“Right,” I said. “What exactly did she say?”
“She said something about him getting kicked out of college.” Francescan sighed. “Lame.”
“What did he supposedly get kicked out of college for?” I asked.
Francescan colored. “I don’t see why you wanna know all this stuff? It’s not, like, important. I literally spoke to Junior last night on the phone, and he was studying for a test.”
“It might help us figure out who hurt Gillian,” I said. “I know you didn’t like her, but, uh, Detective Snodgrass thinks that we were the ones who murdered her, and if we get in trouble with the law, our food truck will have to go.”
“No more no-carb cakes,” Bee remarked, wryly.
“Oh! OK. Well, this is kind of dumb, but Gillian told me that Junior got kicked out of college for having two affairs with two of his professors. But he’s still at college, so… she was lying.”
“What if she wasn’t lying?” Bee asked.
I grimaced. Poor Francescan. She wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but nobody deserved to be cheated on.
Wait a second, if Gillian knew that Junior was home from college…
“She was lying.” Francescan narrowed her eyes. “What are you trying to say, that it was, like, true or something?”
“Like yeah.” Bee was deadpan.
“Bee.”
“Sorry, but doesn’t she deserve to know the truth? Junior is home, hiding out in his mother’s basement,” Bee said. “And we figure it’s because he doesn’t want you to know the truth.”
Francescan turned fifty-two shades of purple—from eggplant to grape jelly—before spluttering, wordlessly.
“Sorry,” I bleated. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”
“When did Gillian tell you the rumor about Junior?” Bee asked.
“It was a week ago maybe?”
“Was it just before she passed?” I leaned forward in my seat, my spine tingling up and down. This had to be it. But could Junior have done this just because he wanted to hide those affairs from Francescan?
“Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
“Just a question,” I said. “Thanks for talking to us.”
“Wait, wait, wait a second. You’re telling me that Junior is here? In town? And he didn’t tell me?”
“Yeah. But you should talk to him about that later. I think, maybe—”
“Talk to him? No way!” Francescan whipped her phone out.
“Where were you… keeping that?” Bee asked.
Francescan was wearing a tight leather skirt and a shirt without pockets. She tapped away on her phone’s screen, ignoring the question. “Thinks he can lie to me, does he? Idiot. Like, nobody messes with Francescan Taupin.”
“What are you doing?” I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I was less worried about their relationship and more about the picture that had slowly formed in my mind. Junior back home, Gillian dying, and her body dumped in the creek that ran past the back of the mayor’s house.
Could it be that simple?
Could Junior Robertson have murdered her for fear that Francescan would discover the truth? If that was the case, then Francescan messaging him about it would only serve to—
“There! Done.” Francescan magicked the phone away again, a triumphant smile twisting her lips.
“What’s done?”
She didn’t answer, but rose, fluffing her pink hair.
“What did you do?” I repeated.
“I told Junior that I knew all about his disgusting little secret and that it was over. I want nothing to do with him. In fact, he’d better never speak to me again. What a total loser.” She clip-clopped off.
“You’re welcome,” Bee muttered.
I grabbed my best friend’s arm. “We have to go,” I said, fear coursing through my veins. “If she broke up with him and he was the one who… you know.”
Bee’s hazel eyes widened. “There’s no telling what he’ll do. But are we sure it’s him?”
“Who else could it be?” We walked out of the salon together, leaving the scent of conditioner and hair spray behind. “It all adds up. He lived right across from the victim, he had a secret, one that the victim uncovered, and he wanted to stay with Francescan. You saw the picture on his bedside table.”
“You’re right,” Bee said, and squared her shoulders. “Let’s get him.”
19
I exhaled, trying to calm my rampant nerves. No use. We pulled up outside the Robertson house and left the engine running. Bee and I sprinted across the yard and stopped outside the basement doors, unsure of how to proceed.
“Uh…”
“Pepper spray?” Bee nodded to my handbag.
I drew it out and nodded. “We’re doing this, right?”
“Well, we didn’t race over here for nothing.”
“No, I know. I just mean, we are right about this. It’s the right guy? It’s not… we haven’t missed anything?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Arthur’s missing. What if it was Arthur and not—”
“Are we really going to have this conversation, now?” Bee jerked her head toward the doors. “We need to get in there. Incapacitate him before he can hurt anyone else.”
And if we were right, Francescan’s message would only serve to anger Junior. What if he decided to hunt her down before we could stop him? Hunt her down? He’s not a vampire.
I usually had a gut feeling about our investigations, but this time, it was off kilter. From the moment we’d arrived in Prattlebark Village, things had been different. Nothing like Muffin or even Carmel Springs, the town we’d first visited.
“We can do this,” Bee said. “I’ll open the doors, you go in first and spray the minute you see him. Got it?”
“Got it.”
It was a sunny morning, so we wouldn’t need flashlights to navigate our way through the basement, even if the lights were off. That should’ve been comforting, but it added to the weirdness.
“On my count.” Bee counted down on her fingers then flung the basement doors open.
Light flooded the steps and the semi-gloom below. I took point, as Bee called it, and hurried down the steps. I trembled, holding out the pepper spray.
