Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology)

by Anisa Claire West

  Polishing off a third cookie, I slipped into my sapphire velour winter coat. “Let’s go, Penny. I’m sure Mrs. Dollner is waiting at her cottage with baited breath.”

  “I’m coming,” Penelope said testily, sliding a pair of itchy acrylic gloves onto her hands. “Ugh, is it spring yet?!” She muttered.

  “Hardly,” I retorted. “Come on.”

  We piled into my sedan and set off on the quick drive to the cottage. A new freeze-over was already beginning as the sun dipped beyond reach. We would have to do our investigating by moonlight as we usually did. But the moon was just a pale sliver that night. The stars, however, swept across the sky in a glittering blanket of light.

  As I slowed the car down outside Mrs. Dollner’s cottage, I poked my sister in the arm and pointed towards the window, “Look.”

  “Huh?” Penelope mumbled. “Oh! She’s waiting at the window. Of course she is! Mrs. Dollner lives for nights like this,” Penelope giggled.

  There was no need for me to honk the horn or ring the doorbell as Mrs. Dollner was already scurrying towards us. In the frigid wind, her floral kerchief nearly blew away into the forest. I leaned over and opened the front passenger door for her as she clamored inside.

  “Oh my!” She exclaimed. “What a night!”

  “I know. We should get this done before the temperature really drops and the roads turn into ice sheets,” Penelope said apprehensively.

  As we reached the town line between Candlewick Falls and Starlight Crossing, my heart started thumping loudly. “I can’t believe we’re going back to the farmhouse.”

  “We’re not,” Penelope said quickly. “We’re going to Dahlia’s house and we don’t even have to look at the farm. Just pretend it doesn’t exist.”

  “Maybe your aunt’s ghost is haunting the farm!” Mrs. Dollner suggested ridiculously as I shot her a condescending look.

  “Mrs. Dollner, please. Don’t get carried away. My aunt was murdered at that farmhouse. But we found justice for her. There won’t be any haunting,” I reasoned, although tremors rocked my body as we edged closer to the barren property where my aunt had been poisoned to death on Thanksgiving.

  “Marisa is right. Calm down, Mrs. D.” Penelope tried to sound casual, but I could tell that she was as anxious as I was.

  A triple stereo scream pierced the night air as my car jumped over an icy pothole and did a 180 in the opposite direction. Panicked, I gripped the steering wheel and desperately tried to turn the car around. Inexplicably, the engine groaned like it was dying before completely shutting off.

  “Quick, Marisa, turn around! We’re going to get hit if a car comes!” Penelope urged.

  “I can’t! The engine just died!” I snapped, twisting the key relentlessly in the ignition. “What is going on?!”

  “Just hurry!” Penelope cried as Mrs. Dollner placed a trembling hand over her heart.

  “I’m trying!” I shouted, manipulating the key roughly until the engine finally started again. I pumped the gas pedal as I wrestled with the stubborn steering wheel. The tires jumped off an embankment of snow as the car became airborne again.

  “Turn it around!” Penelope screamed as I wanted to wring her neck.

  Ruthlessly, I slammed my foot on the gas as the transmission labored and whined in protest. But the forcefulness was exactly what the car needed to finally turn around and make contact with smooth pavement again. “I did it,” I whispered gratefully as I maneuvered towards the right side of the road.

  “Another bad omen,” Mrs. Dollner declared.

  “It wasn’t a bad omen!” I clipped. “It’s a bad winter! The roads haven’t been plowed very well around here. And they’re freezing up really fast. Let’s just do this.”

  I wouldn’t allow Mrs. Dollner’s superstitious chatter, or my own internal monologue, to scare me into turning back. With mock confidence, I made a left turn onto Mill Valley Road. The stars provided the only illumination as the long, snaking road didn’t have any street lamps or traffic lights for miles. Shrill gusts of wind threatened to disturb my concentration, but I conquered my irrational fears and parked outside of Dahlia’s home.

  The house appeared dark and foreboding from the outside as it was perched on a hill of frosty grass several hundred feet away from the road. There were no cars in the driveway nor were there any other signs of life on the property except for a hooting owl somewhere in the treetops.

