The Case of the Waffling Warrants

by Rosie A. Point

  “Were those gloves the only one of their kind? The embroidery, I mean.”

  “As far as I’m aware, yes. But you’ll have to talk to Mary about that,” Mrs. Willows said. “She’s the one who made them, and I’m afraid I didn’t know Tina that well back then. All I know is that it was a private commissioned pair of gloves.”

  That’s not odd. “You’re talking about Mary Moosmin, yes?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Do you have her contact details? I’d like to talk to her too.” I had a feeling that Mary would either cast light on the investigation or be of no help. I needed to find out which.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.” Mrs. Willows pulled a face. “Mary’s on vacation. She should be back sometime soon, but I never know with her. She lets the wind take her where it will most days.”

  If only we could all be so uninhibited. “That’s all I need for now, Mrs. Willows. Thank you.”

  19

  By the time I arrived back at the inn, the lunch service was over, clean up had been completed, and Lauren and Gamma had gone off for a drive in Lauren’s little car. That was fine, I needed time to think, and Lauren, bless her heart, had left me lunch under a cover on the kitchen table.

  I swept the cover off to reveal a fresh summer salad topped with roasted beets and a chicken breast with a honey-mustard glaze. I poured myself a glass of water then settled down to my meal.

  “Oh man, this is good.”

  The chicken was succulent, the dressing tangy yet sweet, and the vegetables earthy and filling. I finished off everything on my plate then sat back. I’d gotten lost in the food and it had provided me a moment of reprieve from my frustration over not having figured out much more about the case.

  Bridget Willows was a pseudo-business and life coach and had been the last person to see Tina alive, apart from Officer Miller. I’d have to add him to my suspect list at this rate. Josie didn’t want to talk and was up to something, whether that was murder or not, I didn’t know. Mary Moosmin was taken by the wind like Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac, and Mandy… I could talk to Mandy again.

  But I felt like a dog chasing its tail.

  A meow from the kitchen doorway drew my attention.

  Sunlight waited for me. He flicked his tail—unusual, he was normally in a great mood—and meowed a second time.

  “Just a moment, Sunlight,” I said, and got up. “I need to clean my plate. Can’t leave more mess for Lauren.”

  Sunlight proceeded to break into a volley of meows. I frowned, taking my plate and cutlery over to the kitchen sink. I made short work of cleaning up and stacking everything neatly then turned back to my suddenly vocal cat.

  A white cat, speckled brown, had appeared next to Sunlight.

  Wait a second.

  That wasn’t a white cat speckled brown. It was a chocolate brown cat covered in white dust. The cat meowed at me, and a shock bolted through my chest.

  “Cocoa Puff? Is that you?” I walked over to the kitties and bent down. I ran my fingers through Cocoa’s fur, bringing them up covered in flour. “How?”

  Sunlight meowed again.

  This was beyond suspicious.

  I could buy that Sunlight might break the rules and head into the kitchen when nobody was around, try his luck and romp around in the flour. But Cocoa? He was set in his ways. He wouldn’t break the rules, not even if Lauren cooed at him and offered him chicken from the kitchen sink.

  Regardless, I got up and walked back into the kitchen. I tried the pantry door. Firmly locked.

  Meow! Meow! Meow!

  The consistent meows from Sunlight brought me back to the archway. “What is it, boy?” I asked. “What are you trying to tell me?”

  Sunlight darted off down the hallway, past the base of the stairs and into the foyer. He pawed the library door open and entered, the tip of his ginger tail slipping out of sight.

  “Sunlight?”

  He poked his cute kitty face out again.

  “OK. I’m coming.” I followed my cat into the library.

  Sunlight was already over at one of the bookcases. This particular bookcase drifted on an unseen hinge—it was the entrance to one of the inn’s many secret passages and led to the attic. Gamma and I knew about this one and had already mapped it.

