”

  “All right, all right,” Jacobsen said, flapping a slip of paper from the breast pocket of his matrix-style trench coat. It was quite something to see a man of his size dressed as Neo from the hit movie trilogy. “I’ve got the results right here. The winner of the Halloween decorating competition is decided by vote of the decorating committee.”

  People shifted. Samantha let out a little squeak and crossed her fingers, nearly dropping her prop broom in the process.

  “This year’s decision was reached by a unanimous vote. Or the results were unanimous. Either way, there was a clear winner.”

  I peered around at everyone in the crowd, and spotted Franny Clark standing a short way off, wearing no costume at all. Shawn was behind her, apparently having been bailed out, his arms folded and a single cut along it. He spotted me looking and scowled.

  “Come on,” Sam said. “Please, please, please, let it be me. Please let it be me.”

  “It is my great pleasure to reveal, with no further ado, that the winner of the Halloween decorating competition for 2019 is none other than…” He opened the envelope and extracted a slip of paper.

  The tension was so thick, it could’ve been cut with a knife. Even I held my breath.

  “Samantha Pringle!”

  Sam’s jaw dropped.

  Shouts of joy and clapping thundered all around us. Bee and I shrieked and clapped out hands. We drew Sam into a hug and helped walk her up to the front. She ascended onto the steps, visibly shaking, and posed for pictures with the mayor and the committee, holding a massive check.

  “This is amazing,” I yelled.

  “Justice at last,” Bee said, over the shouts and laughter, the clapping. “Poor Sam needed a pick me up after all the trouble in town over the last few weeks.”

  Sam’s cheeks were pleasantly pink, and she smiled from ear-to-ear, now, blinking back happy tears. It was so good to see a friend happy that I welled up as well. I wiped the tears from under my eyes, laughed and clapped looking around at the others. Bee beamed. The Carlingtons were nearby too, and Mr. Carlington lifted too fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly, his wife giggling at the noise.

  Most of the townsfolk cheered along as the photographers snapped photos, but some of the attendees didn’t look all that happy. Millie was one of them, interestingly, and so was Franny, though I could hardly tell if that was just her state of being or note. Shawn was gone too.

  None of that mattered, now. We’d done our part to help a friend in need. This called for a celebration—hot cocoa, creepy cakes, and an hour of warming ourselves by the fi
re. The murder investigation could wait. So could the mystery of what Shawn had been doing in the Chowder Hut.

  Couldn’t it?

  14

  “Thank you so much for your patron-achoo!” Bee sneezed and scattered coins all over the food truck’s front counter. She gasped for breath and scrambled a Kleenex out of the pocket of her apron, dabbing the end of her nose. “Sorry about thachoo!”

  “Thachoo?” the customer, a young woman, backed away from the change. “Listen, you keep it. I think I’m going to, um, yeah. Go.” And she hurried off, leaving both her change and her neatly packaged cupcake behind.

  “You forgot your foochoo!” Bee sneezed again, blocking it with her tissue. She turned away and erupted into volley of sneezes, one after the other, and the few customers we’d gathered early this morning backed away, all thinking better of their purchases.

  “Looks like that’s all she wrote for our breakfast cake eaters,” I said. “Bee, I told you not to get out of bed this morning.”

  “You can’t manage the truck by yourself,” Bee said, sounding as if she’d spoken through the end of a horn. “I can’t let you-choo!”

  “You very well can let me choo,” I said, pretending to be a train conductor and honking the horn.

  “Bery funny.”

  “Bery nasal,” I replied. “Look, Bee, we need to get you to a doctor. One or two days off the truck isn’t going to make a difference. Halloween was fantastic for business and your health comes first.”

  Bee sneezed a fiftieth time and grimaced, reaching for a fresh Kleenex.

  “That and the health of our customers. I’m going to have to quarantine the truck and scrub it donw after this.”

  “I’m fine,” Bee said, watery-eyed.

  “That’s enough stubbornness out of you. We’re going. Now, get in the front before you contaminate anything important.”