Murder With Sprinkles: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 11

by Point, Rosie A.

  “Right,” I said. “Except the lipstick on Tank’s collar was grape jelly.”

  “True, true. And we don’t have evidence proving that he had anything to do with it, but… even if he didn’t have lipstick on his collar, that doesn’t mean anything. Gillian was struck from behind. She wouldn’t have been in his arms when it happened.”

  “Yeah. Though, she could have turned her back on someone she trusted. Which would maybe rule out Sara?”

  “Sara doesn’t technically have an alibi for the night of the murder. She might have left the charity event. Then again, we have no idea what time the murder happened, so how can we possibly draw a conclusion about anyone? Even the husband could still be suspicious. It depends on timing.”

  “But that’s not a bad thing. We have three open leads rather than three closed ones, right?”

  “Kind of,” Bee said. “Just feels like we basically have nothing.”

  I nodded and popped the lid on my Styrofoam box. I lifted my burger and took a bite. Delicious—salty bacon, thick juicy patty, soft sesame bun and crispy lettuce. My worries dissolved for a few moments, and I got lost in the flavors.

  That was what food was for—I’d never understood people who could ‘eat to live’ rather than ‘live to eat.’

  “These are so good,” I said, taking another bite.

  “Agreed.” Bee grinned at me. “Prattlebark Village might be a little weird, even spooky, but at least the food’s good.” We’d gotten the takeout from a burger place down the road. Surprisingly, there were loads of competing restaurants near the town square. In fact, there were so many restaurants in this town, it was no wonder that Gillian had flipped out at the thought of yet more competition.

  Could it be a restaurant competitor that had murdered her?

  This was the thing: there were so many people who hadn’t liked her, it was difficult to narrow it down to one suspect. Or even three.

  “OK,” I said, finishing off my burger and moving onto my fries. They were thin-cut, salty and crisp. “So, we know that Gillian was dumped in the creek, right? Maybe, if we figure out which properties border the creek, we’ll have a clearer idea of who would’ve had easy access.”

  “First property that comes to mind is the mayor’s,” Bee said. “We know his property borders that creek. And he lied to us about his whereabouts on the night of the murder. Why hide the fact that he was at a charity event when everyone would find out anyway?”

  “Right. And he let us walk away from breaking into Gillian’s restaurant. Ugh, we’re going in circles, aren’t we?”

  Bee gave me a glum look. “Wait a second!” She hurried to the bathroom. The faucet ran, and she reemerged shaking off her hands. “Had to wash off the grease.” Bee grabbed her handbag and opened it. “We do have one thing that’s evidence.”

  “The ring!”

  “Exactly.” She withdrew it but kept it in its plastic baggie. “The blood-stained ring. It’s got to be Gillian’s because Arthur was wearing his.”

  “But why would she have taken it off? And why would there be blood on the ring if she was hit from behind before being dragged off to the creek?” I asked. “Surely, the murder couldn’t have done it in the restaurant?”

  Bee held up the ring and her excitement turned to consternation. “What on earth?” The inside of the plastic was smudged brown. “How did this happen?”

  “What is it?” I set my fries aside and hurried over.

  “It’s… this is not blood,” Bee said, opening the baggie and peering at the ring inside. The brown smudges were everywhere. “It’s…” She sniffed the bag. “It’s chocolate.”

  “Chocolate?”

  Bee groaned and closed the bag again. “I don’t believe it. Those dark brown stains on the ring weren’t old, dried blood! They were chocolate. It must have melted off the ring while it was in my purse. We have nothing. No evidence!”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “We know that she took off her ring.”

  “Do we? She could’ve simply lost her ring. Or it could’ve gotten hooked on the corner of her desk and tugged off her finger. Or it might’ve been too big for her. Maybe she even took it off after getting chocolate on it and wanted to clean it but never got round to it.”

  I grimaced. “This is bad.”

  Bee shoved the evidence bag back into her purse. “I’m stumped,” she said.

