The Case of the Waffling Warrants Page 9

  “Charlie, you can’t go down there by yourself.”

  I shushed her and headed for the basement door. What we had here was a wild animal. It had to be. As much as I’d like to get onboard the ghost train—not literally, that would be terrifying—I couldn’t believe this was a paranormal occurrence.

  My phone was in my hand, so I switched on the flashlight app, covering the light with my thumb, then unlocked the basement door, quietly.

  I sneaked down the steps, sticking to the edges to avoid most of the creaks and complaints, holding my phone at the ready.

  A murmuring noise drew my attention, followed by a soft shuffling of feet. Close by.

  I reached the basement floor. Dark shapes moved underneath the house, and my heart climbed into my throat.

  “Freeze,” I yelled, flashing the light on…

  Two people in a passionate embrace!

  They sprang apart, immediately.

  Josie, plump, dark-haired, and coloring bright red.

  And Brick? Brick Jonas, the massive football-wielder who had dodged my questions and had proposed to Tina before her death.

  Lauren rattled down the stairs behind me then sucked in a breath. “Josie? What are you doing here?”

  Brick grumbled and scuffed his shoe on the ground. “I, uh, I gotta get going.” And then he clambered out of the basement window, an obscene spectacle to observe given the size of the man and the window respectively.

  “Josie,” I said. “This is why you went to visit Tina, isn’t it?” The realization struck home hard. “You didn’t want anyone to know that you were dating Brick, did you?”

  She bowed her head, refusing to meet my eye.

  “You were dating him while Tina was still his girlfriend, weren’t you?”

  Josie didn’t reply.

  “And you went to see her, why? To rub it in her face? Is that why you accused her of breaking into your bakery? You wanted her out of the way?”

  “No! No, that was the truth. She did break in. I was sure she did, but I… look, I went to talk to her at the police station to tell her there were no hard feelings. And ask if she felt the same way. It wasn’t a malicious meeting.”

  “Then why didn’t you say so?” I asked.

  “I didn’t want people knowing about Brick. He’s… well, he’s dumb as mud. I like him, but it’s embarrassing. And also, people liked Tina a lot. What would they say if they knew I stole him from her?”

  “Josie Marie Carlson,” Lauren said, “you should be ashamed of yourself! Running around in the middle of the night with a man. And hiding out in my basement to canoodle? It’s disgusting. You get your butt upstairs, right this instant.”

  Josie didn’t so much as look her sister’s way. She trudged up the stairs, her head still down and her cheeks flaming red.

  Lauren followed her up, scolding. “Never in all my years have I encountered someone who…”

  I tuned it out.

  Josie had been at the prison to talk to Tina about Brick. That left Mandy and Bridget.

  Two suspects and two missions. It was time I gave my grandmother a call.

  22

  “According to my Intel,” Gamma said, from the driver’s seat in her SUV, “Mrs. Willows attacked another businesswoman at a conference twenty years ago.”

  “Oh?”

  “There was a dispute about money,” my grandmother continued, reading off her phone, eyes narrowed, “but there aren’t too many details about the cause. What my sources do remember is that she walloped the other woman repeatedly with an umbrella. Bruised her black and blue and sent her to hospital with a concussion.”

  “So, she has a temper,” I said. “Not the type who would poison a person then.”

  “Still no cause of death?”

  “Nothing. Nothing in the news. No press conference revealing what happened. Detective Goode and the sheriff are keeping this close to their chests.” I wriggled my nose. “I detest a control freak.”

  “Stunningly ironic.”

  “I’m not a control freak.”

  “Then why are you so obsessed with the case?”

  “I’m being paid to be obsessed with the case, Georgina. You know that.”

  She waggled a black gloved finger at me. “Don’t be sassy, Charlotte. I’m here to help.”

  My grandmother had a commanding presence, and I didn’t dare backchat. I’d wind up feeling and looking like a child. Not that there was anyone to witness as we had parked in the blacked out SUV under a tree across from Bridget Willows’ tiny house.

