Choc Chip Murder (A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 7)

by Rosie A. Point

  Bee had frozen with a green and pink striped box held out to a customer, her gaze fixed on Sarah.

  Our new suspect, if Lori was to be believed.

  I licked my lips. “Hello,” I said.

  “Hi.” Sarah was exuberant.

  “How are you?” It didn’t look like she had any bruises from her altercation the day before. But it got me thinking, where was Rose? Had she retreated to her house to plot her revenge?

  “I’m wonderful. As you can probably tell from my fantastic crown and sash,” Sarah said, “I’m the winner of this year’s Flower Show.” The last part came out in almost a shout, and the woman in the line in front of Bee’s part of the window jumped slightly then glared at Sarah.

  “Right. Congratulations.” It wasn’t as if I could broach the topic of sabotage. But what about Brent? “Your garden must be beautiful.”

  “Oh, it is,” she said, still in a voice that carried.

  Bee looked about ready to roll her eyes right out of her skull, but she continued serving the folks in her line. The ones in mine started shifting over, likely assuming that Sarah would be here a while to brag. I couldn’t help agreeing with the sentiment.

  “Do you, uh, do you need help to maintain your garden?” I asked. “Like gardeners and so on? I’m only asking because I’m interested in starting a garden of my own.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew hawkish.

  “Not to compete in the Flower Show. Just for the joy of growing things.”

  “Oh that’s OK, then,” Sarah said, and broke into a smile. “Yes, I had a team of two gardeners to help me with the maintenance of my flowers and lawn.”

  “Anyone I could perhaps talk to about gardening? You know, to get some tips for a beginner.”

  “Well, you could talk to one of them. Joseph. I have his number somewhere,” Sarah said, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “I’m in contact with all the most important people in Muffin. It comes with the territory, you know?”

  “Yeah. Uh, what about the other gardener?”

  Sarah paused. “Unfortunately, you won’t be able to contact him.”

  “Oh?”

  “He’s dead. Murdered. Brent Snow.”

  “Oh, right, of course. That’s terrible.”

  Sarah shrugged. “He was a difficult man. I’m not surprised someone decided to get rid of him.”

  That was the first I’d heard of Brent being ‘difficult.’ So far, everyone we’d spoken to had liked him. “Oh well, that’s—”

  “Anyway, if you want to speak to Joseph, here’s his number.” Sarah listed it off for me, and I scribbled it down on a napkin, not that I planned on using it.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “That’s fine. Now, I’ll take a large milkshake and two choc-chip cookies. And hurry up. I’ve got places to be and people to see.” She tapped the side of her nose. “The mayor’s going to meet with me this afternoon.”

  I prepared her order then handed it over.

  “Thanks,” Sarah said, and showed me her teeth. “Well, I’m sure you’re not going to charge me for this. I mean, I am the winner of the Muffin Flower Show. It would be socially reprehensible to try to—”

  “That will be eight dollars,” Bee said, glaring at her.

  Sarah sniffed. “You surely don’t want to—”

  “Eight dollars.”

  Sarah huffed and puffed and dragged her wallet out of her purse. She handed over the money, waited for her change, tapping her heel all the while—not a stiletto—then marched off, her nose in the air.

  14

  After a long day on the food truck and our strange encounter with Sarah, it was a relief to go out and experience more of Muffin and its small-town friendliness. People were full of smiles as I strolled down the sidewalk, the setting sun warming my back.

  “Nice evening,” Bee said. “Isn’t that strange?”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, just that it’s so pleasant yet there’s a murderer on the loose.”

  I grimaced. “I wish I could forget that part.”

  “Do you really want to?” Bee asked. “The more we think about it, the closer we’ll get to solving the case.”

  “And then we can get back to serving baked goods without worrying about who was wearing what type of shoes. Or how many guns they owned. Or who might have stolen those guns.”

  “True.” But Bee didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic—probably because she enjoyed investigating as much as she did baking. Perhaps, even more. “Now, where are we going again?”