  Sunlight darted through the gap between the secret door and the wall and proceeded up the circular staircase and out of sight.

  “Wait for me,” I called.

  I took the stairs one at a time, carefully, since the staircase was rickety, and stopped at the top.

  The attic had a few windows that allowed in light, and the space was usually filled with an eclectic collection of antique furniture, both covered by sheets and exposed. But recently, Gamma had left the doorway ajar so she could get help moving everything out to clear the area.

  A man had “died” up here—a long story—and fascination about what had happened had made this an important part of her new ghost tour.

  Except the attic wasn’t empty.

  It was filled with bags of flour. A few of them had torn and spilled their floury insides to the wooden boards.

  Sunlight sat down beside me and meowed. An “I told you so” meow that I deserved.

  “Good job, Sunlight,” I whispered, bending and stroking his furry ears. “Good job.”

  But what on earth?

  Where had this flour come from? Lauren would lose it when she saw it sitting up here, unused and ill-looked after. The open bags were contaminated, and the rest? Was this where the supply had gone in Gossip? We hadn’t had more of Lauren’s waffle cupcakes for days.

  “We’ve got to tell them about this,” I said, and pulled my phone out of my pocket. I dialed my grandmother’s number.

  “Charlotte? We’re about to pull up in front of the inn. What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve found Gossip’s missing flour supply,” I replied. “Technically, Sunlight’s the one who found it.”

  “You what? Where?”

  “In the attic. There’s bags and bags of flour in the attic. The secret attic attached to the library.”

  “We’re on our way up. Give us five minutes.”

  I had a fruitless staring competition with the bags of flour. How had they gotten up here without anyone knowing? And when? And why?

  Footsteps on the stairs came a couple of minutes later. Gamma and Lauren entered the attic and their jaws dropped.

  “What on earth?” Gamma shook her head.

  Lauren was speechless, though the flush in her cheeks said she was angry. “This is where the flour went? What the—? I’m going to strangle Billy for this. I thought he didn’t have any from his suppliers but he must’ve sold it to someone.” Lauren stormed toward the stairs. “I’ll give that toad a piece of my mind!”

  “Careful on the stairs,” I called.

  Lauren didn’t reply but descended slowly, grumbling under her breath.

  “What do you make of it?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure what to make of it, Charlotte. This attic has been open all week, and the last time I came up here was five days ago to check it was neat. Somewhere between then and now, somebody has smuggled in countless bags of flour, right under my nose.” She was stiff. “I take the greatest offense to this. How didn’t I see it?”

  “You can’t be everywhere at once,” I said. “You’ve been busy with the kitten foster center.”

  “It’s not an excuse. Things are going to change around here. I have a camera installed in the armory. It’s about time I install a few around the outside of the inn.”

  I hadn’t seen my grandmother this upset since Jessie Belle-Blue had waggled a newspaper in her face months ago and called the Gossip Inn a murder hotel. Something had to give.

  20

  “You’re crazy, Billy. You’re out of your mind. How could you sell my flour to somebody else?” Lauren was on the warpath. I didn’t blame her if her supplier had sold her pre-ordered stuff to another buyer.

  Th
e chef paced back and forth in the inn’s kitchen, one hand on her pregnant stomach, the other clasping her cell phone to her ear.

  Gamma and I entered and took seats at the kitchen table. It wouldn’t be long until the dinner service, and in the meantime, we didn’t have much to do but consider the mystery of the reappearing flour.

  And Tina’s death.

  I pulled my phone out and set it on the tabletop while Lauren raged .

  “Case notes?” Gamma asked.

  I opened them for her, and she scooted closer, reading over my shoulder as I made adjustments.

  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

  Mandy Gilmore

  Bridget Willows

  Officer Miller?

  Evidence

  Glove embroidered specially for Tina found in Josie’s bakery—embroidered by Mary Moosmin who is on vacation.

  Brownie at crime scene. Still nothing on this.

