Doors, Danishes & Death (A Cookie and Cream Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by K. J. Emrick

  “There’s nothing to tell, all right?”

  “No,” Jerry added, with that police officer voice of his. “It’s not all right. You need to tell us, right now, or I might have to start making arrests.”

  “Jerry!” Clarissa gasped.

  Cream barked, sharp and high-pitched.

  “Shh, Cream,” Clarissa shushed him. “Hamish, just tell us.”

  “No.”

  “Please? It can’t be that bad. Just tell us.”

  “Son,” Jerry tried again, “if you weren’t in here, where were—?”

  “I’m not your son!” This time, Hamish’s voice was loud enough to make Cream sit back on his haunches with a little whine. “I told you that already. Do not call me your son. My father is the only one who calls me son and I don’t even want him doing it because he’s no father of mine!”

  He was breathing heavily when he finished, and Cookie saw tears brimming in his eyes. Clarissa put her hand over his. He could have pulled away. He could have told her to leave him alone. He could have stayed angry.

  Instead, he held onto her hand tightly. It was such a simple gesture but it meant so much to Cookie. She looked into the boy’s eyes again. So much a man, yet still so young.

  In those eyes, she saw no trace of deceit. He wasn’t lying. They may not have heard the whole truth yet, but what he’d said so far wasn’t a lie.

  “What about your father?” Clarissa asked Hamish. “Did he do this to you?”

  “No!” he shouted. Then, after a breath, he said more calmly, “No. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

  “Then tell me,” Clarissa said. “Tell us, please? What happened?”

  With a quick glance over at Jerry, Hamish shrugged his shoulders. “It was a couple of guys I know from Morton. They were two years ahead of me in high school. They’re bookmakers.”

  Cookie wasn’t sure she understood. “They write books?”

  “No,” Jerry explained. “What he means is these guys are bookies. They take bets for people who want to gamble on sporting events or whatever. If you win, there’s a payout. If you lose, they come looking for payment.”

  “Right. That.” Hamish shifted his feet, letting his gaze drop to the floor. “They started in high school actually, raking in bets on home games and such. Now that they’ve graduated they do big time sporting events. There’s more of that sort of thing in small town America than you might think. Including… including my father.”

  Sympathy softened Clarissa’s face as she led Hamish over to the center island and made him sit down on one of the stools. Cream came trotting around to them, no longer afraid, and put one paw up on Hamish’s sneaker to show compassion in his own way.

  They all waited for Hamish to continue, giving him the time and the space he needed to find his voice. “My dad,” he said slowly, “has a really bad gambling problem. Always has. It’s one of the reasons I don’t go home much. Things there are nowhere near as good as Clarissa has it here with you, Mrs. Williams.”

  It warmed Cookie’s heart to hear him say that. Clarissa smiled over at her, sharing a little moment that neatly erased the shouting they had done earlier. How bad must Hamish’s home life be, she wondered, that he didn’t even want to talk about it. Suddenly it made sense that he had pushed himself to graduate early and go off to college. She remembered as well, how he hadn’t wanted to spend time with any of his friends when he first got here two days ago. It was like Clarissa was his whole world. Maybe she was. Cookie didn’t think that would be a bad thing at all.

  “So my dad owes money,” Hamish said. “He owes a lot of money, to these two guys. They’ve been making certain threats to my dad, and my mom too. Even my little sister. So, I went to see them. I thought maybe I could do something. Say something. Talk them into leaving my family alone, or offer to pay them part of what my dad owes, or something.”

  “Let me guess.” Jerry counted on his fingers. “One, they didn’t want to hear it. Two, they said if your dad doesn’t pay they’ll do something worse. Three, they decided to send home a message with your face.”

  Hamish nodded. “Right, on all counts.”

  “And that’s how you hurt your eye.”

  “Right again.”

