“Right,” I said, and fished my cell phone out of the pocket of my jeans. I opened a fresh note.
Victim Name: Tina Rogers.
Victim Detail: Baker. In legal trouble. Hired me to prove her innocence—accused of breaking into The Little Cake Shop owned by Josie Carlson.
Cause of Death: Murder. Weapon unknown. Potentially poisoning. Confirmation required.
Suspects
Josie Carlson
???
Evidence
Glove embroidered specially for Tina found in Josie’s bakery.
Brownie at crime scene.
Links
Josie owned a bakery. Brownie was found next to the victim’s hand.
Tina’s glove was found in Josie’s bakery. Tina claimed the glove wasn’t hers.
Someone who visited Tina must’ve killed her.
Connection of Tina’s “crime” to the murder?
Questions
Who visited Tina at the holding cells before me?
Who baked the brownies?
Did the brownies contain poison?
What was the cause of death?
What did Officer Miller hear?
Who was the owner of the glove found in Josie’s bakery?
“I can handle that one for you.” Gamma pointed at the first question listed. “I’ll find out who visited Tina in the holding cells.”
“Great. Thanks, Georgina.”
“But of course.”
I closed my app and rose from the bench, mentally prepping for what I had to do next. Talk to Josie about the glove, the break-in, and whether she saw Tina this morning.
Have mercy.
5
The Little Cake Shop was tucked off Gossip’s Main Street in Baker Avenue, a name that was steeped in history. It seemed that all the coffee shops and bakeries—of which there were many—were tucked into this street and had been for years.
Delicious smells of bread and confectionery drifted on the air. It was like I’d stepped into “Diagon Alley” for bakers.
My stomach grumbled, but I ignored it and scanned the outside of The Little Cake Shop.
A brick building, with plenty of windows letting in natural light, a glass front door with a cartoon cake logo on the front, the look completed by the cream and baby blue striped awning, bearing the bakery’s name in golden print.
Inviting. But the sign in the front door read CLOSED in big bold letters.
I walked up to it, cupping my hands either side of my face, and peered inside.
A woman stared back at me from within. Short, brunette, plump and unfriendly, Josie raised an eyebrow.
I jerked back, sucking in a breath. There’s a sight you don’t see every day. And don’t want to. “Josie,” I called, and rapped my knuckles on the glass. “Mind if I talk to you for a second?”
The door opened, bell tinkling above it. Josie blocked my entry, her eyebrow stuck in an annoyed arch. “I know you,” she said, sniffing. “You’re Lauren’s friend, right? The maid at the inn.”
“That’s right. Charlotte. Or Charlie. Whichever you prefer.” She had to remember me. We’d spent a day in the kitchen together while she looked after Lauren’s firstborn not too long ago. But she was one of those types of people. The kind who pretended they didn’t remember you because it made them feel special.
“What do you want?” she asked. “I’m in the middle of cleaning up.”
“I had a couple of questions for you,” I said. “On behalf of Tina Rogers.”
That took the wind right out of her snobby sails. The eyebrow sank back into a natural position. “T-Tina?”
“That’s right,” I said, offering her a bright smile. “I assume you heard about what happened in the holding cells?”
Josie swallowed audibly. “Yeah. I heard. So what?”
“So, Tina’s dead, but before she passed, she asked me to help her clear her name. You accused her of breaking into your store.”
“It was pretty obvious it was her. She left her glove behind. She never takes those gloves off. She even carries them with her in summer. I bet she thought she’d leave fingerprints behind or… I don’t know, something, and she wore the gloves to hide her identity while she was ruining my shop.”
“So, you’re suggesting she dropped a glove even though she was using them to hide her identity, and thus was identified by it?”
“Why did she ask you for help?”
“I think you know why.” It was common knowledge that I’d been involved in solving a few mysteries.
“Whatever. What do you want to know?”
“First, what happened here?” I asked. “What did Tina take from your store?”