But there was nothing in the—
My gaze fell on a shape on the floor in the middle of the room, and I lost my breath.
“What’s that?”
“Sara,” I managed. “Sara, oh my heavens!”
Sara’s hair fell across her forehead, shielding her eyes, and her legs were arranged haphazardly, as if she’d passed out. Or been attacked from behind.
I dropped the pepper spray and ran to her side. I dropped to my knees and carefully swept the hair from her face.
“Sara, can you hear me?” I whispered.
“She’s breathing,” Bee said, gesturing to Sara’s chest, which rose and fell gently. “I think she’s been knocked out. Don’t move her. She might have a concussion. We need to call 911, right away.”
“Your phone?” I asked.
“It’s in the food truck. I’ll run up and get it.” The words had barely left Bee’s mouth and she was already on the stairs.
I stayed with Sara, nausea brewing in my stomach. There was no blood, thankfully, but it was still horrifying to think that someone had done this to her. It had to be her son, which made it even worse.
Sara groaned and shifted.
“Hey, it’s OK!” I said, touching her arm, gently. “Don’t move, Sara, Bee’s calling the ambulance, right now. You’re going to be OK. Don’t move, all right?”
Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found me leaning over her. Her gaze was hazy.
“Sara, can you hear me? Stay still.”
She murmured something, her lips dry and parted, words barely a whisper.
“What’s that?” I brought my ear closer to her mouth. “Say that again, Sara, I didn’t hear you.”
“Jun—”
�
��Pardon?”
“Jun—ior,” she managed.
My stomach revolted, and I jolted back. “I know,” I said. “But don’t worry about that now. You’re safe. We’ll get the police and—”
“Junior.” Sara’s hand lifted, her finger pointing past my shoulder toward a dark corner of the basement.
I turned, bile creeping into my throat.
Junior Robertson stood in the corner, holding a baseball bat. He glared at me, the whites of his eyes glinting as he came forward. “You shouldn’t have come here,” he said, and cocked back the bat, positioning himself perfectly.
A corollary thought drifted up—he was probably on the high school baseball team.
Junior swung the bat, and I rolled out of the way, my martial arts training kicking in. I rolled, rising, positioning myself defensively. Though, the training was there, my muscles weren’t used to performing after all this time.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
“Shut up.” He ran at me, swinging the bat again, and I dodged.
“Junior, I’m serious. We can sit down and talk about this.” My voice trembled, but I refused to give way to my fear. This wasn’t about me anymore, it was about Sara too. And Bee. And Gillian.
Junior charged again, and I side-stepped. The bat whistled past my ear. I backpedaled and put my hands up, bringing us further from poor Sara on the floor.
“You must be pretty frustrated,” I said. “That you lost Francescan. I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love. My ex stopped talking to me and—”
Junior let out a roar and ran at me again. I was backed into a corner. There was no dodging and avoiding. No talking him down from the ledge. The man wanted blood.
Time slowed to a molasses drip.
Junior’s pupils were dilated and black as night. The bat swung forward, silver and gleaming. His lips drew back over sharp, white teeth.
No.
I moved, stepping right, and sticking out my leg. I swept it against his shin, and the anger on the murderer’s face became shock and then panic. He careened into the wall, face first. There was a terrific crunch and he slid to the floor, groaning. The bat fell to the concrete with a metallic plink.
“Ruby!” Bee ran down the steps. “Ruby, are you OK?”
“The cops.”
“They’re already on the way. Here.” She handed over a cable tie. “Use this to restrain him.” Bee grabbed Junior by the ankles and dragged him backward, so he was flat on his stomach. He moaned something indistinct but didn’t fight back. He’d hit his head pretty hard.
Bee sat on his back while I secured his wrists so he couldn’t hurt anyone, ever again. I helped Bee off him, and we retreated, both staring wide-eyed.
“Goodness,” Bee breathed, softly. “I can’t leave you alone for a second without you tackling murderers or tripping over dead bodies.”
“I have a terrible track record with this type of thing,” I agreed, still shaking.
But it was over now. Junior was restrained, an ambulance was on the way, and our names would be cleared of the crime we hadn’t committed.
“What are we going to do now?” I asked, backing up to sit down next to Sara. Her eyes were closed again, but she was still breathing. No panicking yet.
“We wait,” Bee replied. “And eat our weight in donuts after this is over.”
20
Almost everything had panned out. Almost.
We still had to stay in the motel with the stained walls and sheets, but everything else was fine. For one, Junior was in prison, and for another, Detective Snodgrass was off our backs. She hadn’t apologized, but she’d reluctantly taken the real murderer into custody and told us we were free to leave Prattlebark Village whenever we wanted.
Which was a blessing since we couldn’t stand another night in the motel.
“Here’s your Sprinkle Cake,” I said, cheerily, handing over a lime and pink striped box to a customer. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re still here, by the way. And sorry everyone around here acted the way they did. Just that, well, we’ve all been a little scared of doing the wrong thing lately, what with Gillian around, telling us all what to do.” She laid down a twenty on the counter. “You keep the change. This is worth it.”