  “What are we going to do with the ring? Should we give it to Snodgrass?”

  “Right, that’s a great plan.” Bee snorted. “The minute we hand that over, she’s going to accuse us of tampering with evidence and she’ll arrest us. We’re going to have to keep it to ourselves for now. We’ll work out what to do with it later.”

  The mood dipped after that. It was super frustrating having evidence and suspects one second and then nearly nothing the next.

  “Back to the drawing board,” I said.

  “Back to the mayor’s house.” Bee stretched. “We can drop off the ring tomorrow. Shove it into his mailbox or something.”

  “And then what?”

  “At this point, Ruby, I just don’t know.”

  14

  The following morning…

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said. “What if he calls that detective and we wind up in even more trouble, Bee?”

  “That’s what the cake is for.” She tapped the Bite-sized Bakery box in her lap. She’d baked the mayor an entire Sprinkle Cake this morning—soft vanilla cake layers, butter cream frosting, flavored strawberry, and chocolate sprinkles, with a ‘Sorry’ chocolate cake topper. I had to admit, it was a bold plan.

  But the ring…

  “I really think we should just drop the ring through the mailbox,” I said. “If we talk to him about it, he’ll be suspicious, and we’ll just wind up in trouble all over again.”

  “Trust me on this one. I’m going to woo him with my superior flirting skills then close the deal with the cake. He won’t know what hit him.”

  I steered the food truck down the road, my heart sitting in my throat. This was a risky maneuver, but we were desperate. With a serious lack of clues, we needed a win to lift the suspicion off us and onto someone else.

  This morning’s stint on the truck had been as quiet as yesterday’s, and our new favorite customer, Francescan, hadn’t bothered coming by for another ‘carb-free’ treat.

  The choice was simple: solve the mystery or stay trapped in this town, slowly losing cash as we waited for the police to solve Gillian’s murder case.

  It was better to keep moving and trying than to give up on what we’d started. Gosh, I’d never have thought that in the past—walking away, no, running away, had seemed the easiest option.

  “We’ll figure this out,” Bee said.

  “Yeah.” I put up a brave face so Bee wouldn’t know how much this bothered me. She’d been nothing but supportive and nice since we’d started working together, and I didn’t want to let her down. If we didn’t make any money on the truck, we’d have to give up on our adventures and return to New York. To my old life. No, thank you. I never wanted to go back.

  I parked the food truck outside the mayor’s house, and Bee and I proceeded up the path and onto his porch. I knocked while Bee clutched the bakery box, the ring sitting atop it in the plastic baggie. We’d rather give it to him, ply him for information while we were at it, than hand it over to the police and wind up in trouble.

  The door didn’t open, so I knocked again.

  “Is he not home?” I asked.

  “Car’s in the garage,” Bee remarked. “He must be home. Unless he walked across the road to see his mistress again.”

  “Unproven mistress.” I knocked. “Hello? Mr. McKene? Are you home?”

  “Arthur?” Bee followed up. “That’s really strange. Where could he be?”

  “He’s the mayor. Maybe he has appointments or an event or something?”

  “But why wouldn’t he take his car?” Bee handed me the box and walked t
o the front window. She cupped her hands around her face and peeked inside. “It’s dark in there. I can’t make out anything.”

  Footsteps clattered on the sidewalk, and I turned.

  Sara, the friendly councilwoman who happened to be one of our prime suspects, approached the gate.

  “Oh, hello,” she said. “How are you two?”

  “Good,” I replied.

  “Good as we can be.” Bee came back to me and took the cake, sweeping the wedding ring off the box and stowing it in her pocket. “How are you, Sara?”

  “Oh, fine,” she said. “You haven’t had any more problems with vandalism, have you? No more eggs tossed at your food truck?” Sara’s warm smile lit up her face, and I had difficulty believing she might’ve killed someone.

  Would she have been strong enough to carry a body down to the creek?

  “No more eggs,” I said. “But it’s not like we’re flush with customers. People don’t want to buy cakes from suspected murderers.”

