Twice Baked Murder: A Cozy Mystery (The Rita Reincarnated Cozies Book 1)

by Daphne DeWitt

  A car horn blew beside me and I jumped. My body felt strange though, a little slower, a little lighter.

  I looked over for the source of the noise and found that the very rude (and startling) sound came from a dusty old red pickup truck.

  The bucket of rust idled on the side of the road. An older man in a cowboy hat sat in the driver’s seat half leaning out the window and chewing on a gnarled toothpick.

  A dog sat perched in the back with a shaggy red mane that was somehow so dust-free that he practically sparkled.

  “Oh God,” I murmured, startled from the jolt.

  “Not quite,” the old man grinned from his seat. “I’ll take the compliment nonetheless. Now, are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” I asked.

  Dad had prepared me for this moment since I was a little girl.

  “If you find yourself in a spot, and you don’t know where you are or what you’re going to do,” he’d always said, “look for landmarks. That way, when you get a chance to call for help, you’ll be able to tell them where you are even if you don’t know.”

  So, looked for landmarks, I did.

  Only there didn’t seem to be any. This was a standard two-lane road, just like the one that ran to and from Second Springs. And this canopy, it lacked everything except a nondescript green bench and one of those reflective orbs you see on the side of the road.

  Does “nothing” count as a landmark? I suppose I could tell that to Dad.

  But as my eyes (which still felt all wrong by the way) traced that reflective orb, it drug across something very strange.

  The reflection I saw in it, my reflection … didn’t look like me at all.

  I had blond hair that curled at my shoulders. However, the woman in the orb, she had straight red hair. I had dark blue eyes that Aiden said looked like the sea at night (so romantic!), but orb girl stared back at me with bright green peepers.

  And don’t get me started on the outfit. I would never be caught dead in floral, even though the orb girl didn’t seem to share the same fashion sense.

  But who was she, and why was she staring back at me from the place where I was supposed to be standing?

  “Get a good look?” The old man chewed on his toothpick and tipped his hat forward.

  “Who-who is that?” I asked, motioning to the orb with a shaky pointer finger.

  “Well, I ain’t exactly a genius, honeybean, but I’m gonna take a guess and say that it’s you.”

  “It’s not,” I answered. “It’s definitely not.”

  “Maybe it is now,” he grinned. Leaning across the seat, the old man opened the passenger door and patted the seat. “How about you let me give you a ride and I’ll explain everything?”

  “A ride?” My eyes narrowed, confused and more than a little concerned about who this guy was and where he wanted to take me. “I don’t even know where I am.”

  “Well,” he answered. “I’ve been around a long time and I’ve found that where you are ain’t exactly as important as where you’re going.”

  “And where’s that?” I asked, confused enough I could have mistaken sugar for salt. “Where am I going?”

  “Exactly where you belong, Rita.” He tipped his hat again. “I’m taking you back home.”

  He pointed forward and, though I hadn’t seen it before, a sign now sat at the edge of the highway that read:

  Second Springs 12 Miles

  I wanted to ask the old man how he knew my name, but honestly, that was about sixth down the list of weird things that were going on right now. He patted the seat again and, though everything Dad had taught me since I could say the words “stranger danger” told me not to, I got into the truck anyway.

  I had a jumbled memory, no idea how I had gotten fifteen minutes outside of town, and a complete stranger staring back from my reflection.

  Besides, this guy looked like he could barely lift the toothpick to his mouth. He wouldn’t give me any trouble I couldn’t handle.

  The cracked leather seat was cold against my legs as I slid in and closed the door behind me. Though the rest of the interior was just as dusty as the outside of the truck, the seats were clean enough to eat off of, not that I ever actually would.

  “So,” the old man said, putting the truck into drive and squealing off, sending the poor red pooch in the back sliding toward the tailgate. “I suppose you’ve got about a hundred questions for me.”

  “More than a hundred,” I said, pulling down the visor and checking my reflection out in the mirror it held. “Though I’m not sure you’re the right person to answer them.”

  Dang it! There she was again, the green-eyed redhead with a thing for floral. What was this chick doing hijacking my reflection and, if she was here, then where was I?

  “It can be disorienting at first,” the old man warned. “You'll get used to it after a while. At least, that’s what they tell me.”

  “Who tells you that? What can be disorienting?” I asked, whipping the visor back up and turning to him. A smile spread across his face, sending the tattered toothpick dancing between his lips.

  “Guess I’m the answer man, after all,” he crowed. “The name’s Charlie, honeybean. At least, it is for now. I’m afraid that I’ve got some rather unsettling news for you.”

  He took a hard right, which was absolutely not the way back to Second Springs and the poor dog skidded across the back again.

  “You should have let him ride in the front seat,” I huffed, looking back at what I now saw was a pretty amazing looking Irish setter. There was no quicker way to get on my bad side than being mean to an animal, dogs especially.

