Murder and Marshmallows

by Rosie A. Point

  “It’s so quiet.”

  “It is,” Jamie said. “I’ve been thinking, Ruby, that maybe you and I should find a place to settle down for a while.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just that, while the traveling food truck is great, you might be able to, I don’t know, set up base permanently with it? Buy a house. Live a quiet, happy life,” he continued.

  My palms grew sweaty. I was crazy about Jamie. He made me super happy, but this was too soon for my tastes.

  “I’m not done exploring yet,” I said.

  “Right.” Disappointment laced his tone.

  “I’m sorry, Jamie. I did tell you that I’m going to keep traveling, though. I don’t want to settle down yet, and I love what we do on the food truck. It’s been the most amazing way to explore the country. I don’t expect you to wait for me.” I drew my hand from his and tucked my arms against my chest. “I guess what I’m saying is that if you can’t or won’t wait, you should find someone who will.”

  “Don’t say that.” Jamie hugged me tight. “I can wait, and I do want to. Even if I have to follow you across the country in an RV.”

  I laughed, and we continued down the path, now crowded with trees, the soil slightly loose. I stepped between them, my mood sobering a little. What if Jamie couldn’t wait? I had been so set on never having another boyfriend, and certainly not a husband, that I hadn’t—

  My foot caught on something soft, and I stumbled forward with a shriek.

  “Ruby!” Jamie cried.

  I landed on all fours in the dirt. “Ouch. Sheesh. I’m so clumsy.” I forced myself upright and turned. “I swear, I—”

  But the words dried up in my mouth.

  The thing I had tripped over?

  A half-buried body off the side of the trail.

  3

  The detective had chosen to interview us both right outside the entrance to the preserve. Detective Boyd was overweight, a sheen of sweat gathering on his forehead, even though it was a cold late winter’s morning.

  He bore a tape recorder rather than a notepad and pen and had seated me in the back of a cruiser to take my statement.

  Boyd stood on the sidewalk, rocking back and forth while we spoke.

  “—and you’re sure that’s all you saw?” he asked. “No one else on the trial?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip. “I caught the briefest glimpse of somebody ahead of us, but I didn’t see any details, didn’t think to make note of them. I didn’t realize it would be important.”

  “Hmph.”

  “Detective, have you identified the, uh, the victim?” I had been involved in quite a few of these cases now, so I didn’t stutter. I was shaken, though.

  Another dead body, and this one buried. And I had tripped over it again! What on earth was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I avoid stuff like this just for once?

  Detective Boyd wriggled his bulbous nose form side-to-side as if considering whether he should tell me or not. He grunted. “Local baker in town. Guy by the name of Henry Hughes. As I understand it, you own a food truck that arrived this morning?”

  “That’s right,” I said, glancing at Jamie, who was chatting to another officer in the parking area.

  “And your truck sells baked goods?”

  “Yes.” Uh oh. Here we go again. “But, detective, you can’t seriously believe I had anything to do with this. All you have to do is contact Eleanor at the Squeezed Grape Guesthouse. She knows exactly when we checked in. And before that, we had a whole host of people following behind our truck from when we entered town to when we parked at the guesthouse.” I was lucky this time—every minute of my day was accounted for. “So, I can’t have done anything to—”

  “For someone who’s innocent, you seem pretty set on giving me an alibi,” Boyd said, shrewdly. He thumbed the end of his nose. “It’s weird that you’re worried about convincing me. And that the man who died was the one who stood to lose the most because of your presence in Grapefield.”

  “Detective, do you really think I would kill someone, bury them, and then call 911 on myself within a couple hours of arriving in town?”

  He frowned, the sweat on his forehead forming runnels.

  “Look,” I said, swallowing. “I’ll do anything to help your investigation. Whether that’s providing an alibi, answering questions or… whatever.” Oh, boy, wait until Bee here’s about this. She’d want to investigate, of course. Especially if we were suspects because of the food truck.