  “I’m not a control freak,” I muttered, somewhat petulantly. At least I was aware of my petulance.

  “I understand you, Charlotte. I understand what you’re going through.” My grandmother glanced out of the window at Mrs. Willows’ darkened front yard. The porch lights were off. “You’re not the only one who left a life of espionage and excitement behind. Gossip is slow. And your life was fast.”

  I didn’t say a word. Gamma had torn my BandAid off in one sharp tug.

  “It’s not easy.” Her sigh was fraught with memories. “Feeling as if you’re useless after being respected and needed for years. Sort of like a professional Empty Nest Syndrome. But you’ll get through it. Just don’t kill yourself trying to solve mysteries and help other people to make yourself feel better about… Gossip.”

  I bit down on the inside of my cheek. It was an ego knock to admit any of what she’d said out loud. “Thanks,” I managed.

  “She’s not home. You should go in.”

  “Alone?”

  “You want the excitement, don’t you?” My grandmother flashed me a grin. “No alarm beams, and a small house. Child’s play.” She popped the center console open with a tap of her fist. Gamma removed a silver bullet and placed it on my gloved palm. “Skeleton key. Hit the button on the side, slip it into the keyhole, and it will do the rest.”

  I turned the object over in my hand. “Got it.”

  “And here.” Gamma removed a tube of lipstick next. She opened it, revealing the wedge of red lipstick within. “A woman’s best friend. Looks like lipstick, but…” She closed the tube again, tapped once on the top and lifted it to show the bottom. A lens had been revealed. “Tap once on the lid to reveal the lens, one twist to take a photo. There’s micro-SD card within.” She handed that over too.

  “Cool.”

  “Try not to get caught, Charlotte.” She tapped her throat, and her voice sounded in my earpiece. “I’ll warn you if she returns.”

  I slipped out of the SUV and headed across the road, keeping to the shadows. I’d opted for all-black tonight, but not armor. If I was caught, I didn’t want the advanced technology exposed. Even if it was to a small town business woman with a rap sheet.

  I reached the front of the house, tapped the silver bullet and exposed a section of metal. I inserted it into the door. The bullet made a nearly imperceptible hum and the clack of the lock followed.

  Nice.

  I pushed my way in and shut the door behind me. The last thing I needed was Bridget to arrive home and suspect something was up because I’d left the front door ajar.

  The inside of the house was cramped. Living room, kitchen, hallway, bathroom, one bedroom. I made for the bedroom, keeping the lights off and avoiding the blocky shapes of the bed and dresser. I reached the window, opened it then closed the curtains.

  Easy escape route. And I could now switch on the bedroom lights without anyone seeing who was in the room.

  I hit the lights, squinting and allowing my eyes to adjust to the change.

  Laptop on the bedside table.

  It was facing the bed, so I positioned myself, touching nothing except the floor with my feet. I lifted the lid of the laptop carefully, and the screen lit up. No password. Bingo.

  I navigated to the mailbox and opened it.

  It was full of emails from members of the sewing club and various business contacts. I typed Tina’s name into the search bar and several email threads popped
up.

  Re: Conference Booking for July

  Hi Mrs. Willows,

  Thanks for letting me know about this. I wanted to attend but I don’t think I can afford it right now. The bakery has been struggling a little lately, and I want to keep up with my mentorship fees to you. I hope that’s OK.

  Tina.

  …

  On Wed, Jun 30, 2021 at 9:22 PM Bridget Willows (bridgewillowsbiz@bizmail.com)

  Hi Tina,

  I’m forwarding you an invitation to the Businessperson’s Conference 2021 for Bakers. Please find all the relevant information attached. You can make the payment of $2999 to my bank account, and I will forward that on to them and ensure your spot is secured.

  Have a good day, dear.

  Mrs. Bridget Willows

  Business leader to business leaders.

  “Uh oh,” I murmured.

  That sounded scammy as heck.

