Wicked as a Christmas Fruitcake (Paranormal in Manhattan Mystery: A Cozy Mystery on Kindle Unlimited Book 10)

by Lotta Smith

  Doug emphasized the last sentence, and then loud footsteps echoed from inside.

  Rick took the listening device off the door, putting it inside his jacket pocket.

  “You heard that? Like I told you, Doug gets everything when I die.” Woody popped out of the room through the wall.

  “I heard that, but nothing new,” I said.

  “Your partner seems like a really evil person,” Jackie commented. “Why did you partner up with him in the first place?”

  “Look, we’ve got to start somewhere, and I needed a partner.” Woody shrugged. “But in retrospect, I could have started smaller.”

  “Hey, he’s gonna come out at any second. Let’s go.” Rick pulled my arm.

  When I asked, “Which one’s our room?” the door opened and Doug Carino burst out from inside.

  “Darling, I can’t wait!” Rick pulled me close to him, putting his lips on my cheek.

  “Oh… me too. Mmmm…” I produced my most sultry voice with a hint of arousal.

  I thought we could have won an Oscar for the best love scene, but Doug wasn’t fooled.

  “You!” He walked toward us, pointing at me. “I saw you at Woody’s funeral! What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me?” Rick turned back to him, pushing me by his side as if he was protecting me from the menacing guy. “Did you call my wife a stalker? Why would my wife stalk you when she has me? Are you delusional or what?”

  “That’s none of your business!” Doug spat. “Hey, if you’re her hubby, you want to keep an eye on her. My business partner recently dropped dead, and she was at the funeral with a crazy old lady with a huge hat, like she was trying to cover the whole of Manhattan with it.”

  “Honey, can you explain what this gentleman is talking about?” Rick looked at me as if he was genuinely clueless about Doug’s words. At the same time, his green eyes glanced at Doug occasionally, and indeed, he was urging me to touch him.

  “I have no idea.” I shook my head. “I think he’s mistaking me for someone else.”

  “What? Are you calling me a liar?” Doug demanded.

  “Hey.” Rick took a step forward. “Why don’t you quit harassing my wife?”

  “In my opinion, she’s the one harassing…” Doug clenched his fists like he was ready to fight, but then he glanced at Rick’s tall, broad-shouldered physique armored by hard muscles. He seemed to weigh the differences in their height—indeed, Doug was about a half foot shorter than Rick, not to mention that “fit” wasn’t the first word you thought about when you looked at him—and hesitation crossed his eyes.

  “Look, darling, I have a headache.” I shook my head, trying to convey that I wasn’t going to touch Doug no matter Rick’s opinion.

  “Oh, honey… are you okay?” He held me close, and the next thing I knew, he picked me up from the floor, carrying me like one of the princesses from a Disney movie.

  “Oh…” My eyes widened. In a moment, I was taken into a fuzzy world of happiness where cutesy pastel-colored bubbles flew all over the place and “Hallelujah” music was playing in the background. But at the same time, I was slightly worried he’d hurt his back or knee by carrying me in that manner. I was fully aware of being slightly on the chubby side.

  “Woohoo!” Jackie hooted, and Woody joined in.

  Doug furrowed his eyebrows, shaking his head. Man, he looked confused.

  “If you’ll excuse me, we need to head for our room.” Rick offered his dazzling smile, which always enchanted women and occasionally some men, and then he turned on his heels, still carrying me.

  When he did, my leg slightly brushed against Doug.

  I shaped my mouth into an O in horror. After all, he could be the man who mercilessly poisoned Woody, and he might break into hives and collapse on the spot. Or worse, he might die. And even if he wasn’t the killer, he looked like someone who didn’t hesitate on resorting to violence.

  When I mumbled an apology, he clicked his tongue but didn’t say anything except for “Crazy people. What the hell is wrong with this city?”

  Shrugging as if he was attempting to shake off the silly encounter with said crazy people, he turned on his heels and headed for the elevator.

  “Is he breaking into hives or something?” Rick whispered into my ear.