  “And,” Clarissa said, “that’s why you were late meeting me in the park yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry, Clarissa. I just didn’t want to stress you with any of this. It’s my family’s problem. Not yours. Especially after your grandma has this whole dead body thing to worry about.”

  Cookie wished he wouldn’t have put it that way, but he wasn’t wrong. She got up and came around to him, resting a hand on his back. “It was nice of you to want to keep me out of your problems, Hamish, but I’m a big girl. I can handle a little trouble. And this isn’t the sort of thing you should keep quiet. Especially if those boys are hurting you.”

  “No, Mrs. Williams. This is my problem.”

  “Wrong,” Jerry told him. “Now it’s my problem. Give me the names of these two kids that assaulted you. I’ll make sure they get arrested for that, and for the gambling thing too. I know some people at the state level who live to bring down criminal enterprises.”

  Hamish managed a little laugh. “They aren’t exactly an enterprise, Mister Stansted. They’re just two guys in their twenties.”

  “The law doesn’t see it that way,” Jerry promised. “You give me their names. It’ll take a week or two, but I promise you this will take care of the problem for both you and your family.”

  Clarissa hugged Hamish fiercely, telling him over and over what an idiot he was for not telling her all this sooner. Jerry got a piece of paper and a pen to write down the information that Hamish was only too happy to give now. While they did that, Cookie scooped Cream up into her arms and ruffled the fur between his ears. “Come on now, Cream. Let’s you and me go on upstairs to get you fed. We have to open the store to our customers in less than an hour. That’s time enough for you and me.”

  Now she had at least one of the answers she’d been looking for. Hamish’s black eye had nothing to do with the mystery of her secret cellar. That was good to know, and it set her heart at ease to know she’d been wrong this time. It just wasn’t the answer she’d been looking for. Because if Hamish wasn’t the one who had broken into the cellar, then who was?

  Up in her apartment, after giving Cream a scoop of dry food and more fresh water, Cookie sat down at her dining table to think. Her gaze drifted out the window to the quiet street outside. The customers hadn’t started lining up yet, but she was hopeful that they would. It was such a beautiful day in her neighborhood. The leaves stirred in the breeze, a slow and chaotic dance that drew her attention in and blurred her tired mind into a gentle haze where there was no room for questions, no room for mysteries, and no room for worrying about anything except how good it would feel to close her eyes. Just for a minute.

  “Hey. Wake up.”

  Cookie snorted in a very unladylike way and lifted her head from where it was resting against the table. Blinking over at the wall she focused her eyes on the clock. How long had she been up here in her apartment? Long enough to fall asleep waiting for Jerry. How embarrassing.

  He stood over her now, smiling and handsome, before leaning down to kiss her forehead. “You’ve had a long couple of days, haven’t you?”

  “Me? What about you? I’m not the one who got suspended from my job.”

  “Nope,” he agreed in a warmhearted way. “That was me. On the other hand, your business is booming. Clarissa and Hamish are down there serving a long line of people. Was it like this yesterday?”

  “Yes, it was. Apparently, celebrity deaths are all the rage.” She scowled when she said it. The extra business was definitely nice, but the fact that it was happening because of a morbid death still didn’t sit well with her. “I suppose I should go down and help them.”

  “You could do that, or… you could come and help me with a little something.”

  Trotting out from the b
edroom, Cream started over to his water dish by the sink. When he saw Jerry standing there he skidded to a stop on the linoleum instead, and wagged his tail furiously. Then he padded over and bounced on his front paws until Jerry picked him up and held him upside down in his arms to scratch his belly and his chest.

  Cookie smiled at her two boys. “I like it when he lets you do that. I don’t know if I could be with any man that Cream didn’t accept as a friend.”

  The Chihuahua reached up to lick at Jerry’s chin. “All right, Cream, that’s enough of that. Down you go. I like him just fine, Cookie. He’s a great dog. Who wouldn’t like him? So, why don’t you come out with me for just a little bit, and I promise to get you back to him before he needs to go for his evening walk.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked, intrigued by how cryptic he was being.