  “I found this great place that serves burgers. They come highly recommended.”

  “By who?”

  “Lucy. She said it’s Muffin’s best-kept secret. Only the locals go there and nobody’s allowed to tell any of the tourists who come through town. Thankfully, Lucy thinks we’re practically family since we’ve been here a few months.”

  “Thankfully,” Bee said. “I’m starving. And I don’t feel like sticking around at the inn tonight. Mrs. Rickleston might stare a hole in the back of my head.”

  Ever since we’d invited Lucy over for dinner, the owner of the Runaway Inn had been giving us looks and sniffs and asking strange questions. It was far easier to avoid her than to answer any of them. She seemed to think we were in cahoots with Lucy about… gosh, I didn’t even know. Her nails being the wrong color?

  “This is it,” Bee said, gesturing to the sign over a long alleyway that read ‘The Melting Cheese.’

  “This? I don’t get it. Where’s the restaurant?”

  “Let’s find out.” Bee grinned.

  The alleyway was lit by yellow globes affixed to the brick walls, and the distant sound of chatter and laughter drifted from somewhere unseen. We turned a corner and arrived in front of a metal door.

  Bee and I exchanged quizzical glances.

  I knocked once.

  A scrape came and the door opened. A smiling server appeared. “Good evening, ladies,” he said. “Table for two?”

  “Yes, please,” I said.

  How surreal. We followed the waiter into a cozy restaurant that could seat only about thirty, with a low wooden ceiling, high-backed chairs, and soft mood lighting. The scent of burgers filled the interior, and my mouth started watering.

  The waiter seated us at a table and presented us with our menus.

  “This place is... amazing,” I said. “And it smells great. I'm starved.”

  “Let's see what's on the menu.” Bee opened her leather-backed menu and scanned it. “Everything looks great. They have a double-stacked cheeseburger with crispy onion rings on the side. I know what I'm getting.”

  “I'm going to get the chicken burger. They have buffalo wings for appetizers.”

  The waiter was back before I could get any hungrier, which was always a good sign at a restaurant, and the music tinkling through the speakers in the corners of the room was pleasant and folksy. The restaurant was full of locals, many of whom I recognized from the food truck.

  But I couldn't quit thinking about the Flower Show, Sarah, and the case of the red stiletto heels. If only there was some way we could figure out who had been wearing those heels in the first place. Shoot, if only I had been paying attention to who had been wearing what at the garden party, I might have that answer right now. But was that really conclusive? Probably not.

  I scanned the tables in the restaurant while we waited for our appetizers to arrive. I had decided to get the Buffalo wings and Bee had opted for the cheesy garlic bread. We usually wound up sharing our appetizers anyway, and I had to admit the smell of garlic in here was delectable.

  “I've been thinking about the murder,” Bee said, “and I don't want to say I'm stumped, but we definitely need more evidence. Something that could possibly link Lori to the crime scene.”

  “That's assuming that Lori was the one who did it. What about Sarah and her strange behavior? If she was willing to sabotage Rose’s, well, roses, what else is she capable of?”

  “The t
rouble with that is we don't have any evidence that suggests she was the one who did it.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but you saw how Lori reacted to blood. Surely she wouldn't have been able to shoot Brent and run off without passing out?”

  “She could be faking.” Bee was ever cynical and that had served her well so far.

  Yes, Lori very may well have been faking it, but it seemed quite extreme that she would injure herself to allay suspicions. Then again, what did I know? I didn’t have the mentality of a murderer.

  “If only we could get a look at Sarah's shoes,” Bee chuckled.

  I laughed too, but a flicker of worry started up in my chest. Bee wasn't beyond breaking into someone's house to get the evidence she needed.

  The door to the restaurant opened and two people entered. My eyes widened. It was Joseph, the handsome gardener who had sent Bee’s brain over the rainbow, and none other than Rose-Marie. What on earth were they doing here?

  “Hey, look at that,” I whispered.

