Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection)

by Anisa Claire West

  Minutes later, I was sitting in an investigation chamber with a much more serious man. Wearing a pair of no-nonsense black rimmed glasses and dressed in a conservative suit and tie, the detective was the portrait of professionalism. Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, he prompted: “Name, please.”

  “Cathleen Vonnehaus.”

  “And you’re reporting a missing person?”

  “Yes. Her name is Mikaila Myers. She works at my bakery, Cathleen’s Cookie Castle.” I sat up straight in my chair, nervous for some unknown reason. Something in the detective’s chilly demeanor made me feel jittery.

  “And how long has Ms. Myers been an employee of yours?”

  “Almost a year. Since last July.”

  “And how did you come to realize that she was missing?”

  “She didn’t show up for work today,” I stated, suddenly remembering the semi-trashed state I had found my bakery in. A terrible thought occurred to me: had Mikaila been abducted from the bakery? Is that why the door had been left unlocked and so many ingredients haphazardly spilled?

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Detective Mars asked emotionlessly as my own emotions went topsy turvy.

  “Last night, before I left. But I came back later last night and found the rear door unlocked. The place was also a mess, like there could have been some sort of struggle,” I said in a rush, berating myself silently for having thought Mikaila would be so careless. I should have had more faith in her after all the time we had worked side by side!

  “And why did you go back to the bakery last night?” Detective Mars grilled as my uneasiness mounted.

  “Um,” I faltered, feeling embarrassed to tell him the real reason but knowing I was obligated to. “I was on a date, and I brought my date to take a tour of my bakery and have some cookies. But that’s not the important point! The important point is how I found the shop. Mikaila must have been kidnapped!”

  “Not so fast, Ms. Vonnehaus. We don’t want to jump to any conclusions at this early stage. Did you try to reach Ms. Myers after you suspected she was missing?” The detective persisted with his questioning in a strangely disturbing monotone.

  “Yes! Of course! Several times. I left voicemails and texts. But she never got back to me.” I shrank back in the chair, wishing a draft would sweep into the room to cool me as the detective eyed me with searing suspicion.

  Chapter 3

  Fidgeting, I scratched my bare arm, feeling itchy from the chair’s rough fabric. “I feel like you don’t believe me for some reason.” I dug my nails into my forearm, then folded my hands in my lap and tried to stay still. If the detective had been suspicious of me before, he might slap me with a slew of charges just because I was so jumpy.

  “Ms. Vonnehaus, I’m just trying to get the facts,” he intoned blankly, pushing a glass of water in front of me. “Take a sip. You seem nervous.”

  Hand trembling, I reached for the glass and took a too-big gulp as some of the water dribbled down my chin. Beautiful, Cathleen. This just keeps getting better and better. As I wiped my chin with a tissue, the detective skimmed the notes he had recorded thus far. Frown lines creased his forehead as he read.

  “Did you clean up the mess in your bakery?”

  “Of course! I couldn’t leave it like that,” I replied, instantly realizing that I could have unwittingly tampered with a crime scene and obliterated valuable evidence.

  “I wish you hadn’t done that,” the detective mused.

  “But I didn’t know…”

  “I understand. You don’t need to explain.” He held up a silencing hand and sighed harshly. “Do you know anything about Ms. Myers’ life outside of work? For example, does she live with anyone? Or have family in the area?”

  “Actually, I don’t know that much about her. Except that she lives alone. Her apartment is in Eagle Ridge. And she’s not from Wisconsin. She moved here last year from Des Moines, Iowa.” I gave the detective all the information I had about Mikaila in a nutshell.

  “Do you know what prompted her to leave Iowa and move to another state alone?” The detective queried.

  “I have no idea. She didn’t talk about her personal life very much.”

  “You don’t happen to have a picture of Ms. Myers, do you?” The detective asked without much hope.

  “No, I don’t. But I can describe her to you.” The detective nodded for me to proceed. “She’s 24, long brown hair, brown eyes, pretty, about 5’5” and maybe just a little bit chubby. She eats a lot of cookies.” I smiled fondly, recalling how Mikaila loved to take cookie breaks during her shifts. Then I sobered quickly as the detective cast a reproachful look on me.

  “To your knowledge, does Ms. Myers have a history of disappearing and not telling anyone?” The questions kept flying at me as I finally relaxed a little, realizing that the detective was just doing his job.

  “Not at all. Mikaila is extremely reliable. She’s always on time. Hard working. Doesn’t even take many days off.”

  “Okay. And do you know Ms. Myers’ address in Eagle Ridge?”

  “Not offhand. But I have it in my files at the bakery.”

  “Alright. I’ll be coming down to your bakery in a little while, along with my partner, Detective Hugh Chapman. We’ll continue this discussion there.”Slipping his pencil into his jacket pocket, Detective Mars indicated that the interview was over.