  “Downtown.”

  “That doesn’t really narrow it down.” Rubbing her eyes, she reminded herself she was going to have to get to bed early tonight if she wanted to be any good to anyone tomorrow. “I suppose you can tell me on the way?”

  “No, I want to see the look on your face when I say it. We’re going back to the police department.”

  “We’re what now?” Suddenly, she was very much awake. “That’s insane. Jerry, you do remember the nice warm welcome that Chief Santimaw gave us last time, right?”

  “Yeah, I do, but… well, I was thinking. I know Rick. The Chief is a hard case and he’s not the brightest crayon in our box but he’s not stupid. He has to return the CD versions of the newspapers to the library sometime, but if he makes copies he can take his time reading through them. He’s not in a hurry to investigate a century old murder anyway.”

  “That’s true. He’s more interested in covering it up to protect the town’s image.”

  “Exactly. Rick probably copied the discs to his computer but they might stay there for weeks before he takes a glance at them. We have more invested in it because, like you keep saying, this is your business. Plus, someone snuck in here to get into the basement. I want to know why.”

  “So do I,” Cookie agreed, “but if Rick is still there what does it matter? He’s not going to let us anywhere near the office computers.”

  “Ah, but see, that’s where your future husband is smarter than the average dumb cop.” He smiled, taking her by the hand and pulling her up out of her chair. “I know the schedule of the events for today. The interview the mayor has planned with the news reporters and George Merriam is set for exactly two-thirty. It’s two-fifteen now. There’s no way that Rick Santimaw is going to pass up a chance to get in front of a camera or be quoted on the radio. So, he’s not going to be at the station. He’ll be at the interview. This is our chance.”

  “To sneak into the police station?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “And log into the computer of the chief of police?”

  “Yup.”

  “To read through what might be months’ worth of scanned newspaper pages before anyone notices we’re in there?”

  “Now you’ve got it.” He kissed her cheek, giddy as a child at a playground. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Seven

  Cookie had to admit, sometimes Jerry was just as clever as he thought he was.

  The police station was just as quiet this time as it had been earlier. She was just glad that no one had taken Jerry’s keys when they suspended him. She was all for getting a look at those newspapers, especially considering that Rick felt they were important enough to basically steal them from the library. Breaking into the town police station to do it… that would have been over the line.

  “Hello?” Jerry called out as they came in through the lobby. They waited, but no one answered. The place was empty, just like he’d thought it would be. “Anybody here?”

  Still no answer.

  “Guess it’s just us,” he said with a smile.

  “It won’t stay that way,” Cookie reminded him. “Let’s get into the computer files and get back before someone finds us in here.”

  “We’ll have to use the one in Rick’s office.”

  “Does he keep that locked?”

  “No,” he said. “This is Widow’s Rest. I’m surprised we lock the building.”

  “Yes. Widow’s Rest,” Cookie said, thinking about how the story behind the name had been changed forever now that they knew the “widow” the town was named after might actually be a murderer. What sort of rest was there for the wicked? None. That’s what kind.

  “Do you want to stay out here?” Jerry asked her. “In case someone comes in, I mean?”

  “Are you serious? If anyone comes in, what am I supposed to say? I don’t want to get caught out here.”

  “No, I mean… you could give me a signal or something if anyone comes in.”

  Cookie fixed him with a look. “And what exactly am I supposed to do for a signal? You want me to dress in drag and do the hula?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of calling my name, but if you want to put on a grass skirt,” he said with a mocking grin, “I won’t tell you no.”

  “This is no time to be smart, Jerry. I don’t want to be standing out here when someone comes in. Let’s just go in there and find out if he really did download the newspapers to his computer.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He didn’t admit he was wrong, necessarily, but Cookie knew enough about men to know he never would. Something in their DNA, she supposed. Of course that same DNA had given her this gorgeous man to hold at night, and when she felt sad, and whenever she needed a friend.

