Murder at the Mall: (A Madeline Shore Cozy Curvy Mystery)

by Lynn Cooper

  “Stop saying everything is little. Our circulation is over eighty-five hundred,” he whines like a petulant child.

  Zeke smirks. “This isn’t Amity. It’s not like we’ve killed the giant, rubber shark that has been eating beachgoers. There wasn’t exactly a mass exodus from the mall after the news spread.”

  “We cannot chance it, Detective. It’s imperative we restore public confidence right away. Madeline killed Bluff.”

  I spread my hands. “How?”

  “How what?”

  “How did I kill Bluff? He was in a locked dressing room at Missy’s Buxom Boutique. The saleslady said I was the first and only customer. I’m sure the mall cameras will show that.”

  Darren laughs haughtily. “You fool. You’ve just as good as confessed.”

  “Not really. Won’t those same cameras have to show Bluff entering the boutique before either she or I did? Who knows? Maybe the person or persons who killed him will be on camera, too.”

  “That makes sense,” Sadie says, briefly lifting her fingers from the laptop before starting up again.

  “Fine,” the mayor says in exasperation. “All right, Detective. Show us the film or the DVD or whatever it is. Sadie, douse the lights.”

  “Getting a warrant for the camera recordings will take some time,” Zeke says, “like everything else will. A rush to judgment doesn’t serve anyone. I’ll find the killer. But I’m fairly certain it’s not Miss Shore. Until I learn differently, she’s simply the person who reported the crime.”

  “Three times now,” Darren says. “Three deaths. I fully plan to reopen those cases. You temporarily eluded justice the first two times, Madeline. I promise the good people of Slocomb you won’t complete a hat trick of heinous murders while I’m on the job.” He nods at Cole. “Don’t quote me on that.”

  Scribbling on his legal pad, the young man laughs and rubs his sparse goatee. “Slick, are you familiar with the concept of trying to unring a bell?”

  I wonder for just a second if Darren’s fingertips are literally stuck together. I’ve done the same thing to my digits more than once with my hot-glue gun.

  “Well, I’ve got something to say,” Tug says, suddenly sitting forward, “and you can quote me in big, bold letters. Accident or murder, I’ve lost an absolute genius of a business partner. More than that, I’ve lost the dearest friend I ever had. A finer man never lived than Stafford Burrows.”

  When he says this, I notice Mayor Kwan arches one of her penciled, black eyebrows. “Hear, hear,” she says blandly. She leans back in her chair, rests her ankles on her desk and kicks off her bright-blue high heels. “Madeline, was there a line in the mall at the Starbucks?”

  “A long one. People need caffeine to power shop, don’t you know.”

  “Sadie, go get me something strong and smothered with a latte of whipped cream.” When the young girl simply nods, Patsy says, “That was a joke, honey.”

  “So, you don’t want coffee?”

  In the hall outside the mayor’s office, I put my hands on my hips and glare up at Detective Worthy. “You’re fairly certain I’m not the killer?”

  He slides his skinny black tie knot up against the top button. “It leaves the door open for me to investigate you further, Miss Shore,” he says, winking as he walks his fine self away.

  I’ve got to start doing squats or something. My thighs are quivering like jelly.

  Chapter Five

  “BEAR’S GOOD. HE JUST misses you,” Luisa says in my ear as Zeke pulls his white Nissan Sentra alongside my pink-and-white Mini-Cooper in the mall parking lot. “When are you coming home?”

  Zeke’s phone rings. Putting his car in gear, he steps out to give both of us some privacy.

  “In just a little while,” I tell her. “I want to check something out right quick, and then I’ll be there. Hey, I saw you looking at diamonds earlier this morning. See anything that would look good on you?”

  “Any and all of them, honey. But I saw a two-carat princess cut that just about knocked my eyeballs out. It’s pricey, but Glen can swing it. He’ll just have to get a third job and give up sleeping.”

  I laugh. “He’ll do anything to make you happy. I want to hear all about it later,” I say, ending the call.

  Zeke slips back under the steering wheel. “That was Perk. He’s got something he wants to show me back at the station. You headed home? Or are you going back into that madhouse to see if you can wrangle a few more deep discounts?”

