Missy DeMeanor Cozy Mysteries Boxset

by Brianna Bates

  “I didn’t mean anything,” Missy said. “I’m just trying to get a timeline.”

  Noreen closed the trunk. “I don’t really know. She was vague about it.”

  “When did she first mention anything to you?”

  Noreen lowered her voice as more people made their way to their cars, not wanting anyone to overhear. “She and Roger went out to dinner to discuss the tea room and had a lot to drink. One thing led to another and…it just happened. I think that was it. At least, that’s what she told me.”

  Missy had a light bulb moment. “When I mentioned Roger having worked closely with Tonya on the tea room, he denied it. He said he basically just handed a bunch of money over and let Tonya manage the operation.”

  Noreen made a face. “We were both managing the operation, Miss.”

  Missy held out a palm. “I know, I didn’t mean anything. I was just repeating what he’d said.”

  Noreen shook her head. “I knew it. I knew that guy didn’t think much of me. Tonya denied it of course, but I knew.”

  Missy wanted to say that was how she’d always felt when it came to Tonya and Noreen. Her friend had refused to see how much Tonya disliked Missy. But now wasn’t the time.

  “What about Emile?” Missy asked. “I didn’t see him.”

  “He came to the viewing but not the funeral,” Noreen said. “Which is strange, right? If you’re going to take the day off from work, why not come to the funeral?”

  “Maybe he didn’t really want to be here. Maybe he used the funeral as an excuse to take the day.”

  “I don’t know.” Noreen looked through the rear windshield. “Miss, I’ve really got to get Mom home. She’s not doing well today. They just can’t get her meds right…” Noreen shook her head. “Let’s meet up later, okay?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Missy was late getting to the bookstore.

  “Hey, Missy.” Brett smiled. “I’m glad you came back.”

  “I need the money.” No point in lying.

  She dropped her stuff in the back and went into the bathroom. The bags under her eyes screamed a poor night’s sleep. Splashing some water on her face, Missy thought about what she’d learned today. Everyone she’d talked to had a reason to kill Tonya. She wanted to consider that progress, but to her it felt like running on a treadmill: a lot of hard work to go nowhere.

  Emile Krauss was next on her list. During the school year, she could have just shown up after class to talk to him. But since it was summer, she’d have to find another way to talk to him.

  When she came out of the bathroom and returned to the main room, another person had come into the store. Unfortunately, Detective Evanski wasn’t a customer.

  “Good afternoon, Melissa.”

  The detective was dressed in a formless grey jacket and dull black pants that had been through the washer one too many times. Missy smiled.

  “Hello.”

  Brett cleared his throat. “Missy, the detective wanted to see you.”

  Evanski’s eyes were glued to Missy.

  “Okay. Should we go outside?” Missy asked.

  “That’s fine.”

  Missy told Brett she’d be back in a few, though she really had no idea how long this was going to take. On the bright side, Detective Evanski would have arrested her already if that was what she was here to do. So the Castleton police were still fishing.

  Outside, the day was bright and getting hot. Missy led the detective away from the store and toward the shade under the trees by the roadside. Long ago, someone had put a bench there. The boards were warped and sagging in the middle. Missy never thought for a moment she’d miss this bench…but she was going to.

  The detective remained standing. With her eyes on Missy, she took her notebook out.

  “I wanted to go back to something we discussed yesterday,” Evanski said.

  Missy remembered to smile. “Sure.”

  The detective peered down at her notebook as if trying to recall a certain detail. “When we asked you about your relationship with Tonya, you said you two were always civil. Do you remember saying that?”

  Missy nodded, unsure where this was going. “Yes.”

  “How do you define civil, Melissa?”

  Missy felt a lead ball forming in her stomach. Obviously, the detective had something but Missy couldn’t think of what. Sure, she and Tonya had had their disagreements in the short time they’d known each other, but nothing serious had ever happened between them.

  “We were polite,” Missy said. “Even though it was obvious we didn’t care for another.”

  “Did you ever fight?”

  “No, I wouldn’t say we ever fought.”

  “Well, what would you say?”

  Missy couldn’t tell if the detective actually had information or if she was just fishing. She decided to make Evanski work for it, whatever it was.

  “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  “Here’s what I’m asking.” Evanski uncapped her pen. “You and Tonya got into several disagreements.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  The detective ignored her. “Did Tonya once help you when you had car trouble?”

  Missy recalled the day vividly, because it was the last time she’d investigated a murder herself. On her way to the crop one Saturday morning, her old truck, brimming and overstuffed with scrapbooking supplies, had died about ten minutes from the event. She’d called Noreen—not Tonya—for help, but since Noreen’s car was small and already filled with her own things, Noreen had suggested Tonya. The other woman had a large, luxury SUV with plenty of space to transport Missy’s supplies.

  “I called Noreen, but she didn’t have enough room in her car. She asked Tonya to help, who was kind enough to come out and get me.”

  “And at the crop that day, didn’t you and Tonya argue?”

  Missy thought about it. “I don’t remember arguing with her.”