  I didn’t bother to protest that I had already closed up shop for the night and wanted to go home. “So I guess we’ll meet up there?”

  “Yes. Give us half an hour,” Detective Mars requested, rising from his seat and walking me to the exit.

  “Okay, see you in a half hour,” I said, trying to hide my weariness. Over the span of my interrogation, my feelings had shifted from anxious to exhausted. But I had to do everything in my power to help Mikaila and find her safe and sound. Something in my gut, though, told me that this investigation wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

  ***

  With an air of authority, Detectives Mars and Chapman strutted into my bakery and surveyed the surroundings. “Show us the area you found in disarray,” Detective Chapman ordered, stroking his tawny beard.

  “Right this way.” I led them to my now pristine kitchen that bore no traces of having been ransacked the night before. “Like I said, I cleaned up,” I reiterated as the clean smell of lemon Pine Sol wafted through the air.

  “Yes, you certainly did,” Detective Mars sighed. “But if there was indeed a struggle here, there may still be trace DNA left behind. A forensics team is on the way to take samples.”

  Selfishly, I hoped that the crime scene investigators would be gone by the morning so that my business could go on as usual. Then I thought of Mikaila, how she had almost become like a sister to me, and instantly felt guilty.

  “You said you have Ms. Myers’ address to give us?” Detective Mars prompted as I dashed over to the filing cabinet in the corner to retrieve the information. Before I submitted the sheet to the detective, I scrawled Mikaila’s address down on scrap paper so that I would be able to initiate my own search if necessary.

  “Here it is.” I handed the detective Mikaila’s résumé.

  “Thank you, Ms. Vonnehaus. We’ll be checking out this address shortly. Whenever someone lives alone, even a young person, there’s always the possibility of an accident in the home…” Detective Mars trailed off ominously as I shivered. “You can go home for the evening now. There’s no need for you to stay here through the night,” he advised sternly.

  “Okay,” I hesitated, unable to believe that my bakery had become a crime scene literally overnight. “I can still open for business tomorrow, right?”

  “Assuming that we’ve collected any necessary evidence, yes. But I have a feeling this investigation is going to take us far from your bakery if indeed Ms. Myers was kidnapped,” Detective Mars revealed as his partner nodded.

  “And based on your tidy housekeeping,” Chapman drawled coldly, “there probably won�
��t be much evidence to collect.”

  I bit my tongue so that I wouldn’t lash out and defend myself. “Okay, well then I guess I’ll get going now.” I grabbed my purse and walked woodenly out the door, hoping that things would return to normal by the next day. Reaching for my phone, I tried one more time to reach Mikaila but was again kicked into voicemail.

  “Mikaila, it’s Cathleen again. I really hope you’re okay. If you are, then we’re going to have a big laugh about all the craziness that’s been happening since you disappeared!” I sighed shakily, hanging up and admitting to myself that I was panicked for the young woman.

  Maybe it was concern that had been the source of my jitters in the investigation room and not fear of being a suspect. More than 24 hours had elapsed since I had seen Mikaila, and it was very likely that if she had been kidnapped---then she was dead. That horrific realization made me waver on my feet and feel dizzy as I climbed into my vanilla white Volkswagen to drive home.

  As I shifted the clutch into drive, my heart skipped a beat and my foot reflexively slammed on the brake pedal. Standing in front of my car was a ghostly female silhouette with long, flowing tresses and a pudgy figure. For a millisecond, I thought it was Mikaila until the moon shone a light on the woman’s face, a face I had never laid eyes on before.

  The stranger came around to the driver side of my car as I cautiously rolled the window a quarter of the way down. “What are you doing?!” I snapped. “You could have gotten run over!”

  “I’m sorry! I just wanted to stop you before you left. Are you Cathleen?” The woman asked breathlessly, peering into my car and making me cross my arms protectively around my chest.

  “Yes. Who are you?”

  “I’m Sara. I wanted to see if you have any job openings right now.”

  Deeply skeptical, I gave her a look that screamed ‘Are you crazy?!’ With as much calm as I could muster, I pointed out, “It’s almost 10 o’clock at night. The bakery is closed. Why would you come here at this hour for a job?”

  “Well, I live in the neighborhood. On Rogers Avenue. I was just taking a walk and wanted to try my luck. I’ve seen the lights on in the bakery this late before, so I thought maybe someone might be here tonight. And I was right!”

  I couldn’t argue with what Sara was saying. Many nights I stayed at the bakery after hours experimenting with recipes and sending out email blasts to my steady customers. Still, it struck me as odd that the young woman would wander around town late at night on the off-chance of finding someone at the bakery.

