Marzipan and Murder Page 8

  I grabbed my robe from the back of the bathroom door and slipped it on. I rushed into the bathroom and to the door opposite that connected to Bee’s room. I pounded on it.

  “Easy, easy,” Bee called out. “Some of us are trying to sleep in here.”

  “Bee, wake up! It’s 9 am. The truck. We have to—”

  The door cracked open and Bee’s bleary-eyed glare peered through at me. “Ruby, the truck’s locked. Remember? And we can’t get in? The locksmith’s coming at 10 am. We’ve still got an hour to get ready.”

  The reality settled around me and I let out a breath. “Oh. Right. I completely forgot.”

  “That’s apparent,” Bee said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab myself a cup of coffee. Take your time in the bathroom.” She snapped the door shut and shuffled off, humming under her breath.

  I rubbed my eyes and caught my haggard reflection in the mirror. Good heavens, I needed a shower, a fresh set of clothes and about twenty cups of coffee.

  A shower and two cups of coffee later, I was more ready to tackle the day. I’d brushed my hair, splashed on some lip gloss and mascara, and missed one of Sam’s delicious breakfasts, but we could always go grab something to eat after the locksmith had come.

  It was just such a pity that we’d lost a day of work on the food truck when we’d just been growing popular again.

  At 10 am, I knocked on Bee’s door, and we made our way down to the truck. I tried the door, but it was still locked up tight. Whoever had taken the keys had kept them and left the truck behind.

  “How strange,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they steal it?”

  “I find it odd, as well. Unless they wanted something inside it?”

  “What if they stole our cupcake ingredients?”

  “Or my recipe book!” Bee clenched her fists. “Hell hath no fury like a Bee who’s had her recipes stolen.”

  “Catchy.”

  Bee flashed me her gap-toothed grin, but the smile faded to worry. “It doesn’t look like it’s been vandalized or anything. I don’t understand. Why would they have done this? There’s no reason to break into someone’s room and steal something as useless as a set of keys without taking what they open.”

  “Exactly. Oh, here he is.”

  The locksmith arrived in a truck with his name printed along the side in snazzy print: Guy’s Locks and Car Keys. He leaped out of the truck, spry despite his weight. His shirt lifted over his belly, and his jeans were barely held up by his belt. He smelled strongly of metal shavings.

  “What we got here?” he asked, shaking my hand and then Bee’s. “Missing keys?”

  “Correct,” I said. “We didn’t want to break the window.”

  Guy sucked his teeth. “Good choice, ma’am. Good choice. Wouldn’t want to cost yourself extra money. Give me a half-hour and I’ll have it all set for ya. New set of keys and everything.”

  We retreated to the Oceanside’s front porch to watch, and Sam came out bearing two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies.

  “I thought you might want these while you wait.” Sam seemed to droop as she handed them over. “I can’t believe this has happened to you. And at my guesthouse again. What am I going to do about this? I always figured our town was safe. Obviously, there are always those petty theft cases, but this is getting out of hand.”

  “Sam, this isn’t your fault at all,” I said, taking a bite of a crumbly yet gooey chocolate chip cookie. “You’ve been a fantastic host.”

  “Exactly,” Bee put in. “It feels more like we were the ones who brought all this negativity down on you rather than the other way around.”

  “Now, you’re starting to sound like Detective Jones.”

  Bee shot me a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “I’ve never been so severely insulted in my entire life, I’ll have you know.”

  “Apologies. I was being overly dramatic.”

  “I’ll accept it.”

  Sam sat down heavily on one of her porch chairs. “If word gets out that another break-in has happened here, I don’t know what I’m going to do. No one will want to visit.”

  “Sam, please, don’t worry about this. We’ll find a way to make it better.” But I had no idea how we’d do that.

  I contemplated while Guy finished up. Soon, he came back to us with a fresh set of keys. “All done,” he said, bobbing his head slightly as he placed the keys in my palm. “Y’all give me a call if you need anything else.”

  “We will, thank you.” I paid him, and once he was gone, Bee and I approached the truck. “Now, we get to see if anything’s missing.”

  “My recipe book,” Bee hissed.

  I unlocked the truck with our new set of keys and we piled inside. Bee made a ‘beeline’ for her secret recipe book hiding spot in the corner cupboard and emerged with it in her hands. She clutched it to her chest, breathing heavily. “Thank goodness. My culinary secrets are safe.”

  “You know, the police should really be here. They should be taking fingerprints.”

  “Don’t even get me started.”

  I went through the ingredients and checked the boxes, made my way from the back of the truck to the front, searching high and low in case the key thief had taken something or left evidence behind. I sat down in the driver’s seat and something poked me where the sun didn’t shine.

  “Ow!”

  “What is it? Are you all right?” Bee rushed through to the cab.

  “I’m sitting on some—” I removed the object.

  It was a glittery pink smartphone, the screen sleek black.

  “I didn’t know you upgraded,” Bee said.

  “I didn’t,” I replied. “This isn’t mine.”

  “I’m not the glittery pink type.”