  “No,” I whispered back. Then I hissed, “Hey, you just used me like a tool again. Have you ever thought about the possibility that the tragic incidents where people who’d previously committed murders and rapes collapse just out of coincidence?”

  “If you call that a coincidence, they were damn frequent coincidences.” Moving only his eyes, Rick glanced at Doug hopping onto the elevator. “Hmm… he doesn’t look sick. Perhaps we can rule him out as a suspect. After all, he has an alibi for when Woody was killed.”

  “Still, I can’t get rid of this lingering thought that Doug could have had something to do with my death.” Woody knitted his eyebrows together.

  “I know that feeling,” Jackie agreed sympathetically. “When I didn’t know who killed me, everyone looked like a suspect.”

  “Yeah, that’s the feeling.” Woody nodded like a bobblehead. “How did you conquer that ickiness?”

  “By staying positive,” Jackie bragged.

  Rolling my eyes at the flamboyant ghost of a drag queen, I looked at Rick. “So, what now?”

  “The night will be long,” he replied nonchalantly. Then I realized that I was still in his arms, being carried like a supersized teddy bear purchased at Costco.

  “Hey, you can put me back on the floor. I can walk on my own.”

  “No need to rush, Mandy.” Rick winked.

  “Come on, you’re not going to keep on carrying me until we get back home, are you?” I said skeptically.

  “Of course not.” He chuckled. “We’ve got the suite, and we’ll be staying at the hotel for the night.”

  “But… I didn’t bring a change of clothes,” I mumbled, suddenly feeling excited and, at the same time shy about the night’s arrangement. Indeed, I didn’t even pack my underwear. Who would pack an extra pair of underwear when they’re just a fifteen-minute drive from home?

  “Good news. The hotel’s got something called a concierge, and their laundry services are superb.” He flashed a perfect set of pearly whites. “Come on, it’s not like you need to put on underwear after taking a bath.”

  “Oh…” I felt my cheeks growing hot.

  “You’ll thank me later. Their breakfast is one of the best in New York City. So, are Jackie and Woody still hanging around us?” Rick asked.

  “Um… yes. Here and there.” I indicated at the duo of ghosts with the palm of my hand. They were literally staring at us with wide eyes.

  “No worry, we’ll give you some space for tonight,” Jackie offered, waving at me. “We won’t disturb you. It’s a promise… as in pinky swear.” She stuck out her pinky finger and waved it at us.

  “Yeah, right,” Woody agreed. “So, you guys have a great night, okay?”

  “Okay… thanks. Good night.” I waved at them, suddenly feeling awfully stupid to be doing that, especially when I was being carried like a little kid.

  “So, are we ready?” Rick cocked his head. “Let’s hurry to our suite, okay? My arms are getting numb.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The next morning started divinely.

  Clad in bathrobes, we had a yummy breakfast at the suite. As Rick had predicted, our garments, including my dress from the previous night and the underwear, came back dry-cleaned and ironed to perfection. Indeed, they seemed to have been beautified after the laundry.

  Though I’d been unsure about staying at the hotel when I didn’t have an extra pair of clean undies, as Rick said, I didn’t miss undergarments that much during the night.

  I mean… it’s not like I’m trying to keep all the juicy details about the previous night absolutely untouchable for no one but me. And if you’re suspecting that I’m pretending to be a very secretive type of e
rotica protagonist—aka insufferable bitch—you’re so wrong. With full disclosure, we had a very intimate night, but nothing carnal was included in the package. Yes, you heard me right. Despite all the promise of passion, we didn’t get to make love during the night. To be honest, I was anticipating it, and I was sure Rick was too. He was sweet enough to spoil me with a massage, working the kinks from my shoulders and back, but unfortunately, he was too good. I fell asleep in the middle of it. Every touch of his golden fingers was so comfortable that I couldn’t keep myself awake.

  When I woke up in his arms, it was already morning and we had to get up. Still, I was deliriously happy and giddy when I found his beautifully sculpted face close to mine.

  We checked out of the hotel early and went home. Rick changed his jacket, and I slipped into a green velvet dress that was appropriate for the daytime.