  I cock my chin. “One man’s madhouse might be this woman’s paradise. What’s the day in the life of a detective look like?”

  “Well, I’m going to see what Perk has. Then I’ll watch the security camera DVDs. According to him, the mayor was able to expedite the warrant. An officer is picking up the discs now. They ought to clear up this murder in rapid fashion.”

  I smile. Ain’t gonna happen. I consider telling him why it’s a dead end. He’s a good kid, just trying maybe a bit too hard to make his bones in a new town. I really ought to save him some trouble by telling him that—

  Nah. Not after the condescending, chauvinistic crack he made. So just stick to your sewing and leave the police work to me, okay?

  Still, maybe I better toss him a crumb to get him started in the right direction. The longer the mayor and the D.A. think I’m a suspect, the longer I’m not going to be able to craft in peace.

  Undoing my seatbelt, I step out of the vehicle and turn. “Why would somebody kill him?”

  “No offense, Miss Shore, but I don’t usually discuss a killer’s motive with—”

  “No. That’s the question Mrs. Ellsworth asked when she saw Bluff’s body. Not ‘Who would do such a horrible thing?’ or ‘How did he get in there with the door locked?’ After I had time to think about it, it just sounded like an odd question for someone to ask in that situation. Not who or how. Why.” I shrug. “See you.”

  I turn on my high heels and strut away. In case he’s watching—and I know he is; he’s a man, isn’t he?—I put a little extra wiggle in my walk.

  Inside the mall, I head toward Krusty-Creamed Doughnuts three stores down from Missy’s. No, I’m not trying to make up for not getting to finish my CinnaCluster earlier (although I am still lamenting the loss).

  The mall is even busier than it was earlier. Nothing like a homicide to stimulate sales. I skirt around a group of curious onlookers outside the buxom boutique who are staring past the crime-scene tape through the horizontal slats of the locked, pull-down door. In addition to a town policeman, there are two security guards hovering close by.

  Once I get into the pastry shop, my mouth waters as I gaze into the glass display case. Inside is row after row of individual doughnuts, each clearly labeled and sitting on a decorative, real-china plate. It’s located beside a counter with eight bottle-cap stools and a footrest. There are four booths against the wall. Two stools and one booth are now occupied. Past them is a set of double doors which probably opens into the bakery.

  Just to the right of it is a gray, steel door. It has a round, portal window, a heavy-duty lock and a sign that reads ABSOLUTELY NO ADMITTANCE.

  Behind the glass case is a tall, wiry, teenaged-looking kid in a green, uniform shirt. It bears the Krusty-Creamed logo—the name stenciled in cursive beside a doughnut with a cup of coffee sitting in the hole. He has spiked, jet-black hair parted down the middle and a paper curb hop hat seemingly balanced on top of it. He’s taking an elderly woman’s order, so I dally until she’s been taken care of before approaching him.

  “‘Welcome to Krusty-Creamed Doughnuts, made fresh each morning,’” he says glumly, “‘where the dough is always warm and the sugar is always real.’”

  “And the aroma is very distinctive.” I point to the strawberry-lemon-glazed cruller. “Could I smell that one, please?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I know it sounds weird. But, if I buy it, I’ll have to throw it away. I don’t like to waste food, and I’ve already eaten one pastry tod
ay. Partially, at least.”

  He screws up his face and looks at me like I’m from Mars. “Why do you want to smell it?”

  “To make sure I’ve smelled it before.”

  He shrugs. “Whatever. My boss told me the customer is always right.”

  “A man after my own heart.”

  “It’s a woman.” Shrugging, he reaches in and snares the cruller with a pair of plastic tongs. He holds it out to me. “Whatever you do, just don’t put your nose on it.”

  Getting on my tiptoes, I lean forward and inhale deeply. The scent is so yummy, I almost salivate. “Yep, that’s it. Thank you.”

  “You’re not going to buy it?”

  “I really shouldn’t. I’ve already had my pastry for the day, remember?”

  “But you said only partially.”

  “I did, didn’t I?”

  “How about a cup of coffee? ‘Krusty-Creamed Doughnuts coffee: always hot, and you don’t have to take out a bank loan to buy it.’”