  Asking Tina to pay her for the “Businessperson’s Conference 2021 for Bakers”? Yeah, that didn’t even sound like a real conference. Had Bridget gone to see Tina to push her for money? Could it be that she’d gotten mad about it?

  I lifted the lipstick tube and snapped a few photos of the correspondence. It would take less time to take photos than it would to forward this to myself.

  “Come in, Chaplin,” my grandmother spoke in my earpiece, quietly.

  “Reading you, Big G.”

  “Suspect is inbound. Repeat. Suspect inbound. Get out of there, Chaplin, now.”

  “Copy.” I exited the email app, closed the laptop and hit the lights.

  A key scraped in the front door, the sounds of Bridget murmuring under her breath as she tried to get into the house were the backdrop to my escape.

  I opened the curtains, soundlessly, slipped out of the open window, turned and closed it. The light flickered on in the bedroom two seconds after I’d clicked the window into place. I bent low, keeping out of sight, and watched as Bridget entered the room. She dumped her purse on the bed then stretched, sat down and removed her shoes.

  That was my cue.

  23

  I rounded the house, keeping low to the side of the building, my eyes peeled for activity from the neighboring yards or windows. “All clear?” I asked.

  “For now. You’d better move quickly, Chaplin. There’s someone rounding the bend.”

  I vaulted the fence, stripping off my gloves as I headed toward my grandmother’s SUV. The person “rounding the bend” as she’d put it, walked authoritatively. They were tall and male, and they stopped after a few steps, spotting me standing next to the black SUV.

  “Miss Smith?” Detective Goode’s voice made my heart leap and then sink like a stone.

  “I did tell you to hurry,” my grandmother chirped in my ear. “Now, I’m going to have to leave you here. Tell him you have no idea who drives the car.” The SUV’s tires squealed on asphalt as my grandmother put the car in reverse, did a professional handbrake turn, and sped off down the road.

  I would’ve been grumpy about the abandonment but my grandmother was right.

  If I hadn’t stopped to watch Mrs. Willows enter the room, hoping I’d see something incriminating, I’d have arrived at the SUV fast enough to evade Goode’s detection.

  “Miss Smith?” he repeated.

  “Hi,” I said, mentally searching for a reason to be here. “Did you see that car?” I tucked my gloves into the back pocket of my black pants, where I’d already secreted the skeleton key and lipstick camera.

  “I sure did,” Detective Goode replied, stopping under the vignette of light from a lamppost a few feet away. “What are you doing out here so late?” His tone was pleasant enough, but there was a definite edge to it. Suspicion.

  I walked over to him, stopping under the light as well. It would, hopefully, set him at ease. What sneak in their right mind would stand in full view under a lamppost?

  “I was visiting a friend.” I gestured vaguely down the road.

  “In that getup?”

  “My fashion choice isn’t to your liking?” I asked. “I’m so deeply scarred.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” Goode said, raising an eyebrow. “All black is not a common choice around here at this time of night.”

  “So, you’re an expert, I see.”

  “Open hostility.” Goode’s remark was off-hand, he turned his head and looked directly at Mrs. Willows’ house. “That’s not the usual reaction I get from women.”

  “Oh yeah? I’m glad I could break the mould for you, Detective.”

  “As long as that’s the only thing you’re breaking.”

  The rising tension between us was almost too much to bear. I wanted to punch him right on the nose, but that would be a seriously bad idea. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, pointedly. “You don’t live on this street. Do you?” I added in the question belatedly because my grandmother had already told me where the detective lived. So I could avoid him.

  And it wasn’t on this street.

  “Just taking an evening stroll,” he said.

  I couldn’t call him out on it without exposing that I knew he lived on the other side of town. “OK. Well, I guess I’ll be on my way. Unless you plan on pulling me in for questioning or arresting me for visiting a friend.”

  “Not tonight, Miss Smith.” He lingered, staring at me, his green eyes cutting right through to my soul.

  “How’s the investigation going?” Why not poke him for information while I had him here?