I waved at her, grateful for the kind words. If we’d had a nice place to stay, I might’ve wanted to remain in Prattlebark Village, at least for Halloween. There’d been a Halloween Trick or Treat announcement in the local paper that was for adults and kids, and it sounded like a super fun event.
But Bee and I had agreed we couldn’t stand another night in the motel.
This was our last stint on the truck before heading off to another town in Vermont.
I served two more customers with a smile, doling out a chocolate donut, a Sprinkle Cake slice, and two coffees. The money was welcome, as was the acceptance. Bee hummed under her breath has she worked, and I smiled.
It was good that she was happy.
My next customer stepped up to the counter, and I did a double-take. It was Jules from the Oaken Branch Guesthouse. Her bushy hair was tucked behind her ears, occasionally disturbed by the Fall breeze. She lowered her gaze to the counter, then looked up at me from underneath her brow.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi.” I offered her the same grin I’d given all the other customers. “It’s good to see you again, Jules. Can I get you something? A slice of cake, maybe? Or a milkshake? We’ve got pumpkin-spiced flavor this month.”
“Uh, yeah, that sounds great,” she said, still with her head bowed.
“Which?”
“Uh, the cake and the pumpkin-spiced milkshake. Both sound awesome.”
A quiet separated us. Bee narrowed one eye at Jules but didn’t comment on her presence.
I delivered a heavenly slice of layered Sprinkle Cake to a box, then whipped up a milkshake for her in a takeaway cup, spicing the top with a special dispenser. “Here you go,” I said.
“Thanks.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Look,” she said. “I owe you both an apology. I was wrong about you, and I shouldn’t have been so rude to you. You’re nice people, and I was… afraid that you’d bring evil down on my guesthouse. Or that you’d hurt someone.”
Bee grunted, but she was one to hold a grudge.
“There’s no excuse for it,” Jules said. “It’s supposed to be innocent until proven guilty and I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. So, well, I’m sorry. I’m real sorry that I kicked you out.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate the apology. But I get why you felt the way you did. Everyone’s been so nice this morning.” I glanced at the gathered queues. The people in them laughed and joked. None of the customers were jumpy today. Could Gillian have had such an effect on this town? Such a hold over the people here? Or was there more to this place than met the eye?
“I heard what you did for Sara,” Jules continued. “Do you know how she is?”
“She’s going to be all right,” I said. “We went to visit her in the hospital, and the doctors say it’s just a mild concussion and a bit of shock.” How she’d recover from the betrayal of what Junior had done was another story entirely.
Poor Sara. She’d come downstairs to talk to Junior about going back to college when he’d flown into a rage. It had been mere moments after the ‘most popular woman ever to inhabit Prattlebark Village’ had dumped him.
Another silence parted the conversation.
Jules cleared her throat. “I’d be honored if you’d come back to the guesthouse and spend the rest of your time in Prattlebark Village there. No pressure or anything, just though I’d offer the olive branch.”
“Thank you, that’s so kind. I’ll talk to Bee about it. We might take you up on that offer.”
Jules paid for her food and left, her shoulders lifted along with her spirit.
I served the next customer, my mind on Jules’ offer. It would be great to spend more time in Pr
attlebark Village now that everyone was relaxed. And that we could be sure we wouldn’t be victims of drive-by eggings.
The vicious honk of a car’s horn sent a thrill of shocked gasps and yelps through the crowd gathered in front of the truck. Applause broke out, and I searched for the source of the noise.
“Bee, look!” I gasped.
The mayor, Arthur, had just emerged from a Range Rover, wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He held a megaphone up to his mouth. “Afternoon, everyone! I just wanted to let you all know that I’m back from my mini break. I appreciate the concerned calls, messages, emails, and 911 calls, but you can stop reporting me missing.”
Another cheer rang out and people applauded like he’d been re-elected.
“Seriously,” he repeated. “Stop calling the cops about me. I’m fine.” He gave a final wave, sounded the bullhorn, then got back into his Range Rover and drove off.
“OK,” I said. “Well, that explains where he went. He obviously wanted to get away for a while.”
“What a weirdo,” Bee replied. “He left without telling anyone where he was going. Kind of suspicious if you ask me.”
“Everything’s suspicious to you, Bee.”
“There’s a reason we’ve got such a high solve rate for these murder cases.”
I turned to my best friend before we got back to our customers. “What do you think about Jules’ offer?” I asked. “Do you want to stay a couple more weeks?”
My friend weighed it up, tilting her head from side to side. “Hmm.”
“What?”
“Everyone’s been very nice since the case was solved,” Bee said. “And I’ve got to admit, I do miss the breakfasts that the guesthouse served. Besides, Halloween is just around the corner.”
“So, you want to stay?”
“If it means we can discover more of the secrets this town is hiding, then yes,” Bee said.
“You think there are more secrets to uncover?”
“Are you kidding me?” Bee gestured to the crowd of people gathered, the town square and the quaint row of stores opposite. “In this place? There’s a mystery around every corner.”
Murder With Sprinkles: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 11 Page 8