  “Oh, you’re not suspected. That detective has no idea what she’s doing. I wouldn’t worry about it. I told you she tried to arrest my son, right? Ridiculous woman.”

  “Yeah, what happened with that?” Bee asked, frowning.

  I walked down the steps and met Sara on the pathway. Bee joined us.

  “Well, not much. My son, Junior, left town shortly after the incident, but I’ll never forgive her for all the fuss she made. She accused him of drinking and then stealing when, really, it was a simple misunderstanding. It doesn’t matter now,” Sara said, and glanced past us. “I’ve come to see the mayor.”

  “I don’t think he’s home,” I said.

  “We wanted to offer our condolences.” Bee lifted the cake box slightly.

  “Ah, of course.” Sara’s brow wrinkled. “I wonder where he is. He’s late for a meeting.”

  “He’s not at work?” I asked.

  “No. We had a meeting with him an hour ago, but he didn’t arrive. And he’s not answering his phone. It’s unlike him, you know. He’s always been super attentive, though sometimes…” she shook her head.

  “What?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to speak ill of him,” Sara said. “Not when he’s been through such a difficult time.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened in particular,” Sara replied. “Just that I’ve never felt that the mayor actually wanted to be the mayor. He was so driven that he never seemed happy about doing the work. I always believed it was Gillian who forced him to do it. But that’s just my opinion.” Her frown deepened. “You’re sure he’s not home?”

  “He didn’t answer the door.”

  “Hmm. Weird. All right, well thanks.” She walked off with a wave.

  Back in the truck, Bee and I studied the front of Sara’s house.

  “That’s a bit weird, don’t you think?” I asked. “She said that he wasn’t in a meeting, but she didn’t drive out here to check on him. She came over from her house.”

  “Agreed. Very weird. And she happens to be here when we are? I bet she saw us at his house from across the street and didn’t want us to interfere or… hmm. She’s up to something.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But what? We can’t prove that she’s doing something nefarious.”

  “Right.” Bee popped the lid on the cake box. “Well, this isn’t going to eat itself. Let’s go back to the guesthouse and snack.”

  “And then we’ll go out in the food truck again. We have to sell something this week.” Things were looking dire, and I didn’t want them to get any worse.

  I started the engine and drove off, back down the road that would take us into the center of town, my gaze flickering to the rearview mirror. Sara’s house stared back at me, silent, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something strange was going on here.

  15

  I scooped up another piece of cake onto a plastic fork and delivered it to my mouth. The soft, sweet goodness helped calm me, but my mind couldn’t wrap itself around what had happened, and why.

  Gillian McKene had enemies. She’d been a severe, pantsuit wearing pain in the rear-end, but she hadn’t deserved this. Right? Of course not. Nobody deserved to be murdered.

  “It’s got to be Sara,” Bee said. “Or the chef.” She finished off a piece of cake and stared out of her bedroom window. “It has to be.”

  “We don’t have any evidence,” I replied.

  And we’d gone out of our way to get it. We’d broken into two separate buildings, we’d stalked people, we’d rummaged through a laundry basket, stolen what we’d thought was a clue, and tried to track down people to interview.

  Still nothing.

  Gillian had been murdered at night, close to the creek, and that didn’t narrow down our suspect list.

  I slumped and ate another piece of cake, trying not to pull a face for Bee’s sake. This time, though, she was as discouraged as me.

  “What are we going to do?” I asked.

  “Leave it to the police,” she said, at last. “That’s all we can do at this point. They must have evidence we don’t.”

  “Have they questioned anyone?” I asked. “I haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on any of this.”

  “It’s kind of impossible to do that when everyone’s avoiding the food truck like we’re carrying skunks instead of cakes,” Bee said. “Apart from that annoying pink person.”

  “Pink person?”

  “You know, the one that wore loads of glitter and kept saying ‘like’ every few seconds.”

  “Francescan.”