  Links

  Josie owned a bakery. Brownie was found next to the victim’s hand. Someone attacked Josie in the alleyway.

  Tina’s glove was found in Josie’s bakery. Tina claimed the glove wasn’t hers. Need to talk to Mary Moosmin about this when she’s back from vacation.

  Someone who visited Tina must’ve killed her. ???

  Connection of Tina’s “crime” to the murder? Still nothing.

  Questions

  Who baked the brownies?

  Did the brownies contain poison?

  What was the cause of death?

  What did Officer Miller hear? Nothing of note. Unless he’s lying.

  Who was the owner of the glove found in Josie’s bakery if not Tina?

  What was Mandy talking about to Detective Goode? What funeral?

  Why did Mandy visit Tina?

  Why did Josie lie about visiting Tina?

  And why did Bridget Willows, head of the Gossip Sewing Club, visit Tina? Visited to discuss business mentoring and her arrest. Saw nothing.

  Was Brick Jonas involved in Tina’s demise?

  Who attacked Josie and why?

  “You have a lot of unanswered questions, Charlotte.”

  “I know. Apparently, I’m not that good at this sleuthing thing,” I replied.

  “You’re not serious,” Lauren said, cutting across our conversation. “Fine. OK. Yeah, Billy. Yeah. No, I won’t.” She hung up on her supplier with a stab of her thumb and stared us down. “He didn’t sell anyone my flour. Apparently, his supplier is fresh out too.”

  Gamma and I didn’t say anything.

  “What’s the problem?” Lauren asked, directing that question at me, snappily.

  My face went hot. “I, uh, we can’t figure out why Mandy Gilmore visited Tina on the morning of the murder.”

  “That? Why didn’t you just ask her? I did.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, sure,” Lauren said, relaxing out of her funk an iota. “After you mentioned it, I thought I might help you out by talking to her. She was in the same year as Josie so… yeah. I asked.”

  “What did she say, Lauren?” Gamma asked.

  “That she visited Tina because she wanted to discuss Mr. Tindell’s funeral. Apparently, they planned on attending it together. They were close, Tina and Mandy, and Mr. Tindell was a friend of the family, apparently. Mandy’s and Tina’s.”

  “Oh.” I typed that out.

  Perhaps, it was a good thing Lauren had asked instead of me. I doubted I would’ve gotten a candid answer from Mandy. But knowing her supposed reason why didn’t make it true. Same as with Bridget Willows. She could easily have lied to me about her motivations.

  Gamma and Lauren engaged in conversation about the appearance of flour in the attic, and I took to an online search about my suspects. Mandy’s name brought up nothing but a few social media profiles, as did Josie’s, but Bridget…

  Jackpot. I knew there was something strange about her whole businesswoman act.

  Bridget Willows had a previous criminal conviction. The Gossip Police Station had posted her mugshot online, dating back fifteen years ago. The charge? Aggravated assault.

  “—a ghost put the flour in the attic.” I tuned back into the conversation.

  “Lauren, you have ghosts on the brain,” Gamma said.

  “Can that happen?” Lauren massaged her temples.

  My grandmother tut-tutted.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just worried about tonight.”

  “What’s happening tonight?” I asked.

  “Jason’s going out of town, and I’m going to be alone at home with Tyson. I’m afraid of what might happen. What if the ghost comes upstairs and attacks? They can float through solid objects, you know. My grandmother always told me to watch out for that kind of thing.”

  “Is this the same grandmother who died and came back as a ghost?” Gamma asked, pointedly.

  “I’m serious,” Lauren said. “It’s spooky what’s going on at my house. If y’all don’t believe me, then I don’t know… come see for yourself.”

  “That’s an excellent idea. Charlotte,” Gamma said, “why don’t you go over and stay at Lauren’s tonight?”

  “What’s huh?”

  “Go stay at her place tonight. You girls can chat and have a movie night. Keep her company. What do you say?” Gamma asked.