  “No one’s home,” Penelope stated the obvious.

  “Yeah, so I guess her flight did take off after all,” I surmised.

  “We can still do a little snooping on the perimeter of the property,” Mrs. Dollner suggested gleefully. “Who knows what we’ll find?”

  “Okay, but let’s do this quickly,” I said, opening the car door and inhaling the bracing air.

  Penelope and Mrs. Dollner followed suit, lining up behind me as I took the lead. The grass was slippery, so we made our way onto a cobblestone pathway. Surprisingly, the pathway had been salted. The entire driveway, in fact, had been either plowed or shoveled. So maybe Dahlia didn’t go on her business trip after all. Or maybe she had workers tend to her property while she was away.

  “This is crazy,” I muttered.

  “Crazy has always worked for us in the past,” Mrs. Dollner reminded with a smirk in her voice.

  “True,” I conceded.

  “Maybe we can check her mailbox,” Penelope piped up.

  “No, that’s illegal,” I refused.

  “Oh, and what we’re doing now is legal? We’re trespassing!” Penelope retorted.

  “Not necessarily. We could just walk up to the front door, ring the bell and leave when no one answers. That’s not trespassing. But mail is government property and we can’t read it.”

  “I don’t mean read her mail! I mean just flip the mailbox open and see if there’s any mail or if it’s empty.” Impatiently, Penelope shot ahead of me and darted up a carefully salted set of front steps. Creaking open a black mailbox, she whirled around and gave me a look of satisfaction that shone with the stars. “No mail! It’s empty!”

  “Really?” I marveled. “Okay, then Dahlia is in town, but she’s just not home right now.”

  “Should we camp out in the car and wait for her?” Mrs. Dollner asked.

  “Only if we want to freeze to death,” I replied. “We’ll have to come back tomorrow early in the morning before she has a chance to leave for work.”

  The three of us changed directions and walked towards the car. The farmhouse loomed in the shadows as I tried not to look. The warm, welcoming dairy farm of my innocent youth had irrevocably become a cemetery in my eyes the moment that my aunt was murdered. Even my parents hadn’t visited the old farmhouse since the homicide, opting to stay in their cheery Minneapolis apartment instead.

  “Where’s my car key?” I wondered aloud as we reached the sedan.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you left it in the car!” Penelope snapped.

  “I don’t think so,” I said, peering into the driver window and seeing an empty ignition. “Did I drop it while we were walking?”

  I grabbed my cell phone from my purse to shed light on the pathway as I retraced my steps. But the light from my phone proved feeble compared to the glaring headlights that gleamed in the distance. Shielding my eyes, I wondered if the spiteful driver had his high beams on. The light was oppressively bright and unnecessary on the fog-free night. Shades of red and blue came into focus as I realized that the blinding light wasn’t coming from any ordinary vehicle. No, it was a police cruiser flashing its emergency lights and heading directly for us.

  Chapter 6

  Sirens merged with the screeching wind in a stressful cacophony of sounds. Sucking in a shallow breath, I squinted and tried to see who was driving the car. A moment later, the car stopped and my question was answered.

  “Why am I not surprised to see you, Miss Locke?” Captain Davis drawled while assuming a peacock stance in front of me.

  Boldly, Mrs. Dollner ste
pped in and fibbed, “We were just visiting the girls’ old farmhouse, if you must know, Captain!”

  “Don’t get yourself in any trouble, now, lying for your little Gypsy friend,” the cop warned as I pursed my lips in a frown.

  “How did you know we were here?” I asked quietly. “And what are you doing here anyway? Starlight Crossing isn’t part of your territory.”

  “It is when there’s a murder I’m trying to solve in the next town over,” Captain Davis stated. “To answer your first question, I need to interview someone who lives on this street.”

  “You mean Dahlia Marion?” I presumed.

  “Classified information.” The cop shrugged unyieldingly.

  “I know you’re here to talk to Dahlia. And so were we. That’s not illegal.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “Look, we know about Dahlia’s criminal history. And I told you yesterday that she flew off on a business trip, but you didn’t even blink. Why not?” I demanded.