  “Good,” Boyd said, and handed me his card. “Because I’m going to need you to stick around for a while. Never know when—”

  A screech rang out.

  What on earth?

  A middle-aged woman with blonde bob warred with the officers blocking off the entrance to the hiking trail. “Let me through!” she wailed. “I have to see him.”

  That must be the wife. Or the girlfriend. A woman the victim had an affair with? Gosh, I had grown cynical after our investigations.

  “That will be all, Miss Holmes,” Detective Boyd said. “Don’t leave town.”

  “I’m on vacation,” I called after him, as he rushed off toward the weeping woman. “I’m not going anywhere for at least a week.”

  “Good heavens, Ruby,” Bee said, sitting upright in her bed, bleary-eyed after her nap. “I can’t leave you alone for a second without you discovering a corpse.”

  I grimaced. If only she’d been joking.

  Jamie had gone downstairs to fetch us some coffees and treats—sugar was good for the shock. That gave us a few minutes to discuss the murder unfettered. Jamie surely wouldn’t approve of us taking matters into our own hands again.

  “So,” Bee said. “We arrive in town and are followed by everyone in it, hungry for baked goods because the local bakery was shut down.”

  “Health code violation.”

  “Right,” Bee said. “And then you find the body of none other than the baker. Very interesting. There’s got to be a connection, right? Between the business going under and him winding up dead.”

  “Maybe,” I replied.

  “Hmm.” Bee tapped her chin. “Or it’s that grieving widow you saw.”

  “Bee, do you think we should get involved in this? I mean, we’ve only just arrived, and we’re on vacation.” Though, investigating a murder would be preferable to thinking about what Jamie and I had discussed on the hike.

  “You’re probably right.” She got out of bed and stretched then walked over to the dressing table, grabbed her brush from it and ran it through her hair. “Well, I’m wide awake now thanks to this. Pity we can’t go on a hike.”

  I smiled. “I’m sure there are plenty of other fun things to do in Grapefield. Jamie mentioned a museum we can check out. And there are cafes and restaurants. Apparently, a guided tour of a haunted mansion too.”

  “Allegedly haunted,” Bee grumbled.

  “Yes, of course.”

  A knock sounded at the door, and Bee straightened her wrinkled blouse—she hadn’t bothered changing before taking her nap—and called out.

  Jamie entered, carrying a tray of drinks and treats. “Awake at last, Bee?”

  “Unfortunately,” she said. “I was having an amazing dream about marshmallow cupcakes.”

  “Good thing I brought you a donut.” Jamie gestured to the tray.

  “You’re almost too nice, you know that, Jamie?” She took the donut gratefully and gobbled it up. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

  “I thought we might need sweet treats after this morning. First a long trip and now…”

  “Ruby’s penchant for finding the dead,” Bee said.

  “I prefer to think of it as unhappy coincidence.”

  “A chain of them,” Bee said.

  “From what I recall, you’ve got the same problem.”

  Bee rolled her eyes at me. “That was one time. Anyway, we’d better focus on the issue at hand.”

  “I hope you’re not referring to the corpse, Bee,” Jamie said, set
tling himself in an armchair in front of the coffee table. “Because that’s not exactly what I had planned for our vacation.”

  “No, of course that’s not what I was talking about. We’re not going to investigate a mystery while we’re here.” I caught a faint twinkle in Bee’s hazel eyes. “I was thinking more about what we’re going to do today now that hiking’s out of the question.”

  “Ah.” Jamie took a sip of his coffee. “Well, there’s plenty to do. I know how much you two love small towns, so I’ve organized a tour with one of the local guides this afternoon. Then tomorrow, we can enjoy the local cuisine, and there’s also a haunted house nearby that we might want to check out.”

  “Excellent,” Bee said, clapping her hands.

  But I doubted she was that excited about any of those activities—at least not as much as she was excited by the prospect of a fresh mystery to solve.

  That twinkle in Bee’s eyes was unmistakable. She wanted to get involved.