  “Well, that is interesting. They don't look too happy, do they?” Bee had already grown flushed at the sight of Joseph. I resisted the urge to tease her.

  “No, they don't.”

  In fact, Rose and Joseph looked as if they had a storm cloud hovering above them. Rose tapped her heel, not a stiletto, as she waited for a server to seat them at a table. Was this a clandestine meeting? Could Joseph somehow be involved in Brent's murder?

  ”Do you think he had something to do with it?” I asked

  “No. I believe those two are probably meeting about her garden. I’ll be surprised if things don't get heated.”

  “I'm still surprised that Sarah didn't press charges.”

  “That makes two of us.” Bee nodded

  The waiter arrived with our appetizers, and I was momentarily distracted by the scent rising from the plates. Bee and I swapped Buffalo wings for garlic bread slices, all while keeping our gazes firmly fixed on the table in the corner. Rose and Joseph leaned in, talking in conspiratorial whispers, I could only assume, but Rose's expression said she was furious.

  We finished our appetizers, the garlic bread had been cheesy and buttery, the Buffalo wings succulent and accompanied by ranch dressing, and the waiter soon arrived with our main courses.

  The evening wore on, and Rose and Joseph didn't stay long. After about a half-an-hour, they finished their coffees, got up and left. I kind of wanted to follow them, but the urge to finish my chicken burger was far stronger. Besides, we weren't even sure that they'd been talking about anything relevant to the case.

  And that left me with a sinking feeling in my stomach and the horrible truth that we were no closer to figuring out who had done it.

  Bee and I split the bill, then got up and made our way toward the exit.

  “Hello, you two!” The call had come from the table nearest to the door. Lori Snow was just rising on her crutches, her left leg in a cast and a bright smile on her face.

  “Lori, is it wise for you to be here? I thought the doctor was keeping you for observation? How's your head?”

  “Oh, it’s fine. I'm fine. I mean, obviously I’d prefer not to have broken my leg, and I really miss Brent, but other than that, I'm as good as I can be. Are you two finished eating?”

  “Yeah, we were just heading home.“

  “To the Runaway Inn,” I said. “Are you leaving too? We'd be happy to walk you home if you don't have a car. Unfortunately, we didn't bring the food truck or I’d offer you a ride instead.”

  “I walked here. I prefer it to driving,” she said. “I needed fresh air after being cooped up in that hospital bed all day. I'd be happy to walk home with you. It would make me feel safe given the circumstances.” Lori's face lit up with joy at the prospect. She was so young and seemingly impressionable, could she really have murdered her husband? Seemed to me, they’d had their entire lives in front of them, money problems or not.

  “Great,” Bee said, brusquely. “Let's head out.”

  If anything, this would give us an opportunity to talk to Lori about what had happened. Squeeze her for extra information.

  15

  The evening air was warm as I strolled down the sidewalk next to Bee. Lori was on her other side, her crutches clacking as she moved.

  “Lovely evening,” Lori said. “It’s good to be out of the house. And not in a hospital bed, ha!”

  She was cheerful for a woman who had just lost her husband. After Daniel had left me, I’d been emotionally distraught for weeks. I hadn’t wanted to show my face anywhere, but people were different.

  “You’re happy tonight,” Bee said.

  I’d thought it and she’d said it. Trust Bee to get straight to the point.

  Lori slowed down. “Is that strange? I miss Brent a lot, but…” She stopped, shifting her grip on her crutches.

  “But?” Bee prompted.

  I gestured to a bench under a lamppost nearby.

  Lori click-clacked over to it and took a seat with a heavy sigh. Bee stood across from her under the lamppost, and I sat down next to our suspect. Was it right to call her that? She was too happy—that was all there was to it. That and the fact that she'd benefit from Brent's life insurance policy.

  “What's going on, Lori?”

  “Nothing's going on.” She pressed her lips together. “I just, well, the truth is that Brent and I were having trouble. I didn't want to say anything earlier because I was scared you weren't going to take the case. Just because Brent and I were considering our options doesn't mean that I didn't love him or that I did anything to him.”