  “Sure. Yeah, sure.” It would get me out of the inn and stop me from obsessing over the evidence I didn’t have. Or I could use the time to press Lauren for information about her sister. “Sure that would be fun.”

  “Great!” Lauren clapped her hands. “We can have a ghost hunt. I’ll look up ways we can get rid of spirits. Or maybe we can communicate with it.”

  Oh boy. This ought to be fun. It would be an interesting night, at least.

  21

  Later that night…

  * * *

  “I’m afraid I didn’t know, Charlie,” Lauren said, stirring the pot of macaroni and cheese on the stovetop in her kitchen. Her house was cozy, the living room small but populated with neat furniture and a coffee table that held mostly baby toys. “It was before my time.”

  I’d asked Gamma about Bridget Willows’ shady past, and she’d promised to do her own research and revert back to me with information. She’d had the assault record on file, but not any detail about it. I’d be interested to find out the truth.

  “It’s difficult to believe that Mrs. Willows would hurt anybody though,” Lauren continued, tapping the side of her spoon on the pot. Apparently, macaroni and cheese was the perfect ghost hunting cuisine. I’d been informed of that the minute we’d gotten through the door.

  Tyson was asleep in his stroller in front of the muted TV, his chubby arm thrown above his head.

  “But that’s always the case.” I sat down on the sofa, watching Lauren’s little boy as he snoozed. Amazing how kids were so cute when they weren’t pooping or puking or crying.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Everybody thinks they know everyone else until the truth comes out.”

  Lauren lifted her hand and whispered behind it. “You would say that because you were an s-p-y.” She spelled the letters out.

  “I’m pretty sure if anyone’s listening they can crack that code.”

  She blushed but took my jab in the spirit it was meant. Playful. “Oh, Charlie, I hope you can work out what happened to Tina soon. Everyone in Gossip’s been so tense about it.”

  “I know,” I said. “And I’ll figure it out.” I had to be confident about it, even though the case had presented me with some issues.

  So far, my main suspect wouldn’t talk, following her had yielded nothing, and no one would give me dirt on her. For all intents and purposes, everybody who had known Tina had been friends
with her, apart from Brick, who was about as approachable as, well…

  “I believe in you, Charlie. After everything you’ve been through, there’s no way you won’t get there in the end.”

  I appreciated the vote of confidence. The longer it took me to figure this out the more my sense of inadequacy grew. I’d gone from spy to maid, and while there was nothing wrong with being a maid, what good was any of my training now?

  I had chosen to stay in Gossip because I’d felt at home, but there was nothing but aching boredom and the feeling that I didn’t have a real place here.

  And the thought of anything happening to the people of this town set my stomach churning. I’d already landed my friends and the people I cared about in hot water once before. It had taken me a long time to warm to this town, and now that I had, there was no way I’d let anyone jeopardize that.

  Especially not handsome detectives who think they know best.

  Goodness, where had that thought come from?

  “So,” I said, to distract myself from morose thoughts, “what time does this mystery ghost usually start rocketing around down there.” I gestured off to the basement door.

  “Oh, it’ll be soon.” Josie checked her watch. “It happens every other night at 10:00 p.m..”

  “Every other night?”

  “Sure. Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays.”

  “A punctual and reliable ghost.”

  “Now, don’t tease me, Charlie. It’s real, I tell you,” Lauren said, and brought the pot of macaroni cheese over to the counter. She doled spoonfuls into two waiting bowls.

  “I wouldn’t dream of—”

  Something crashed in the basement. A clattering noise followed.

  “See!” Lauren hissed. “I told you!”

  Well, color me cream and call me Alfredo sauce.

  A clatter sounded below and then silence ensued.

  “I told you. I told you,” Lauren repeated, and lifted her cheesy wooden spoon. She gripped it in both hands. “What do we do? What if it comes up here?”

  “Wait here,” I said.