  “Dahlia Marion is a petty criminal. You can check her public records and see that she made bail for the burglary last month. Besides, I didn’t know who you were talking about. She’s not the only Dahlia in the world,” Captain Davis answered with maddening diplomacy.

  “I don’t buy that. You must have known who I was talking about,” I said emphatically.

  “Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. But I’m in the business of iron-clad facts and confidentiality, Miss Locke. I don’t share my investigations with common civilians, even those who have dabbled in crime solving the way you have.”

  “So I guess there’s no point in asking you what Dahlia’s relationship was to Ramiro, right? It doesn’t take an Einstein to see that she was his girlfriend, but you won’t confirm that.”

  “Of course not. Glad to see you’re starting to understand my position,” Captain Davis replied haughtily.

  “Well at least I know that she’s a suspect. That much you can’t deny,” I ventured boldly.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Captain Davis evaded.

  Incensed, I prodded, “What happened to the respect I earned from you for solving those murders? Why is it suddenly out the window?”

  “Like I said before, Miss Locke, three strikes and you’re out,” he replied gravely.

  “This isn’t a baseball game,” I muttered.

  “No, it’s not. It’s real life. And death. Once Ramiro’s autopsy results are back, we’ll know exactly what killed him. But we won’t necessarily know who.” His eyebrows creased with skepticism on the last statement.

  “Well, for the record, I received a premonition about a spot of blood and a needle. A sewing needle,” I specified as the cop gurgled with cynical laughter.

  “A sewing needle? Really Miss Locke? Are you trying to tell me that the man was knitted to death?” His laughter erupted like Mount Vesuvius.

  “I haven’t put all the jigsaw pieces together yet, but I just thought I’d share that detail with you. For what it’s worth,” I gritted, knowing that Captain Davis thought my visions were worth less than a hay penny.

  “I’ve had my own premonitions about this case,” Captain Davis informed coolly. “But they didn’t come to me through a hill of beans like yours.” An obnoxious snort mingled with his laughter.

  “You’re a bitter man,” Mrs. Dollner observed. “Still angry about your divorce?”

  Giving Mrs. Dollner a patronizing look, Captain Davis turned his attention back to his favorite punching bag: me. “Do you want to hear my premonition?” He baited.

  “Sure, why not,” I muttered disdainfully.

  “I saw a beautiful young Gypsy woman serving a cup of coffee to the victim. But this was no cup of pretty charm. This was a cup of poison. And where did the lovely Gypsy get such an idea? Must be from her aunt’s murder that was also death by poisoning…”

  “Your premonition is baseless. It’s a fairy tale,” I said tartly.

  “We’ll see, Miss Locke, we’ll see. Now are you three going to loiter in the street or will you be on your way now?”

  “We’re not loitering!” Mrs. Dollner protested. “But it is getting bitterly cold. Come on girls, take me back to my cottage now.”

  Rummaging through my pockets, I finally found my car key and swiftly boarded the vehicle. Standing with hands framing his hips, Captain Davis watched as I merged onto the road and slipped away from Starlight Crossing. “I really can’t believe that man!” I yelled, death-gripping the steering wheel with flaming indignation.

  “Just let his attitude be your ammunition to solve this case!” Penelope suggested optimistically.

  “Yes, it will be three strikes and he’s out!” Mrs. Dollner added cheekily as I giggled despite myself.

  “I bet he’s awful at baseball and all sports,” I said randomly.

  “He’s awful at life, so I wouldn’t be surprised!” Penelope exclaimed.

  “Oh, I bet he’s just awful at everything. And I do mean everything. That’s probably why his wife left him,” Mrs. Dollner said scandalously as I looked at her with Bambi eyes. “Yes, I said it! And I meant it!” She affirmed naughtily as we all roared with laughter. Even in the midst of the winter freeze-over and the coldness seeping its way into my heart, the loyal girls in my life could always warm me better than steaming hot cocoa and melted marshmallows by the fireplace.