  She could forgive his stubbornness, so long as she got to love him.

  He led her down the hallway to the second door, where Rick Santimaw had stood while ordering them out of the building earlier. Turning to enter the office, he stopped. His hand came up to block her way. The look on his face told her that he was looking at something awful.

  “What is it?” she asked, pushing his hand aside. “Jerry, let me see.”

  “Cookie, don’t…” He breathed out a slow, heavy breath, still holding her back. “Just stay out here, all right?”

  She really wished that people would stop trying to protect her from things. “I’m a grown woman, Jerry. I can handle anything you can.”

  “Cookie…”

  “No, let me see.” She slapped his hand away a final time and leaned around the frame of the door.

  And wished she hadn’t.

  Maybe, she thought, it would be okay if she let Jerry protect her from things. Just sometimes.

  On the floor, laying on his back and staring blindly up at the ceiling, Rick Santimaw clutched one rigid hand at a large spot of blood on the front of his otherwise perfect uniform shirt. He’d been shot.

  Jerry cleared his throat. “Guess he missed his chance to be on camera after all.”

  Cookie tried not to glare at him. This wasn’t a time for jokes. Even if Rick Santimaw had been an uptight cretin, he was dead. Murdered. Murder was never funny. “What happened?” she wondered out loud. “Do you think this has something to do with the murder of Jozebus Merriam?”

  “No doubt,” Jerry said, slipping past her and taking hold of her by the elbow as he did. “Just don’t touch anything. I need to call this in but first…”

  Cookie was glad to feel his supportive hand on her arm, if even for a moment, because she really felt like she was going to pass out. When she could stand on her own, she nodded to him, and only then did he go over to the chair behind the chief’s desk. The computer was already on and waiting for him. He typed a few things on the keyboard, then moved the mouse around, and then clicked in a few more commands.

  “What are you doing?” Cookie asked, glad to have something to think about other than the dead man at her feet. “We have to tell someone. We can’t just leave Rick here!”

  “I know,” he said, “but we need to find those files. We won’t get another chance. If we’re lucky, whoever killed him didn’t know he was as anal a
s a… right. Here it is. Looks like a lot of data. The file’s pretty big. I’m going to e-mail it to my account and then delete it off the computer.”

  “You’re going to what? Jerry, you can’t do that. Isn’t that, I don’t know, evidence or something?”

  “Possibly,” he admitted, “but if there is a connection between Rick’s death and that body hidden under your shop then the killer is one step ahead of us already. I don’t need to give him any more of an advantage than he already has. I don’t want anyone else to have this information. There. It’s done. Now just let me delete the original file…”

  Cookie’s eyes drifted down to Rick Santimaw of their own volition. Rick was dead. That certainly changed things. How did this relate to the other murder, the century-old killing of Jozebus? What could possibly be the connection?

  “I wish we could see what happened here,” she said, speaking her thoughts out loud. “If we could just go back in time, what, a few hours? We could see who killed him.”

  “Actually, we can tell a lot from just what we can see here.” Jerry’s face was pale, and Cookie could tell that the death of his boss was really bothering him. They might not have gotten along all the time, but they had worked together for years. He was putting on a brave face—his police officer’s mask—as he pointed at the body. “We can tell that whoever killed Rick was someone he knew. See how his gun is still in its holster? He didn’t even have time to pull it.”

  “Couldn’t that mean he was ambushed?”

  “I wish that were true, but do you see where he fell? He’s halfway in the room. The gunshot hit him in the chest and he fell over backward. That means he was walking into the room, facing his murderer. Probably the killer was sitting right here at this desk. If it had been a stranger, he would have drawn his gun before he came closer. Instead he felt safe enough to take three or four steps into the room. That’s when he got shot.”

  “Without ever drawing his own gun.” He was right. Cookie could see the whole thing now, laid out in her mind the way Jerry explained it by putting the clues together. “I get it. So the killer was someone he knew.”