  4

  The following morning…

  “I could eat a horse,” Bee said, settling into a cushy seat in the Wine n’ Dine Café off Main Street. It was a quaint, retro-themed eatery that had bottomless coffee and the self-proclaimed “best burger in New York.”

  “Me too.” Funny how much hungrier we were now that we were on vacation.

  Jamie slid into the booth next to me and grinned at us. “Good thing we’re about to stuff our faces. Man, this place smells good.”

  Of melting cheese, caramelized onions, coffee, and bacon.

  My mouth watered.

  We opened our menus and paged through them, the plastic slick under my fingertips. “Everything looks so good. I don’t know what to choose.”

  “How about you start with some drinks?” A gray-haired server had arrived at our table bearing a smile. She wore a pink frilly apron and carried a worn notepad. “Coffee? Milkshakes? We’ve got a Snickers Milkshake with real chunks of chocolate in it.”

  “I’m having that!” Bee announced, stabbing the menu with her index finger. “That sounds like the best thing ever made.”

  “Marshmallow cupcakes excluded,” I said, grinning at my friend. “You know what? I’ll try it too. I’m all for a sugar rush this morning.”

  “Make that three.”

  The server, her nametag read ‘Natalie,’ took the drinks order and hurried toward the open kitchen window behind the counter at the back of the café.

  “That only leaves the question of what we’re going to eat,” Bee said, turning back to the menu.

  I’d already decided on a double cheeseburger, so I scanned the interior of the diner, enjoying its cozy retro vibe.

  My gaze found a blonde, middle-aged woman seated in a corner booth alone, her head bowed as she studied a menu. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her cheeks pale.

  I did a double take.

  Wait a second, wasn’t that the same woman we’d seen yesterday at the hiking trail’s entrance? The baker’s widow. It had to be.

  “Look over there,” I said, nodding toward her. “Poor woman.”

  “Who’s that?”

  I’d almost forgotten that Bee hadn’t been there. “The widow, I think. She was the woman we saw crying at the entrance to the hiking trail.”

  The server approached carrying our milkshakes and set them down.

  Bee took a healthy slurp, eyeing the widow. “Well, she seems OK now.”

  “Her eyes are red,” I said.

  “True, but I wonder where she was at the time of his death,” Bee replied. “I mean, the wife is the first person the police will look at in the investigation.”

  “Are you talking about Henry?” the server, Natalie, asked.

  Jamie pulled a face. “Sorry,” he said. “That’s probably the last thing you wanted to hear.”

  “Ah, please.” Natalie flapped her hands. “Everybody’s talking about it. Hot topic of the year. You know, it’s a sleepy town, hardly anything ever happens, especially not in the off-season.”

  “One thing every small town has in common is gossip,” Bee said, with another slurp of her milkshake.

  “True.” Natalie leaned a palm on the table. “And just so you know? That’s not Mr. Hughes’ wife. That there is the butcher’s wife, Miranda Anthony.”

  “Wait, what?” Consternation set in. Then why had she been so upset about Henry’s passing?

  “That’s right. Rumor has it, Miranda was having an affair with the baker.” Natalie lowered her voice further. “Which is a big deal in this town.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Is everyone particularly faithful here?”

  “Pshaw.” Natalie did another hand flap. “Heck no. People are people no matter where you go. But murder? That’s real serious. Anyway, it was crazy that Miranda had an affair with the baker because, firstly, her husband Carl is super nice, and secondly, nobody like Henry. And I mean, nobody. He was a mean guy. Caused trouble wherever he went. Couldn’t stand it if anyone got the better of him.” Natalie paused then crossed herself. “Rest his soul and all of that.”

  “And all of that,” Bee echoed.

  Jamie sipped his milkshake and didn’t comment, but I got the impression he wasn’t too happy about the conversation.

  I cleared my throat. “Who did he argue with?”

  “Better question would be who didn’t he argue with,” Natalie replied. “But just about everybody. I heard he had an argument with the butcher just before he… you know. Had his bucket kicked for him. And then there’s the glassblower.”