  “Then who’s is it?” I unlocked the screen. There was no passcode. An image of Honey Wilson was the background. She wore her flesh-colored bikini and a pair of high heels. “It’s Honey’s phone,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  I showed her the screen.

  “What’s it doing here?” I asked, and opened up her messages. Just to be sure this was really her phone and not someone else’s. I doubted William would have had a glittery phone, even with Honey’s picture as a background.

  “What’s that?” Bee asked. “That message there?” My partner in baking leaned against my seat and tapped on the screen.

  A message opened.

  I told you you’d regret this. You should have just done what I wanted from the start. You’re going to die today.

  Date on the day of her murder. From a number that wasn’t in her phone contacts. Bee and I stared at each other, wide-eyed. “Who? How? Why?”

  “Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Bee said. “Quick, let’s copy the number down. We have to report this to the police.”

  I blinked. “But…”

  “The person who stole the truck keys must have planted the phone in here. They wanted to frame you as the murderer. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cops pull up before we can even call them. We have to act quickly,” Bee said, her own phone out of her pocket. She copied down the strange number then took the glittery phone from my hand and wiped it down. “We don’t want them to have anything on you.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening. Why?”

  “I don’t know,” Bee said, as she put the phone in the glove box. “But we’re going to find out.”

  19

  “That man!” Bee stamped her foot so hard she almost tripped. “I can’t believe we have to endure dealing with him at all.” She glared after the police cruiser.

  It turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from sight. The pressure in my chest stayed just the same. Detective Jones and his partner had rolled up and snatched the phone from us before we’d even called them. No amount of explaining what had happened seemed to make a difference.

  From what Jones had said, he clearly believed that I’d had Honey’s phone because I’d killed her and had wanted
to hide the evidence from them. Patently untrue, of course.

  “It’s OK, Bee. We’re going to figure this out on our own. You have the number, right?”

  “Right,” Bee said and removed her phone from her pocket.

  We retreated to the porch—so we wouldn’t look strange, standing in the middle of the road fiddling with a phone—and huddled together.

  “Here we go. Let’s see who answers,” Bee said, and hint dial. She turned up the volume and put it on speaker. The dial tone beeped. “Shoot. It’s engaged.”

  “Or off.”

  “Or maybe it was a burner phone. The killer used it and threw it away to ensure that the police couldn’t latch onto their signal.”

  “Personally, I wouldn’t have been worried. I doubt Jones knows anything about triangulating a signal,’ I said.

  Bee tried the number again but to no avail. There was simply no answer, and we were out of luck. Bee sighed and tucked her phone back into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m stumped,” she said. “We know the wedding organizer might have been up to something, but we have no real proof other than the fact she might not have liked Honey.”

  “And there was the whole Richard in the will deal.” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. We definitely weren’t going to be driving out to the beach today to serve our treats, and that meant we’d have some time to work on the case. “I have an idea.”

  “Shoot.” Bee leaned against the railing. “I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

  “Well, there’s one obvious avenue we haven’t investigated yet. We could talk to William.”

  Bee pulled a face. “Only one problem with that. If we upset him, he’s likely to go tell the detective about it.”

  “It’s probably a chance we have to take, regardless.”

  “I agree. Let’s do it.” Bee’s hazel eyes were aglow with excitement.

  We bundled into the guesthouse and up the stairs to the second floor where William and Honey had been staying together. Over the past few days, we’d only seen William briefly, always in passing, and he’d looked tired and sad.

  According to just about every crime show I’d watched, the spouse was usually the prime suspect in a murder case, but talking to William right after Honey’s death had seemed like a crass thing to do.

  I knocked on his door, my mouth drying up.

  A beat passed. Bee shifted next to me.

  The latch clacked and William opened the door. “Hello,” he said. “Can I help you with something?”

  “Hi, William,” I said. “You don’t know us very well, but we just wanted to offer our condolences for your loss.” And shamelessly use that as an excuse to squeeze you for more information. What if he had done it? What if William had killed Honey in a rage? They had fought a lot, after all, and the engagement ring had been removed from her hand. Maybe he’d wanted to keep it afterward.

  William nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “As I understand it, Honey was planning on having you cater the wedding.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Oh shoot,” Bee said, “I almost forgot. I’ll be right back.” She rushed back down the stairs, leaving me along with a potential murderer. Not that it was a problem or anything. Wait, no, that’s a huge problem.

  “If that’s all?”

  “Oh, I just, uh…”

  Bee’s footsteps hurried back and she reappeared, carrying a Bite-sized Bakery pink and green striped box. “Here,” she said, pushing it into William’s hands. “They’re cupcakes for you to enjoy. Where I come from, it’s customary to bring food to a wake. I know this isn’t one, but—”

  William clasped the box in his large hands, his usually handsome face crumbling slightly. His chin quivered. He took a deep breath. “Thank you. That’s very kind. Please, come in. Have some coffee and one of these. I’m leaving soon. It would be nice to have some company while I pack.”

  Bee and I exchanged a glance and followed him into the room.