  “What type of problems were you having?” Bee asked.

  Lori chewed on her bottom lip, pensively.

  “You know, if you want us to help you need to tell us what's going on.” I gave her an encouraging smile.

  “I know. You’re right of course.” Another sigh. “Look, uh, what I'm about to tell you I haven't told anybody else, not even the police.”

  Bee and I stayed quiet. The tension banded in my chest. Were we about to get a confession? Did Lori own a pair of red stilettos?

  “Brent was having an affair. I found out about it two months ago, and he denied it, but I knew it was true. He would come home at odd hours of the night, and he just started treating me differently. So, and I'm not proud of this, but I followed him to find out what he was doing.” For the first time since we'd met up with Lori, her eyes filled with tears. “I saw them… kissing. I was devastated. I just couldn’t believe he would do this to me.”

  “And then what happened?” Bee asked. “Did you decide to take Matters into your own hands?”

  “No! I would never have done anything to hurt Brent. I told you, I loved him.”

  “Lori, who was he having an affair with?” I asked.

  “It was Sarah. Sarah Rowland. The woman who won the Flower Show? The one who asked him to sabotage Rose.” Lori's lips peeled back over her teeth. “She took advantage of him, and, I think when she asked him to spy on Rose, he realized what kind of person she was. He made a commitment to me to stay away from her after that.”

  “Do you think he kept that commitment?” Bee asked.

  I didn't blame her for being curious. If Sarah and Brent had been having an affair that meant that she'd likely seen Brent alive before he died. Soon before he’d died. What did this mean for the case? Could Sarah have grown angry at Brent for rejecting her advances and killed him?

  I wasn't sure what to think at this point. All we knew is that we had a female killer on our hands who wore stiletto high heels. That or a man who liked wearing women’s shoes.

  “I was going to try to date again. I thought about it before Brent even died because I wasn't sure he was being honest with me. I was going to go out with his friend, Joseph, to make him jealous, but I couldn't go through with it. I know it was petty to think about doing that, but I was so frustrated.” Lori lifted a hand to cover her eyes. “Do you think I'm ridiculous?”

  “No, of course not,” I
said.

  “If you want us to figure out what happened to your husband, you need to tell us where you were on the morning of his murder,” Bee said.

  “I was at the library. You can ask any of the librarians there. Look, the police checked out my alibi. I'm fine. What I really need is for you to focus on finding out who actually killed my husband. Stop asking me questions about where I was! I haven't done anything wrong. It’s insulting.” Lori rose, seeking purchase with her crutches. “My house isn’t far from here. I can find my own way home thank you.” She hobbled off then paused and look over her shoulder at us. “Call me if you find out anything useful. I will make it worth your while.”

  It was too late to turn back now.

  Sarah Rowland's house was right next door to Rose-Marie's, and the garden out front was just as impressive. Instead of clapboard siding, Sarah's house was made of brick, the lights in the windows were off and it seemed Sarah wasn't home. A good thing for us.

  “How are we going to get in?” I asked, stooped low, trying to keep my profile out of sight from the neighbors’ prying eyes.

  “Well, most people in Muffin and any of these small towns hardly secure their homes properly. It should be relatively easy to break in. She doesn't even have an alarm,” Bee replied.

  “How do you know that?”

  “No alarm beams in the garden, and the front windows are open.” Bee gestured to them “Let's get inside and see what we find.”

  This was probably a bad idea, but we’d gotten pretty desperate to find out the truth. If Lori had an alibi that left us with Sarah, who had been having an affair with Brent, and Rose-Marie, who had had a fight with him. Then again Rose-Marie seemed prone to fighting if the flower show was anything to go by.

  Sarah intrigued me. She was clearly willing to do whatever it took to get what she wanted and if that included murdering someone…

  All we have to do now was find out if she owned a pair of red stilettos. Actually, if she had one heel, since the other one was in evidence at the Muffin Police Station.