Josie didn’t invite me in, and I didn’t expect her to. A couple of people passed by on the sidewalk, and Josie waited before answering. “There was some money missing from the register, not that much, and she trashed the place.”
“Trashed it how?”
“Spray paint, broken chairs, glass, that kind of thing. I got the paint off, but this is costing me a fortune to repair. And being closed doesn’t help either. My customers love my offerings, and they’re upset about this too.”
Yeah, definitely an arrestable offense. “Why did you think it was Tina?”
“I told you. The glove. The stupid, pink glove with the daisy embroidered on the front. It was made specially for her.”
“OK,” I said.
Interesting that Josie was willing to answer my questions. Was she trying to appear innocent?
“And where did she get this glove?” I asked.
“No idea,” Josie replied. “Why would I know that? We weren’t exactly the best of friends. She was annoying, always talking about bread. Who cares about bread? Not me. And, uh, yeah, all I know is that she kept bragging that her gloves were specially made. She never told me who had made them though.”
I nodded. “Uh-huh. OK. And when did you last see Tina?” I asked.
Josie checked her watch. “How much longer do you want to talk for? I’m busy.”
“The more information you give me the better,” I said. “It’s all in aid of finding out who broke into your store.”
Josie let out a breath, like she’d rather be doing anything other than talking to me. “A couple of days ago.”
“A couple of days ago,” I repeated, searching her face. “You’re sure about that.”
“Yeah.” She glanced off to the right. “Yeah. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“I have to go. I have things to do, and this is a fantastic waste of my time.” Josie shut the door in my face and turned the lock with a resounding click.
I backed up a few steps on the sidewalk, folding my arms over my cotton, sleeveless blouse, and peering up at the sign overhead.
I don’t buy it. There’s something fishy going on here.
6
That evening…
* * *
Lauren finished loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, humming under her breath. I sat at the rough wooden table in the Gossip Inn’s kitchen, my case notes open on my phone, and my brow furrowed. I kept a hand on Tyson’s stroller, where he dozed—the little tyke had turned one not long ago, and had a bubbly attitude to match his mother’s.
Thank goodness he didn’t inherit any personality traits from his aunt, Josie.
“Figured anything out yet?” Lauren asked.
“Nothing yet. I’ve got clues but no answers. Of course, I’ve just started looking into it so… It will be a while before I have anything concrete.”
“Have you heard from Tina’s mother?”
“Yeah, actually. She asked me to meet her tomorrow morning to talk about everything. She wants me to clear Tina’s name, and, I’m guessing, figure out who did this. But we’ll see what happens. Either way, I’m checking it out.”
“We can always count on you, Charlie.” Lauren wiped her hands off on her apron. “Look at him, sleeping like an angel.” She sighed. “I hope it stays th
at way. He’s been fussy lately. I think it’s got to do with the ghost.”
I blinked, shifting my gaze from the phone to my friend. “The what?”
“The ghost. In my basement.”
Lauren was a big believer in the supernatural. I was a believer in facts. And that there was usually a rational, sometimes nefarious, reason for supposedly paranormal events. I wasn’t about to judge Lauren for her beliefs.
“Why do you think there’s a ghost in your basement?” I asked.
“Noises at night. And it’s not animals or rats or whatever. Oh, Charlie, don’t look at me like that, I’m serious. There’s a ghost in the basement. I hear it howling at night, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s keeping Tyke awake.”
“You know,” I said, returning to my case notes. “Pregnancy hormones give you vivid dreams. It’s a scientific fact.”
“They also give me mood swings,” Lauren said. “Do you really want to get on the wrong side of a hormonal woman with easy access to knives and a rolling pin?”
“Merely making an observation.” I grinned at her.
A meow sounded from the kitchen doorway.
Cocoa Puff, the inn’s resident cat, chocolate fur and a sweet disposition, sat in the hallway, looking in. All cats were forbidden from entering the kitchen, and they stuck to the rules for fear of the chef’s wrath—a spritz from a spray bottle full of water.