  Evanski flipped to another page in her notebook. Missy was beginning to sweat, and it wasn’t from the warm summer sun.

  “You and Noreen had a heated discussion about Tonya, minutes after the woman brought you to the school. Didn’t you?”

  Missy vaguely remembered the exchange, but couldn’t recall the exact words.

  “I think I talked to Noreen about how obvious it was that Tonya didn’t like me.”

  Evanski nodded once. “You called her a bitch, didn’t you?”

  Missy frowned. She’d had a conversation with Noreen and Noreen only about Tonya. And she couldn’t picture Noreen purposely sharing this information with the detectives. Unless Noreen said it without thinking.

  Or…

  Did Noreen think Missy was guilty?

  No. She couldn’t. She’d made that clear already. Noreen had offered to help Missy clear her name.

  Unless that was a double bluff.

  “Melissa,” Evanski said. “You called her a bitch, didn’t you?”

  Missy honestly didn’t remember that. In her mind she thought back to that awful day, when they’d found one of her friends murdered in the hallway…who else had been there?

  “No, I don’t remember calling her that,” Missy said.

  Evanski grunted. “And when you found out that your friend had been killed that day, you immediately started harassing Tonya, didn’t you?”

  Missy shook her head. “Not at all. I asked her questions just like I asked everybody else questions.”

  “The police were already there. In fact, the police were there before you found out about the murder. Before you and Tonya found out about the murder.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know that at the time. All I knew was that Olivia had died before I got to the crop. Tonya was just as good a suspect as anybody else.”

  “Really? How many crops had Tonya been to before that?” Evanski asked.

  “Who told you all this?” Missy blurted out, which was the worst thing she could have said.

  Evanski didn’t answer. �
��How many crops, Melissa?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe two or three before that?”

  “And Tonya had literally no other contact with the deceased other than those two or three times?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did Tonya and the deceased ever talk, to your knowledge?”

  “I don’t know…they probably did. It was a small group.”

  “A few days later, you ran into Noreen and Tonya at the bar, didn’t you?”

  Missy couldn’t believe how much information this detective had dug up on her in less than a day. It was unnerving.

  “Yes.”

  “And Noreen asked you to join them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And did you?”

  Missy almost asked to speak to her lawyer—not that she had one yet. “No.”

  “Why not? Your supposed best friend, Noreen, was there.”

  “I was investigating a murder,” Missy said, which was true enough.

  “You were talking to a potential suspect at the time, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. Exactly.”

  “What time did you leave the bar?”

  “How can you expect me to remember that when I probably wasn’t even paying attention to the time?”

  “Let me put it like this. When you left, were Noreen and Tonya still at the bar?”

  This was getting dangerously out of control. “Yes.”

  “So it wasn’t your so-called murder investigation that got in the way of your spending time with the other women?”

  Missy felt her heart beating. “There was nothing so-called about my investigation. I was the one that solved that crime, detective.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “The only reason I was at that bar was to question the suspect. I’m not a bar-girl. When the conversation was over, I wanted to get home.”

  “Your decision had nothing to do with Tonya?”

  “I already told you: we didn’t care for each other. So why would I choose to spend my free time with her?”

  Evanski closed her notebook and said nothing. But her eyes told a different story. The woman was certain Missy was guilty now.

  “I didn’t kill Tonya,” Missy said.

  “If I talk to Noreen and ask her about that night at the bar, will she give me the same story?”

  “Go ahead and talk to her,” Missy said.

  Evanski nodded. “I will probably have more questions for you, Melissa.”

  ***

  “Hello, Paul?” Missy said.

  On the other end of the phone, Missy heard what she thought sounded like a zipper being pulled. She shuddered at the mental image that came to mind.

  She could hear the private detective’s smile in the man’s voice. “Missy DeMeanor. How are you, girl?”

  Missy had planned on never contacting Paul I.S. Gold again, after they briefly worked together on a murder investigation in which Noreen of all people was the prime suspect. The private detective was a self-proclaimed chubby-chaser and had taken every opportunity to hit on Missy and do many inappropriate things with his eyes.

  But, desperate times called for desperate measures, as they said. Missy needed information and couldn’t go through Tyler to get it without putting him at risk.

  “I’ve been better, Paul.”

  “Ohhhh. Yeah, I heard. Somebody poisoned your arch-nemesis so the keystone coppers in Castleton are looking at you.”

  Missy had to consciously keep her voice down. Nobody had come into the store, but Brett was back in his office with the door open.

  “No, Paul. We were not arch-nemeses and there’s no reason for them to look at me.”

  He laughed, and she could see him doing that annoying head-bopping thing he was so fond of. “That’s not what I heard, big girl. I heard—”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What? I called you girl.”

  “You said big girl.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes.”

  “So…that’s a compliment in my book.”

  She was this close to cursing him out, which was saying something because Missy hadn’t cursed in about ten years. If she wasn’t suspected of murder, she would have told him to go pound sand.

  “Anyway,” she said. “I was calling to ask you a favor.”

  “Dinner and a movie and then dessert? I’m there.”