  “The butcher, the baker, and the… glassblower?” Bee’s lips quirked up at the corners. “Seems like a missed opportunity.”

  “The glassblower, Mr. Grace? He’d gotten in trouble with Henry a couple weeks ago. Had some big business argument, but nobody knows what it was about. They were keeping it close to their chests,” Natalie said, then took a breath. “Anyway, everybody’s talking about it. Apparently, some out-of-towners found his body buried out there. Can you imagine? Sounds like a horrible way to start a vacation.”

  “You’re telling me,” I muttered.

  Jamie cleared his throat. “Mind if I give you my order?”

  “Oh sure, yeah, of course,” Natalie replied, not looking the least bit abashed. “Sometimes we get a little carried away with gossip, don’t we? But there’s nothing else to do around here. What can I get for you folks?”

  “I’ll take the pepper steak pie,” Jamie said.

  “Fries with that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “No reason.” Natalie grinned, before turning to Bee and taking her order.

  I couldn’t help but like the woman. She had an upbeat attitude—back in my time as an investigative journalist, it was people like her that made my job much easier. Speaking of which, it was super weird to have crossed state lines and be back in New York.

  This was the state, but not the town, where I’d decided to start my food truck endeavor. Being back here was a solid reminder of why I’d done it in the first place.

  The whispers, rumors, frowns about Daniel leaving me.

  I put in my order with Natalie, and she swept off toward the open kitchen window again.

  Jamie sipped on his milkshake, studying first Bee and then me over his glass, one eyebrow raised.

  “What?” I asked, trying not to let the stare get to me. “We didn’t do anything.”

  “For women who are set on not investigating a case, you sure ask a lot of questions.”

  “Oh, please,” Bee said. “We were engaging the locals in a little gossip. That’s how they communicate in these small towns.”

  “Just as long as you’re not, you know, planning on doing anything,” Jamie said. “I don’t want to sound overbearing, but I’ve always been concerned over you two and the things you get up to. It’s dangerous.”

  “We’re not going to do anything, Jamie. Relax. Enjoy your milkshake.” Bee tipped hers toward his and tapped the edge of her glass against it. “Let’s have a fun d
ay together.”

  “Sure.” Jamie’s shoulders relaxed, and he slipped an arm around me and drew me into a hug.

  I let him, though a twinge of guilt came with it. Bee was intrigued and so was I.

  How long could we keep our promise not to investigate?

  5

  The following day…

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Jamie, hovering at the foot of his bed.

  He had a cloth over his head and a thermometer sticking out of the side of his mouth. Jamie had come down with a tummy issue late last night, and I’d been up a lot of the night making sure he was getting fluids, sleeping, and keeping warm.

  “Not so good,” he grumbled. “Man, I can’t believe this has happened on our vacation. I wanted us to have a great time together.”

  “We will,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll feel better soon.”

  “I hope so.” The thermometer bobbed up and down in the corner of Jamie’s mouth as he spoke. “What are you two going to do today? You could probably go to the museum.”

  “I wouldn’t want to go without you,” I said, then shrugged, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans, trying to come off casual. “Bee and I thought we’d open up the truck today. Seems like a wasted opportunity not to serve baked goods since everyone in town is so hungry for them.”

  “Ah. Good idea.”

  I blew Jamie a kiss, told him to message me if he needed anything else, then headed downstairs to meet Bee.

  We got into the food truck and set off, sharing a secretive glance. We needed to find a good spot in the center of town where we could set up, sell Bee’s delicious marshmallow cupcakes, and pick up a few rumors.

  Because, of course, our curiosity about the baker’s death was insatiable.

  Once upon a time, I would’ve advised Bee not to get involved because I didn’t want the townsfolk to think poorly of us. Now, I was confident that we could solve any case we were faced with. We had proved ourselves again and again, though we’d definitely stumbled our fair share.