  * * *

  “I tried. He’s too stubborn for all that,” Charlie answered. “He just keeps telling me he likes the wind in his fur.” Charlie leaned in. “Between you and me, I think he finds it too dirty up here. He’s kind of a snob.”

  “Can’t say I blame him,” I muttered, running my hand across the dash and drawing back a dust heap. Now, where are you taking me?”

  “To prove it,” Charlie snickered, shaking his head a little.

  “Prove what?” I balked, starting to get a little tired of the runaround.

  “The unsettling news, honeybean,” he said.

  “You know honey doesn’t actually come from beans, right?” I fidgeted in my seat, looking out the window, still confused but settling in for the ride.

  “I’ve done this more than once, Rita, and I’ve seen all sorts of reactions, including this one. Are you curious as to why you keep changing the subject?” Charlie asked, dropping the lightness from his voice. “It’s because part of you already knows what I’m about to say.”

  He was being ridiculous. So naturally, I said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “And don’t be daft,” he answered, taking another hard left. I’m sure the setter was sliding back and forth like a pair of socks in a washer, but I was way too confused to register that. “You took a pretty mean tumble down the steps, honeybean. Most people wouldn’t get up from that.”

  “Well, I’m not most people,” I snapped back, anger that was just a bit too fresh and too visceral bubbling up inside of me. Turning the old fashioned knob, I rolled the window down and let the wind sweep through my hair … through my red hair.

  “I think you might be,” Charlie answered, a bit of an apology in his voice.

  “I am not!” I said. Goodness, maybe he was right. Maybe a piece of me did know what he was going to say, and I didn’t want to hear it.

  “You gotta listen to me, honeybean. I know it’s hard, but not hearing doesn’t make it not true.”

  “Stop calling me that!” I screamed.

  He pulled to a stop alongside the road, and suddenly, I knew where he had taken me.

  Second Springs Memorial Cemetery stretched out in front of me. So many people were buried here, my mother included. I remember the night Dad brought me here for the first time. I remembered the roses I’d put on her grave, and the way we’d both crie
d.

  But why was I here now?

  You know why, Rita.

  “It was a mighty nasty fall,” Charlie said quietly.

  I didn’t look over at him. I just kept staring out the window, staring at my mother’s headstone.

  “I died,” I said. It wasn’t a question.

  “You did,” Charlie confirmed. “But that’s only half the story.”

  “Seems like a pretty important half,” I answered, wiping tears from my cheek.

  “It is, but so is what happens next.”

  I heard his door open, and then a cane slapping against the pavement. After a few moments, Charlie was in front of me. His toothpick looked even more worn than before, and I suddenly related to it very much.

  “You wanna show me my grave?” I asked, looking past him, a sense of something like dread and sadness passing through me.

  “Only if you want to see it,” he answered.

  My lips quirked to the side, the way they did when I was thinking. I had never been one to run away from things, even when I should have. Which, come to think of it, was probably the reason I ended up at the bottom of those steps in the first place.

  “Let’s do it,” I said, opening the door and stepping out.

  We didn’t have to go far. Turned out I was buried right beside my mother in the plot Dad reserved for himself after she passed on.

  Oh God! Dad!

  “He’s all alone,” I muttered, tears welling anew behind my eyes. “He’s probably heartbroken.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, I’m afraid,” Charlie answered. “But I do know other things, like what happens next.”

  “Next?” I asked, looking at him. I heard panting and scampers, and noticed the Irish setter galloping toward us.

  “You settle down,” Charlie shook his cane at him. “This is a place of mourning.” Turning to me, he continued. “And, of course, there’s a next. You didn’t think everybody got to come look at their own final resting place, did you?”

  “Honestly, I never thought about it,” I said, because who thinks about that?

  “The answer is, they don’t. But you do, honeybean. Because you’ve got unfinished business.” He tipped his hat to me again. “That’s why you were sent back.”

  “Sent back?” I asked, realizing I was biting my lip and that my heart was racing.

  “In a brand new body, no less.” He grinned at me.

  “Wait a second,” I said, quirking my mouth to the side again. “Are you saying I’ve been…?”

  “Reincarnated?” Charlie smiled. “You got a better explanation for it?”

  “You know,” I said, looking down at my own burial site, and feeling a greater sense of confusion than I ever imagined existed. “I really don’t. But why? Why me?”

  “Like I said, there’s unfinished business, and you’re the only one who can finish it.” He leaned down and, in the first show of affection I could remember, patted the setter on his head.

  The dog pulled back though, lifting its tail and turning its snout up in the air.

  “See what I mean? He’s a snob.”

  “What kind of business?” I asked.

  “That’s not for me to say,” Charlie answered. “All I can tell you is that you’ll know it when it comes.” He looked around. “At least you get to stay home, though. I’ve known people who have had to do a second go around on the other side of the world. Let me tell you, you don’t want to have to learn a new language right after being reincarnated. I’d just as soon stay dead.”