“Hey, boy,” I cooed, and got up from the chair. I walked out into the hall and stroked Cocoa Puff. “I missed you today.” Usually I was in the inn, cleaning or serving guests, with Cocoa Puff tailing close behind. He was a great companion and alternated between sleeping at the base of my bed or my grandmother’s.
Ever since I’d adopted a new cat, Sunlight, a boisterous ginger boy who liked getting up to mischief, Cocoa Puff had taken to switching up his attention between me, Gamma, and the guests.
A prrrt was followed by the appearance of Sunlight, himself. He ran up the hall and bumped into my leg, purring like mad.
“Hey, and there you—oh!” Sunlight’s fur was covered in a fine coating of white dust.
Shoot! I forgot about the flour from this morning.
“Hey, Laur, come look at this for a second, will you?”
Lauren turned the stroller around, checking Tyson was still asleep, then came over to us. “What is it?”
“Flour on Sunlight’s fur.” I drew my fingers through his ginger fur and held them aloft. “See? Mr. Grote came to me this morning with his cat covered in flour too. I told him we’d check on pantry security. Is the pantry door locked?”
“Of course,” Lauren said. “Always. And there’s no window in there. No way one of the cats could’ve gotten in. Gosh, there’s hardly enough flour to go around to get them messy in the first place.”
“Weird.”
“Besides, wasn’t Mr. Grote’s cat in the kitten foster center?” Lauren nodded toward the door that separated the main portion of the inn from the kitten foster center. It was an engraved, thick wooden door, kept locked at all times. Only Gamma, Lauren, and I had keys for it.
“You’re right. This is super strange.” I dusted off Sunlight’s fur, carefully. He purred, appreciating the extra grooming help. “I wonder how it happened.”
“I don’t know, but it didn’t come from my pantry. You know I run a tight ship, Charlie,” Lauren said, in her Texas twang.
“I know.”
Lauren returned to the kitchen to clean the last of the counters—her favorite thing to do before she left for the evening—and I got to thinking. Not so much about the floury fur, that was a mystery that could wait, but about Tina and, especially, Josie.
I gave Sunlight and Cocoa Puff a kiss apiece on their heads, then entered the kitchen. “I spoke to your sister today.”
“Oh! About the break-in at the bakery?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “And about Tina. I had a question—how well did Josie and Tina know each other?”
Lauren stopped wiping down the counters and fisted her hips. “Well, now, Charlie, why are you asking? Surely, you don’t think my sister had anything to do with what happened to Tina.”
“I’m not saying that,” I replied, trying for diplomacy. “I’m collecting as much information as possible about the victim and her relationships with others. If Josie knew a lot about Tina’s life, she might tell me who didn’t like her.”
“Oh. Yeah, sure. I get that.” Lauren returned to her scrubbing. “Tina and Jo go way back. They were in the same year at high school together, you know? Kind of like… frenemies, but more friends than enemies. Josie always wanted the best for her. She was real excited when Tina opened up The Bread Factory. They talked a lot about doing a joint venture together.”
“That’s cool. So they were friends. On good terms?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
Then why did Josie tell me they weren’t? And why did I get the feeling that Josie had something to hide?
“That’s good news. I’ll talk to her again sometime. I think she was flustered today.”
“Oh, yeah,” Lauren said. “She’s been dealing with a lot lately. The break-in, boyfriend stuff, and now Tina dying.”
“Poor Josie.” Through divine intervention, it seemed, I managed to keep the sarcasm from my voice. “How are she and your husband getting on?” Jason was another person I didn’t like much. I considered him a deadbeat dad. When Lauren had first had Tyke, Jason had lied to her and hidden out for weeks at a time because he needed “space” while she dealt with her newborn. They were still together. Another case of divine intervention. Or, rather, marriage counseling.