  Shaking my head, I turn and start to leave. But I hesitate. Yes, Zeke paid for breakfast. Still, I can’t justify spending any more money since I’ve already put out six bucks for the cinnamon bun I didn’t get to finish. But the heavenly fragrance of the strawberry-lemon-glazed cruller has tantalized the tiny receptors in my nostrils, triggering an insatiable hunger in my belly. “What’s your name?”

  “Todd.”

  “Hey, Todd. I’m Madeline. I’ll make you a bet: if I can tell you exactly why you didn’t want me to put my nose on this cruller, you give it to me for free.”

  There’s that screwed-up face again. “It’s already 40% off, like everything else in the mall.”

  “Okay, I’ll sweeten the deal,” I say, “pun intended. If I’m wrong, I’ll buy the cruller at full price along with a cup of coffee and tip you a dollar to boot.”

  Todd smiles. “Bet.”

  “And don’t try to tell me I guessed wrong when I guess right. Because I’ll know from the expression on your face.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Okay. It’s because the plate holding the strawberry-lemon-glazed cruller was empty when you came in this morning, and you had to go back into the bakery for this fresh one to replace it. If I had contaminated it with my super-sensitive sniffer, you would have had to make that trip again. I can tell by your, shall we say, laid-back demeanor you’d prefer to take as few steps as possible.”

  His eyes widen as his jaw slackens. “How could you know that?”

  I hold up my cruller. “Thanks for the game, Todd. I’ll be back later to give you a chance to get your money back.”

  Right outside the store, I’m about to sink my teeth into the soft, aromatic sweetness when my cell phone rings. My first thought is something’s happened to Bear. I groan when I see the caller ID. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Cynthia and her clan are coming for supper tonight. You’ve begged off the last two times I invited you. The least you can do is make an appearance.”

  Maybe it would have been better to just have let Zeke lock me up.

  “Mom, I’d like to, I really would (not). But Bluff Burrows was found dead this morning in the mall.”

  I know this startling bit of news is going to initiate one of her lengthy diatribes, so I use the opportunity to tear into the cruller. I’ll have plenty of time to finish it before she comes up for air.

  “Oh, my goodness, and you found him, didn’t you? Of course, you did. Madeline, why do you keep getting yourself involved in such as that? I’ll swear, one of these days you’re going to get tied up in something you can’t get out of. Well, I’ve made a roast. Cooked it in nothing but water. I’m going to have some potatoes au gratin, but I put some, you know, spices and things in it to give it a little different flavor. Then I poured some roast-water over it. I think that makes it taste so much better. Cyn’s going to bring a salad and some vegetables. You know, that’s all they eat. I reckon that’s why they’re so skinny. Do you want me to make you anything special? I mean, I know how you count calories. I was going to make some fat-free pudding or maybe some low-fat Snickerdoodles. What in the world did I do with that recipe? So, six-thirty, sharp. Don’t be late. You know what a stickler Roger is about people holding others up.”

  I swallow the last bite, licking my fingers and my lips to get every morsel of the sugary deliciousness. Even though I know Luisa is at the shop looking after Bear, I suddenly feel paranoid. As silly as it sounds, I still glance around to make sure she is not watching me. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  “Wonderful. I want you to see the beautiful flower bed I just finished. It took me three whole days. I’ve got every color of tulip imaginable in it. I’m going to take a picture and send it to Better Homes and Gardens.”

  Mom does have a green thumb. “I’m sure it’s gorgeous. See you this evening.”

  For future reference, I pace off the steps back down to the front of Missy’s Boutique, counting aloud. Alan Ackrin, the uniformed officer who was with Zeke earlier back in the dressing room, now stands sentinel in front of the crime-scene tape outside the shop.

  “Sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine steps,” I say, pulling up beside him.

  He pushes his cap back. “Steps from what, Miss Shore?”

  “Maybe a man’s last meal.”

  Chapter Six

  “LORD, IT’S GOOD TO be home,” I say as I cast a multi-colored, blanket yarn onto my pretty, yellow knitting loom. “I’m sorry I was away so long. It’s that handsome-but-kind-of-a-jerk detective’s fault. Don’t get me wrong, Bear: I like him well enough. I do enjoy looking at him, and it was fun having breakfast and riding around with just the two of us in his car. But I told you I’d be back in just a couple of hours. I knew you’d be anxious to go for your walk. Aunt Luisa volunteered to take you, but going for walks is our thing; isn’t it, sweet boy?”