  “I’m engaged, Paul.”

  “All the good ones are always taken.” He was quiet for a stretch. “Is your boyfriend into—”

  Whatever he was going to ask, she didn’t want to hear it. “My fiancé is Tyler Brock.”

  “Oh. Oh. Okay. Okay, I didn’t mean anything.” His voice got higher in pitch than hers. “How can I help, Missy?”

  “I’m trying to get an address on someone over in Castleton.”

  “Who?”

  “Emile Krauss.”

  “The chemistry teacher?”

  “Yes, do you know him?”

  “All too well.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I had to get tough with him.”

  Missy couldn’t picture Paul I.S. Gold getting tough with anybody at five-foot six and one hundred and twenty pounds.

  “What happened?”

  “This was a couple years back. His ex hired me because she felt like he was stalking her.”

  Missy’s mind went into overdrive. So Emile Krauss, chemist, once involved with Tonya, had been a stalker?

  Paul continued. “He was smart about it, though, showing up at the same public places and making it look coincidental. It creeped her out. I got a lot of dirt, good photos and surveillance, but the judge didn’t think it was enough for a restraining order. So one night he and I had a conversation.”

  “Is he…dangerous?”

  “Not as dangerous as me, baby.”

  Missy couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I need to talk to him.”

  “Not alone, Missy. Let me come with you.”

  “Paul, if he sees you coming he won’t talk to me.”

  “Ah, good point. He’ll be scared of me.” Paul hmmed. “How about I set up a surveil? That way I can keep my eyes on you.”

  Missy almost vomited in her mouth. “That’d be great, Paul. Any chance we can do this tonight?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, Missy. I’ve got this real hot date with a big—I mean, a very pretty woman tonight.”

  “Please, Paul. I really need your help. I think the Castleton police might arrest me even though I’m innocent.”

  He sighed. “When you put it like that, how can I say no?”

  ***

  “You’re what?” Tyler said through the phone.

  Through her windshield, Missy eyed the coffee shop. According to Paul I.S. Gold, the local chapter of AA housed their nightly meetings in the back of the place and Krauss attended religiously. The coffee shop was part of a long strip of stores that lined both sides of Main Street in Castleton.

  “Tyler, I couldn’t ask you for help on this, because you’d get in trouble.”

  “Hon, you could have done better than Paul I.S. Gold.”

  Missy found herself in the unfathomable position of actually defending Paul. “He’s actually pretty good. He helped me out a lot before.”

  “Melissa, you solved that murder by yourself. Gold didn’t do anything except stare at you and take pictures of your butt.”

  “Wait a minute. Is the great Tyler Brock experiencing his first case of jealousy ever?”

  “The day I’m jealous of Gold is the day—”

  “Hey, be nice.”

  He laughed. “You’re right. But seriously, tell Paul to keep his mind on the surveil and not on your—”

  “Gotta go, babe. He’s coming. Love you.”

  Missy hung up and got out her truck quickly.

  Emile Krauss had just come out of the coffee shop, immediately firing up a cigarette. He cupped his hand in front of the lighter. A woman came out of the shop a moment later, smi
ling and nodding at Krauss as she passed.

  Missy kept her eyes averted from Krauss, pretending that she was focused on the pub at the end of the strip. To make it a convincing act, Missy even took her phone out like she was checking messages in advance of meeting someone. Krauss was still in front of the coffee shop, absently smoking his cigarette.

  Missy let her eyes drift over to him as she walked by, hoping the move looked natural. She went another few steps, then slowed, then stopped. Like she was trying to figure out if she’d recognized Krauss.

  Nodding, she turned around with a smile.

  He had been staring at her. He didn’t stop. He recognized her too.

  “Emile Krauss?” she asked.

  He nodded, taking a long drag on his smoke. “You’re Missy DeMeanor.”

  “Yes.” She walked back, hoping the outfit she’d thrown together last minute looked pub-worthy enough. “We never met but I know who you are.”

  Another long drag. Krauss kept his eyes on her but angled his lips away, shooting a long string of smoke out of his mouth.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “You know how rumors get around.”

  “Yeah.” He took the smoke out of his mouth.

  Missy tried to sound nervous when she laughed. She didn’t have to put on much of an act. “One of my friends pointed you out to me at the tea room opening.”

  “What’s her name?” he asked.

  “Loretta,” Missy lied, because this guy was giving off a bad vibe. She didn’t want to give him Marie’s name.

  “Women talk.” He shook his head. “I was there to celebrate Tonya’s accomplishment, just minding my own business.”

  Missy frowned. “Oh, you know how people are.”

  “Better than most.” He grimaced. “You headed to Jake’s?”

  Missy nodded. “Meeting a friend for drinks. She’s late, like always. I hate sitting at a bar by myself.”

  He laughed. “Can’t help you there. I don’t set foot inside bars anymore.”

  “Oh I didn’t mean for…” Missy smiled apologetically.

  He shrugged. “I know. If you don’t mind smoke, I can keep you company out here.”

  Missy did mind smoke but wasn’t about to say that. “That’s nice of you.”