  “I love you.” Putting another peck on my lips, Rick prepared to leave for work.

  “I love you too,” I said, kissing him back. Then I added, “Take care.”

  It was funny spending a night out, then coming back home and seeing him leave for work as if it wasn’t anything different from our usual days. Still, I liked it—a lot.

  I was anticipating a quiet day. When we left Woody’s condo the previous day, Madame Roloff said she might have some business to take care of, so I was expecting to have a day off. Or at least take the morning off.

  Humming the theme music from Sex and the City, I made a cup of hot tea for myself. After eating a hearty breakfast, I wasn’t hungry, so I sat at the coffee table in the living room with the cup and saucer in hand, savoring the aroma of Darjeeling.

  “Hey, girlfriend! Good morning!” Jackie popped up by my side.

  “Good morning, Jackie. How are you?” I giggled. Not that there was anything to giggle about, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Mmm… you must have had a wonderful night with Rick.” She moved her arm to seem like she was touching mine.

  “Yes, I did—in a way. Thank you very much,” I said.

  “In a way? What do you mean? You’re not going to share the juicy details about your night with Rick, are you?” She tilted her head to the side.

  “Oh, nothing special.” I took a sip of tea. “We had a nice night. Then we had breakfast. Rick has now left for work, and here I am.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound so boring.” Jackie shrugged. “Hey, I don’t mind listening to a little more detail about your fabulous night, especially the part about how you spent the night without an extra pair of fresh lingerie.”

  I moved my fingers to look like I was poking her cheek. “Oh no, Jackie, you’re bad.” I wasn’t going to share the part where I spent the whole night sleeping.

  All of a sudden, Woody popped up by our side. “Oh my God, oh my God, ohmigod!”

  He was shrieking as if he was channeling Jackie.

  I jumped back on the couch, spilling the tea a little over the coffee table.

  “What?” Jackie and I said in unison.

  Then I complained, “If you were a living human, I’d be demanding you to pass me the tissue box.”

  “Oops, sorry about that.” Woody shrugged. “But listen to me. I’ve got news!”

  He was practically bouncing around as if he was high on meth or too much sugar. Not that I thought there was anything like meth and sugar in the world of dead people.

  “What news?” Jackie asked.

  “That old guy, Mr. West,” he said breathlessly. “He’s dead. He was found dead at his office!”

  And the next moment, my phone rang. It was Madame Roloff announcing the death of Mr. West.

  “I’ll be at Charmed and Sprinkled in fifteen minutes. Mandy, would you come and meet me?” she asked.

  “Sure, of course,” I said. Picking up my purse, I was glad that I came home and changed into attire that was both warm and presentable during the day.

  When the ghostly duo and I arrived at Charmed and Sprinkled, Madame Roloff was already there, making a phone call at the deserted store.

  “Are you sure?” I heard her asking on the phone. “Oh, I see. Thank you so much. It was nice chatting with you.”

  Harriett was walking around the store in a jittery manner, and Meg was clasping her hands in front of her chest as if she was praying to God.

  “The doctor who announced Mr. West’s death firmly states that the cause of death was a heart attack, not from poisoning.” Madame Roloff furrowed her eyebrows the moment she got off the phone.

  “Are you sure?” Harriett asked. “Then again, I’ve read somewhere that it’s possible to deliberately cause a heart attack.”

  “Yes, it’s possible,” I interjected. “Heart medications like digitalis are known to cause fatal arrhythmia when the dose adjustment fails. Also, there’s a smorgasbord of drugs that are relatively easy to get access to that cause heart attack–like symptoms.”

  “Oh my God! Are we talking about a serial murder?” Meg exclaimed with her eyes wide open.

  “But if that’s the case—” Madame Roloff started, but she was interrupted midsentence by the arrival of Detective Derringer and another plainclothes detective.

  “Hello, Detectives. How may we help you?” Harriett offered them a tight smile, but Detective Derringer dismissed her with a shake of his hand.

  “No service is necessary, at least for today,” he said, then walked toward us. His gaze was fixated on Meg, who still looked shocked. “Miss Clarke, we need to talk to you at the precinct.”