“Oh, as usual. Josie and Jason can’t stand each other.” Lauren rolled her eyes. “But it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve got my boy and a baby on the way. I don’t have time for family drama.”
“Good to hear.” I helped Lauren with the last of the cleaning, waved goodbye to a groggy Tyson in his stroller, then exited into the hall, the cats on my heels.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.
There was murder and mystery afoot.
7
The following morning…
* * *
Tina’s mother, Mrs. Ursula Rogers, met me outside the Hungry Steer—the most popular restaurant in Gossip. The Steer was housed in a big red barn, with all the trappings expected of a place with its appearance, including hay bales, rough hewn tables, barrel stands, and lanterns for lighting.
Mrs. Rogers was the older version of her daughter. Blonde, tall, and willowy, with a pretty face, and an unfortunately large nose to add character to it.
“Thank you for meeting with me this morning, Mrs. Rogers,” I said, emerging from my Gamma’s sea-green Mini-Cooper.
We shook hands. Mrs. Rogers’ shake was firm, but her eyes were puffy.
“I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances,” I said.
“Please. Don’t thank me. I’m the one who needs your help. I should be thanking you,” she said, her voice catching in her throat.
“There’s nothing to thank me for yet.” I gestured to the Hungry Steer. “Shall we?”
We entered the homey interior and were seated at one of the booths near the back of the restaurant. Mrs. Rogers wore black and toyed with the menu, looking around the place.
“It’s busy,” she said. “This early in the morning?”
“Oh sure,” I replied. “Grayson Tombs, the owner, likes to keep his employees working around the clock.” Needless to say, Grayson was another person I didn’t like. He flirted inappropriately with Lauren and had insulted my grandmother to boot.
Hmm. There are a lot of people I don’t like, apparently.
We ordered our drinks—a coffee for Mrs. Rogers and a strawberry milkshake for me—then settled into the booth.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rogers,” I said. “I didn’t know Tina well, but she seemed like a nice person from the short call we had. I’ll understand if you’d like me to give up the investigation and return your
funds.”
“No! No, please. I don’t want that. I need you to figure out what’s going on here.” Mrs. Rogers welled up. “My daughter was murdered in a holding cell. You can’t tell me that it’s a coincidence. I mean, first she’s arrested on trumped up charges that make no sense, and then this happens? The police have to be involved. Or… someone is. I don’t know. I’m confused.”
“Have you spoken to Detective Goode?”
“Yes. And he wasn’t exactly forthcoming about his investigation. He asked me questions about Tina’s friends and enemies and that was it. He didn’t offer me any information. It’s so annoying.”
“My experience was similar.” Detective Goode was just doing his job. Still, it was kind of annoying not being able to twist his arm like I had with the previous detective.
Mrs. Rogers drank her coffee in silence.
“Mrs. Rogers, if you want me to help you, I’m going to need to ask you a couple of questions. I know this isn’t the best time but—”
She waved a hand. “I’ll answer any questions you have. Whatever helps you find who did this to my daughter.”
“All right.” I removed my phone from my purse. I placed it on the table and unlocked it, opening it to my case notes. “I’ll be taking some notes while we talk. Is that OK with you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Mrs. Rogers, Tina mentioned an embroidered glove that was found in Josie’s bakery. Can you tell me about that? Do you know where she got the gloves? And whether it was the only pair of its kind?”
“Yes, they were definitely special. Mary Moosmin from the Gossip Sewing Club made the pair of gloves for her years ago. They were light, since most of our winters have been light, but they were beautiful and comfortable. Tina loved them. She didn’t go anywhere without them, which was why it was such a shock to her when one of her gloves was found in Josie’s bakery.”
“Tina mentioned that the glove wasn’t hers on the phone. Did she say anything like that to you?”
Mrs. Rogers shook her head. “No. That was Tina’s glove. I’ve brought the other one along for you for evidence purposes.” She removed it from her handbag and placed it on the table.
The Case of the Waffling Warrants Page 3