  Detective Goode’s expression closed off.

  “I heard that Tina was poisoned. Is that true?” I had heard no such thing, but I needed the cause of death already. The radio silence about the case had gotten under my skin.

  “No, it’s not.”

  I didn’t let my shock at him openly admitting that stop me from a follow-up question. “What happened to her then?”

  “You expect me to tell you that?”

  “Yes. I saw her body. I’m a witness. Don’t you think I deserve a little closure?”

  The detective snorted a laugh. “No.”

  “You’re delightful. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Look, I’ll let you in on a secret. I don’t care about being delightful or keeping the peace. I get the feeling you don’t either.”

  So much for pretending to be the cowed maid from the Gossip Inn. The man triggered my anger in a big way.

  “But I’ll tell you the cause of death. We’re releasing that information to the press tomorrow anyway. No use hiding it anymore. Mrs. Rogers was shot through the bars of her holding cell.”

  I couldn’t keep a straight face.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I can’t figure out how Officer Miller wouldn’t have heard a gunshot,” I said. “Or anyone else in the building. It’s a police station. Even with a silencer, that’s still a lot of noise, especially in a tiled room.”

  “You know a lot about firearms?”

  “I know enough,” I replied. “It’s good to stay educated.”

  “About weapons.”

  “It’s a free country.”

  “And you should thank your lucky stars you’re a free woman.”

  “Is that a threat?” I asked.

  “Of course not,” he replied, scanning me. “I don’t make threats.” He brushed past me, dousing me in his lemony cologne, and I hated that he smelled good.

  “So, how come nobody heard the shot?” I called after him. “You ever think of that?”

  “Small gun and a suppressor. Makes more of a knocking noise.”

  “Yeah, I know how it works, but Miller? What about Miller?” I asked. “He would’ve heard. Detective!”

  But Detective Goode merely raised a hand as he sauntered off.

  Darn him.

  24

  The following morning…

  * * *

  I glugged back a cup of coffee in the kitchen, standing over the sink. My eyes were scratchy from lack of sleep, and I coul
dn’t help yawning every other minute. Lauren had banished me to the sink because I’d nearly cut my finger off chopping fruit for the breakfast parfait.

  Gamma was in the kitten foster center, dealing with a cat related emergency. Apparently, two of the kitties didn’t get along and had to be separated. Of course, Mr. Grote, the uppity cat owner was in an absolute state about that.

  Meanwhile, the guests had gathered outside waiting for their breakfasts and coffee while I tried desperately to keep it together.

  I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. What with the news that the brownies weren’t relevant to the crime, how was I meant to? Tina had been shot in her cell and nobody had heard a thing. It was a miracle Officer Miller had kept his job.

  But who had shot her?

  Bridget Willows? It had to be, right? Because Bridget had been the last one to see her alive.

  Then again, if Officer Miller hadn’t heard the shooting, he couldn’t have been at his post. Someone might’ve sneaked into the holding cell area, apparently the Gossip Police Station couldn’t afford simple cameras, and shot her when no one was around.

  And that meant it could’ve been anyone. Not just Mandy, Josie or Bridget. But anyone with a gun.

  It wasn’t like I could track down every licensed weapon owner in the town.

  My head throbbed, and I forced another swig of coffee down my gullet.

  “Do most people have guns?” I asked, more to myself.

  “In Gossip?” Lauren replied. “Sure. A lot of people have guns. There are a lot of folks who like going hunting. Mr. Tindell liked hunting before he died. And that Brick Jonas too. Mrs. Marshall from the General Store, and—”

  “No, small guns. Handguns.”

  “I don’t know, Charlie, sorry.”

  I sighed, and massaged the tight knots of muscle that had formed in my shoulders.

  “Charlie, honey, you look tired. Maybe you should let Detective Goode handle this one.”

  “No,” I snapped it out. “Sorry, Lauren. I’m on edge. But no, I’m not letting that detective handle anything.”

  “Why not? He seems like he knows what he’s doing.”