  “Look, I’m about to head home right now. But you’re welcome to come back in the morning.” Even though I didn’t think I would hire Sara after she had accosted me in the dark, I didn’t want to turn her away outright. Maybe in the light of day she would seem normal. Plus, Chad’s words reverberated in my mind. You need at least one day a week off, Cathleen. Everyone does. He was right. And, realistically, with Mikaila gone, I needed a reliable assistant a.s.a.p.

  “Okay great! How about I come by at 9?” Sara chirped, still staring unnervingly into my car, as though she was looking for something.

  “That will be fine. I’ll see you then.” Rolling up the window, I shifted the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot, eager to flop onto my bed and crash for the next 8 hours.

  Marginally refreshed the next morning, I briskly dressed in a breathable pair of yoga pants and short sleeved top. Arriving at the bakery at 7 am, there was no sign of any police activity. I sighed with gratitude that the investigation was complete---at least the investigation of my bakery. Mikaila still hadn’t returned any of my messages, making me more certain with every passing hour that something terrible had befallen her.

  Walking into the shop and spotting her lilac apron draped over a chair behind the counter, I got misty eyed remembering all the fun we had enjoyed working together. Then, I shifted into detective mode and realized that the apron could be considered a piece of evidence. Why hadn’t I noticed it yesterday? Too much commotion, probably. Folding it up and placing it in a plastic bag, I vowed to bring the apron to the police station in the evening.

  Tiptoeing into the kitchen as one might creep through a cemetery on Halloween night, I was relieved to find everything in order. If Detective Mars hadn’t told me a forensics team was coming in, I never would have known that anyone had been there at all.

  “Is anyone here?” A voice called expectantly from the front of the store.

  Scrunching my face up, I headed towards the storefront, startled to see the kooky job applicant from the night before. “Sara, didn’t we say you would come by at 9 this morning? It’s only 7.”

  “I know! But I saw your car here and thought that I’d come by bright and early.” Energetically, she reached into a manila envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper.

  Accepting the paper, I glanced down and skimmed what appeared to be her résumé. Sara Dench. 65 Rogers Street. Bluebird Landing, Wisconsin. 4 years experience at Amazing Crumbles. As I read the name of my harshest competitor, my lips tightened and I slammed the paper down on the counter like it was a malfunctioning firecracker.

  Chapter 4

  “Is something wrong with my résumé?” Sara inquired, perceiving my discomfit.

  “No. I’ve barely had a chance to look at it. Why don’t you leave it here and I’ll get back to you after I’ve had a chance to read it thoroughly?” I tossed out the suggestion, knowing I would never contact the former employee of my stiffest competition. My policy was to hire people new to the baking industry, like Byron and Jade. Or to hire an out of towner, like Mikaila, who had no connection to my competition.

  “Okay. Well, I hope to hear from you soon.” The disappointment was rampant in Sara’s voice, making me feel a twinge of guilt. But I couldn’t afford to have my trade secrets---or recipes---leaked to any of my competition. My strict policy had kept me in business for the past decade, and I hoped it would keep me in business for many more.

  Sara lingered in the doorway as though waiting for me to change my mind and grant her an on-the-spot interview. But I didn’t budge, turning my attention to the cash register and filling up the compartments with various coins. As she stood like a statue, my lips parted to politely ask her to leave. Before any sound could travel from my vocal chords, I flinched to see Chad in the doorway.

  “Excuse me,” he said to Sara before doing a double take and giving her a peculiar look.

  “Oh hi, how are you!” She purred as my throat constricted and I wondered if she had dated Chad. After all, she had worked right across the street from his cheese shop. Their paths must have crossed, and maybe he had asked the pretty brunette on a date.

  “Okay, well, Cathleen…um, hope to hear from you!” She waved at me, revealing a hand with spiky purple fingernails. Another no-no for working in the food industry.

  “Chad, what are you doing here?” I finally found my voice as Sara disappeared around the corner.

  “I just wanted to see you,” he said, boyishly shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “That’s sweet. But I thought we were getting together on Saturday?”

  “We still are, I hope. But I couldn’t wait until then,” he said huskily.

  “But it’s tomorrow!” I laughed, but I could feel my warning antennae shooting up at his flattering words. In my shipwrecked love history, a man who comes on strong in the beginning only meant one thing: incurable commitment-phobe. I didn’t want to believe that Chad fell into that hopeless category, but he was being just a little too sugar sweet…even for a baker’s taste. Or was I just being too tart and cynical?

  “I know. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” His tone turned sheepish.

  “No. I was just setting up for the day,” I said gently, perceiving the tomato red embarrassment in his complexion and wondering if maybe he really was sincere. Until I remembered the odd way he looked at Sara. “Do you know the girl who was just in here?” I asked in a tone that sounded snappier than I intended.

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