  “Further proof that some women shouldn’t be allowed to have children, if only because they can’t name them something decent.”

  “Bee.”

  “All right, so I’m a little grumpy. Do you really blame me?” Bee stabbed another bite out of the shared cake on her dresser table then traipsed back to the window, holding the moist piece on the end of her plastic fork. She looked out at the back yard, which was a grassy slope leading down to the creek. “If only we’d heard something on the night it happened. We were right here. Within earshot.”

  “She probably wasn’t murdered here,” I said.

  “But what if she was? What if that’s what we’ve been missing all along? It could’ve been one of the guests!”

  “But who? And why? I mean, it’s not like they had motivation to do something like this. Not that we know of. They’re all from out of town.”

  “Except for Jules,” Bee whispered, and nibbled on her cake, spilling crumbs down her pink cardigan. “She’s lived here for years.”

  “It’s an option we can explore, but do you really think it’s her? I mean, isn’t it more likely to be the mayor or Sara? We don’t know if they had an affair.”

  “Sara’s the only nice person in this town,” Bee grumbled. “That makes her suspicion in and of itself.”

  We fell into an uneasy silence again. I whipped a notepad out of my purse and scribbled down a few notes to clarify things for myself.

  Sara Robertson—might’ve been having an affair with the mayor. Also had a means of getting him out of the house. Felt like the mayor was being controlled by Gillian. Doesn’t like Gillian or the police.

  Arthur McKene—acted strangely about us breaking into the restaurant. Had the motivation if he was trapped in the marriage and having an affair with Sara. But has an alibi for the night. Worth noting that he could’ve left the charity event and murdered Gillian later.

  Tank—disgruntled chef. Apparent drinking problem. Hated Gillian. Was broke and had a reason to rob the restaurant. Could Gillian have caught him in the act, and he knocked her out and dumped her in the creek?

  “That’s a good deduction,” Bee said, peering over my shoulder. “I hadn’t thought about that. Tank is big too. He could easily have carried Gillian to a car and taken her away. We should go back and check out his car!” She clicked her fingers.

  A knock rat-tatted against her bedroom door.

  I answered it an
d came face-to-face with Jules. She glared at me, venom practically dripping from her.

  “Hello, Jules. It’s nice to see you. We haven’t had a chance to talk since—”

  “You’re out,” she snapped. “Both of you. Pack your bags and get out of my guesthouse.”

  “What?!” I clasped my notepad against my chest. “Why?”

  “The news just broke. Mayor McKene has gone missing, and you two were the last ones seen at his property this morning.”

  “This is outrageous,” Bee said, storming over. “We weren’t the only ones there, and we have nothing to do with the mayor’s disappearance.”

  “I don’t care. Wouldn’t trust the pair of you as far as I could throw you.” Jules brushed fingers through her bushy brown hair. “I want you out.”

  “But we can’t leave,” I said. “Detective Snodgrass said we should hang around.”

  “Go out to the Starshiners Motel,” Jules replied. “That sleazy place will be happy to have you. Fact, I’ll call the detective and let her know that you’ll be there so she can question you about the mayor’s disappearance.”

  “This is...” Bee trailed off, lost for words.

  “You’ve got until tonight to get out of my guesthouse.” Jules marched off.

  I shut the door, the hinges creaking until it clicked shut.

  “This is…”

  “I know,” I said. “Outrageous? Unbelievable. We’ll have to do what she says. She has the right to kick us out.”

  “The mayor’s missing.” Bee’s announcement was loud and angry. “That’s why Sara was there today. She was making sure that no one got in the way. It’s got to be her that’s doing this. I don’t know why or how, but she’s taking down the mayor and she’s killed his wife. It’s got to be a power play, right? Political motivation? Maybe she wants to run for office?”

  “I don’t know, but we’d better start packing.”

  I left Bee to fume and throw her clothes into her suitcase and entered my room, right next to hers. I’d miss this place, even if it had been a rather negative experience staying here. The room was cozy, with its little window looking out on the yard.