  His was much larger than ours, with a four-poster bed decked out in white and teal cushions. He had an amazing view of the ocean, a balcony, and a pair of sofas. A flat-screen TV sat on the wall, and I spied a grand bathroom, tiled, with a four-footed Jacuzzi inside it. Good heavens, William had to be paying Sam an arm and a leg for this room.

  “Please,” he said, gesturing to the sofa.

  Bee and I sat down. William set the cupcakes on the table in their box then prepared the coffee.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  “No, it’s fine,” he replied. “I prefer to keep my hands busy. It’s distracting.” He fixed us coffee then came to take a seat. His bags were open on the bed, clothing folded neatly within, and a pink makeup bag on top of it, that had likely belonged to Honey. It was sad that William had kept that. Perhaps, he missed her. That or he liked wearing makeup.

  The ridiculous thought almost brought a smile to my lips, but I contained it. William wore a suit and a tie, his dark hair parted to one side—not exactly the makeup-wearing type.

  “I’m sorry you haven’t had much company,” I said. “If we’d known, we would have made more of an effort.”

  “No, it’s all right. In a way, I needed some time alone. I had to process what happened.” William shook his head. “I still miss her every day. I’m so sure I’ll wake up one of these mornings and she’ll be lying in bed next to me.”

  “Sorry.” Bee was brisk about it. She reached for a cupcake and tucked into it, probably to keep herself from feeling too awkward about the whole thing.

  “We spoke to Jessie,” I said. “She was upset too. And Richard…”

  “Richard handles things in his own way. We might look alike but we’re two completely different people.” A slight tightening occurred around William’s lips. He glanced off to one side. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I’ll be glad to leave this town.”

  “So, the police have told you you’re allowed to go then?” Bee asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I have a rock-solid alibi. I hate saying that. I have an alibi for the morning of my fiancée’s death.” A bit of coffee spilled from his cup. “It’s the worst thing I’ve ever had to say.”

  “Sorry,” Bee and I said, in unison. It was easy to get into the habit, but I was sure that no amount of apologizing would make a difference to William.

  “But Jessie’s not leaving?” I asked.

  “No, she’s not.” Again, a tightening around William’s lips. “Not that she should. I’m not convinced that… No, never mind. Forget I said anything.”

  “Do you think she had something to do with this?” Bee asked. “If the police want her to stay that might mean something.”

  William’s tight lips drew even more so.

  “She was upset about it, though,” I said, trying to subconsciously nudge William toward the outburst that was so clearly on the way. “She was upset about poor Honey. Said that Honey had always been her friend and that it was such a shame she was gone.”

  “Is that what she said?” William’s tone was ice.

  “Pretty much verbatim,” Bee put in.

  “Evil little witch.” The words came out hard yet quiet. “She’s nothing but a witch, that woman. She never wanted Honey and me to get married. She was always jealous of us. The day we got engaged and Honey posted a snap of our engagement ring online, Jessie had nothing nice to say about it.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, she told Honey that I wasn’t good enough for her. But Honey saw right through that. Truth is, Jessie’s just jealous of us and always has been. She hates the fact that she married a man who’s poor.”

  I didn’t have words. It spoke to their characters that it mattered so much to them how wealthy their spouses were.

  “Jessie and Honey were always competitive. And Honey always won. Ever since I met her, they were at each other’s throats, and I told the police as much too. If anyone killed Honey it was her.” William set down his coffee to
stop from spilling any more. “Jessie kept telling Honey what to do. She tried to give her legal advice, for Pete’s sake, and all because she couldn’t stand the fact that Honey was finally happy and doing better than her.”

  “Well,” Bee said, “that’s just terrible.”

  “Terrible,” I echoed.

  William sat back. “Anyway,” he said. “I can’t wait to be out of here. I thought coming back to my hometown would be refreshing and happy. I guess I was wrong. It’s time for me to leave.”

  “We hope you feel better.” I got up. “I know that probably won’t be possible for a while.”

  “I’ll be happy when that Jessie gets what’s coming to her,” William replied.

  We let ourselves out of his room and walked down the hall in silence. The urgency to solve the case had peaked. Had Jessie down it? Had Richard? Clearly, William hadn’t. And there was still that wedding organizer, Gina.

  “What now?” I asked.

  But Bee only shook her head.

  20

  The Corner Café was located directly across from the town hall, in a brick building that claimed it was as old as the town itself. The pictures on the walls showed the very first dirt road through the center of town, along with horse-drawn carriages and folks in old-timey clothes.

  The air in here hummed with gossip and activity, and it was exactly the reason we’d come calling. If anyone would have seen something, it would be the folks in this street. And servers were always eagle-eyed, looking out for new customers or for a chance to take a quick break from the grind of waiting on tables all day.

  Besides this place smelled amazing and we did need a break from all the walking, thinking, and deducing.

  We took a table right in front of the window, and I turned my gaze to the town hall. It’s grand, dark doors were closed. Any evidence that a crime had been committed there was gone, now—no police lines or cars or onlookers.