  Happy now he’s been trotted out to see and be seen by the entire town proper of Slocomb, Bear sits attentively beside my crafting table and looks up at me. He is a three-year-old, black Scottish Terrier with warm, dark-brown eyes that constantly sparkle with love and a touch of mischief. He watches my hands intently as if he’s counting every stitch I make. My four-legged baby is an awesome listener. Never interrupting, he’s the perfect sounding board. I always bounce my homicide theories off him. I guess you could say Bear is my partner as well as my best friend. Well, outside of Luisa, that is.

  We sit downstairs inside my business, The Crafty Little Sew and Sew Shop. Cute, huh? I named it myself. It’s only a few hundred square feet, but it’s the perfect size for me and Bear.

  The front wall facing the sidewalk is made up mostly of a huge plate-glass window with the name stenciled on it in fancy cursive. A set of dainty chimes adorn the door. The décor is primarily pink, from the carpet to the curtains, because pink is for girls. I have shelves on three walls as well as two display tables covered with the stuffed animals, decorative throw pillows, hats and scarves I’ve made.

  Upstairs is where we live. It’s our cozy, little loft. On one side, beneath the slanting roof, is my wrought-iron bed. It sits on top of a giant, circular rug I wove last summer. Bear’s plush bed (with little throw pillows I made) is in the corner. I have a full, enclosed bathroom with a tub-and-shower combo. On the other side of the loft is the kitchenette and dining table for two. In the center is a loveseat with an armchair and a rocking chair. I have two dormer windows facing Mills Avenue which allow me to look through my pretty pink curtains at the town of Slocomb spreading out below. There’s also a skylight in the cathedral ceiling, so I save a lot of money on my wintertime power bill unless it’s overcast or raining.

  Downstairs in the shop, I have an extra-long, rectangular crafting table. Pink. It’s big enough to easily accommodate my pink sewing machine, skeins of yarn, different colors of fabric, felt, fiber-fill, hot-glue gun, and embellishments—google eyes, safety noses, that sort of thing. It serves two purposes. One, I think it’s interesting for the customers to see th
e work is done in-house and not outsourced to some other craft store. Two, I can work at it in between attending to customers.

  Luisa says my style is unconventional and my craftsmanship is an acquired taste. That’s her kind way of saying not everybody likes a raccoon with a mustache, a frog with five legs, an elephant with a pom-pom tail or a cross-eyed octopus wearing a sweater and a knitted hat. But it’s what I like to make. What makes me happy. I’m never going to be a millionaire; but, what I make in the shop and in my online store pays my bills and gives me and Bear a fairly-comfortable lifestyle.

  The shop is conveniently located on the corner of Mills Avenue and Main Street on the very west edge of town. I’m within walking distance of most of the places I want or need to go. Better yet, it’s ten miles from my mother’s house. She doesn’t drive, so she can’t just pop in any time the mood to criticize me strikes her.

  Which is why I suppose I’ve been summoned for supper. I love her, but I’ve been dodging her for a few weeks. Okay, so maybe it’s four months. But I’ve been super-busy. Lately, I’ve had a run on long-whiskered plushy cats (you never know what’s going to sell), and I’ve been trying to get my shelves restocked. On top of that, the cold weather will be here before I know it, and my inventory of knitted hats is nowhere near what it needs to be.

  But it’s approaching six o’clock, and I need to get a move on lest I be late. Sighing, I set my loom down. I again lament the fact that having to do things like sleep eight hours a night as well as occasionally, grudgingly visit my mom prevents me from doing crafts twenty-four hours a day.

  Smiling, I picture the look on her face if I showed up to supper on Zeke Worthy’s strong, muscular arm.

  I lean down and take Bear’s adorable face between my hands. “Now listen, Cutie: I know it will be hard, and I know how much you get a kick out of doing it. But, try not to chase Cynthia’s kids too much. You know how I am. If Roger were to open his perfect-toothed mouth and say something mean to you, I’m afraid that’ll be one more murder I’m suspected of.”