  His tone wasn’t a suggestion or a question. It was a pure, absolute order.

  “Excuse me, Detective. Meg has been with me since three o’clock in the morning today.” Harriett touched Meg’s arm protectively. “She couldn’t have murdered Mr. West.”

  “If you’re suspecting her of murdering him and Mr. Napoleon, you’re looking the wrong way,” Madame Roloff said firmly.

  “What are you talking about?” Detective Derringer raised an eyebrow. “For your information, what he murdered was his old heart that couldn’t take it anymore.”

  “Then why are you taking Meg to the precinct?” I asked.

  “Something with her fingerprints was found at Mr. Napoleon’s residence,” the detective said matter-of-factly. “Miss Clarke, you told us you have no ties to him outside the activities at Manhattan Avenue Arts and Heritage Association, but—”

  “Detective, are you implying Meg lied to you?” Harriett demanded. Her face was turning red. “And did I forget to mention that Meg is mostly responsible for packaging our products?”

  “Which means her fingerprints could be found on things like the bags and disposable spoons, forks, and knives.” Madame Roloff jumped up from the chair.

  “She’s damn right!” Woody declared. “The relationship between Meg and me was restricted to saying, ‘Hi, how are you?’ If that qualifies as a relationship, that is.”

  “Hmm… that’s more like an acquaintance than having a serious relationship,” Jackie agreed.

  The other detective, who obviously didn’t hear dead people speaking, shook his head sadly. “Actually, Miss Clerke’s fingerprints were found on a cake server at the victim’s home.”

  “A cake server?” Meg furrowed her eyebrows.

  “Yes, a cake server with this store’s logo,” Detective Derringer said. “Visiting his home and eating cakes together… that’s quite an intimate relationship.”

  “What? I don’t have a cake server.” Woody threw up his hands. “Besides that, if she visited me bringing a cake server and perhaps a cake, I should remember that, right?”

  “Detective, you’re wrong in so many ways!” Harriett snapped. “We do sell cake servers here, but I don’t recall Mr. Napoleon purchasing one!”

  “That’s why we presumed Ms. Clarke brought one to his condo.” Detective Derringer raised an eyebrow.

  “It’s okay, Harriett.” Meg stood up. “It’s a serious misunderstanding, and I’m sure I’ll be cleared of any suspicion. Look, we don’t
have to be afraid. I have done nothing wrong.” Then she looked Detective Derringer straight in the eyes. “Why don’t we leave? Oh, should I put on handcuffs?”

  “No handcuffs will be necessary.” Detective Derringer shook his head.

  “Meg, everything will be okay.” Madame Roloff raised her head. “I’ll send over a lawyer, so don’t say a word until your lawyer arrives at the interrogation room. Are we clear?”

  “Absolutely.” Meg offered a small smile, but her hands were shaking.

  CHAPTER 9

  In the next few minutes, I called the same lawyer Rick had sent for Meg a few days back, and Harriett started looking into the sales record of cake servers.

  Luckily, Charmed and Sprinkled sold only one type of cake server, but unluckily, the sales record was vast and the system at the store wasn’t sophisticated. It was especially popular among the tourists who might or might not revisit the bakery.

  “We can exclude the tourists,” I said.

  No thanks to Rick’s attempt to use me as some kind of an indicator to determine if Meg had committed murder, I knew she wasn’t the killer. And obviously, someone deliberately planted the cake server to frame her. A total stranger who didn’t even know Meg wouldn’t think of doing that.

  After frantically looking at the wad of receipts, Harriett found out that Anna Linton had purchased two cake servers.

  “Anna?” Woody squinted. “She’s a member of the board of directors at the Manhattan Avenue Arts and Heritage Association. If I recall it right, she seemed to be extra active in the group, volunteering and so on.”

  “Does she serve cakes at her art gallery? Or does she have a daughter or a niece?” Jackie asked. “If she’s selling the cake server at her shop, she would have purchased it in bulk instead of two. And if she’s just using it for her personal use, she just needs one—except if she happens to be the kind of person who always buys an extra in case the other one breaks.”