  ***

  Brutally cold temperatures lingering in the low 20’s greeted me the next morning as I arrived at Espresso Magic. The shop was dark as I knew immediately that Penelope hadn’t come in yet. Probably sleeping in, the lazy bones! Methodically, I switched on all the coffee machines and prepared a variety of brews. A tad of baking needed to be done before I opened the door for business, so I headed towards the kitchen.

  As I opened the refrigerator to select ingredients, I heard the sound of knuckles tapping on the front door. Perplexed, I wondered if Penelope had forgotten her key. Heading towards the front of the shop, I paused at the counter, stunned to see the face that was staring back at me.

  Chapter 7

  Opening the door a slight crack, I asked, “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry, aren’t you open?” Grace, the would-be roommate asked.

  “Not yet. I just got here,” I said uneasily. How odd that Grace had shown up at the door mere moments after my arrival!

  “Oh, I thought you’d be open this early. This is a coffee shop, right?” She asked dumbly.

  “Um, yeah. But we’re not Starbucks. We keep civilized hours,” I explained tightly. “But I can fix you a cup of coffee if you’re willing to wait a few minutes.”

  “Sure, I’ll wait,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “Usually I wouldn’t be up this early, but I haven’t been able to sleep lately.”

  Not wanting to engage in personal banter with the eccentric gal, I changed the subject. “Were you still interested in rooming with my sister? Because she said you didn’t show up for your meeting.”

  “Well the weather was really bad,” Grace said defensively. “Plus, I’ve had my mind on other things.”

  “Cream and sugar?” I asked formally, refusing to turn the conversation personal. I needed to hustle the nuisance out of my shop as quickly as possible so I could start baking.

  “Just cream,” Grace replied quickly. “I still can’t believe it,” she mumbled.

  “Believe what?” I fell into her trap.

  “That my ex-boyfriend is dead!” She shrieked through a sudden onslaught of tears as the coffee cup rattled in my hands.

  “Wh-who are you talking about?” I stammered.

  “Ramiro LasMontes! Didn’t you hear about it? You must have! It’s all over the papers and on TV! He was found dead in his apartment, but the cops don’t know how he died yet.”

  “Ramiro was your boyfriend?” I questioned incredulously.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Grace corrected. “We broke up last year. But I still kind of loved him, you know? And I never would have wanted something this awful t
o happen to him!”

  Studying the woman intently, I wracked my brain trying to recall the first and only time I had met her. I had been impatiently and frivolously waiting for a phone call that would never come from Ramiro. Grace had made an unfavorable impression on my sister, but I had been too preoccupied with daydreams of Ramiro to fully notice. Was it possible that Grace could be the murderer? Her sorrow for the man certainly seemed genuine, but could it be an act?

  “I know all about Ramiro’s murder,” I said gravely. “I’m the one who found him.” Instantaneously, as Grace’s face clouded over with horror, I regretted the confession.

  “You? You found him? What were you doing at his apartment?” Grace asked as protectively as a mama bear shielding her cub from a formidable enemy.

  “I was making a delivery,” I said evasively.

  “Were you involved with Ramiro?” She asked plainly.

  “Not exactly. But we did go on one date,” I said honestly, seeing no reason to lie. I had nothing to hide, but I wasn’t so sure that she could say the same. Her indignation and grief could all be part of a carefully orchestrated charade to throw me off course.

  “One date and you went to his apartment? He couldn’t have let you in if you found him dead. So how did you get in there?”

  “The door was unlocked,” I explained calmly as her eyes glazed with befuddlement.

  “None of this makes any sense. Did you speak to the police?”

  “Of course! I’m the one who called 911. What’s with the third degree anyway, Grace? It sounds like you’re suspicious of me.”

  “I’m suspicious of everyone right now but especially you since you found the body!” Grace said with brutal candidness.

  “Don’t you have to get to work soon?” I asked pointedly. “I mean, you wouldn’t tell us what you do for a living, but you must do something.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Grace sniffed, lunging for the door. “And you can tell Penelope I’m not interested in the apartment anymore. There’s something creepy about you two. I’ve heard rumors that you were witches, but I didn’t want to believe them. Now I’m not so sure…”