  “I get to stay in Second Springs?’ I asked, feeling a bit of light seep into me. I loved this place. I loved the people in it. Being here, being able to be around them, maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  “Until you finish your business, and then you get to move on.”

  “Move on to what?” I asked.

  He smiled wide at me now. “To what’s next, but there’s no sense in talking about that now. You’ve got a long way to go before you hit that mark, and you’re not going to have much help.” He motioned to the dog. “Unless you count a mangy fleabag with an inflated sense of self-worth.”

  “The dog is mine?” I asked, looking at the setter.

  “You’re each other’s,” Charlie corrected me. “Rita, meet Mayor Colin McConnell.”

  “I’m sorry,” I shook my head, my interest piqued at what I’d just heard. “The dog’s name is Mayor Colin McConnell?”

  “It used to be,” Charlie chuckled. “You didn’t think you were the only one with unfinished business, did you?”

  I glared back at the dog, who was giving me a pretty cold side eye.

  “Um, nice to meet you, Mr. Mayor.”

  I think he scoffed at me.

  “So, now that the introductions are taken care of, you should get going.” Charlie tossed the keys to me. I caught them against my chest.

  “Let me guess, the truck’s mine, too?”

  “And the luggage in the back. Hope you like flowers,” Charlie laughed.

  “You couldn’t have cleaned it first?” I asked.

  “You know, I think you and Mayor McConnell have more in common than you think.” He pointed to the truck. “You’d better go. It’ll be dark soon, and I hear Mrs. Jenkins at the Inn doesn’t like to rent to strangers after nine.”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’m not a stra--” Except I was. I was someone new, someone they wouldn’t recognize, not Peggy, not Aiden, not even Dad. I was going to get to go home, but I wouldn’t be me anymore. A strange sensation passed through me. It was chilly, like someone had poured iced tea into my veins. The idea that I would be me but not me, that my entire life was gone and I wouldn’t be able to get it back settled on me. Perhaps I was feeling its true weight for the first time, because tears began to sting the back of my eyes.

  “I can’t tell them, can I?” I asked.

  “Not unless you want to get slapped into a strait jacket. Though, I suppose that’s up to you,” Charlie answered.

  I glanced downward, looking at my grave one more time. “It’s not right,” I said.

  “Everyone says that,” Charlie answered. “But, I hear it gets better.”

  “No. I mean the inscription. It reads “Here Lies Rita Clarke: Beloved Daughter, Kind Friend, and Amazing Baker.”

  “Seems sweet to me,” Charlie answered.

  “Well it is, but I went through this with Peggy. She promised if I died before her, she’d make sure my tombstone read: Just Five More Minutes.”

  3

  I wheeled back to Second Springs just as fast as that red bucket of rust would take me. The old truck handled better than I thought, given the age and condition of it. So much so, it got me thinking that after a good washing the old thing might not be so bad.

  Of course, Mayor McConnell didn’t agree with me. Though I pleaded with him, the stubborn setter would not ride in the front with me.

  Maybe Charlie had been right when he told me how big of a snob the pooch was.

  As I passed the painted wooden sign that told me I was entering Second Springs (Where Dreams are always better the “Second” Time Around), I hit the brakes.

  If I was any sort of resident worth her salt, I knew that Deputy Harvey would be parked behind the Kwick-Fuel just praying for somebody to stumble through his self-made speed trap.

  He’d have never even dreamed of giving me a ticket before, but something told me a redheaded stranger in a dusty old pickup with an overly self-indulgent dog in the back wouldn’t get the same breaks that the sheriff’s daughter would. Even if the dog used to be mayor.

  Passing, I found the old spot where Harvey used to sit and wait suspiciously empty.

  That didn’t make any sense. It was almost eight o’clock at night. If Harvey wasn’t sitting out here that meant he was either helping my dad close up shop at the station or sitting through one of his mother’s notoriously awful meatloaf dinners. And everyone knew how much he hated those. Well, everyone but his mother.

&
nbsp; My heart jumped a little as I entered Main Street. I was excited to see everyone again. I was excited to see Second Springs, even if, at this hour, most everything was either closing up or already locked down. I was nervous as well though, and it definitely put a damper on any excitement. I wanted to see Aiden. I wanted to see everyone, but I wasn’t me. I was someone else, and that made me feel more alone than I ever had in my old life.

  It had probably been a few days since my accident; long enough for a funeral obviously and, come to think of it, long enough for the grass to grow back over my grave.

  Grass could grow back in a few days, right?

  My stomach started to tighten. What if it had been weeks or a month?

  Who knows what Peggy, Aiden, and Dad had been through? Nothing good. They had lost a friend, a future wife, and an only child, respectively. They were probably deep in mourning, probably inconsolable. I’d have to help them, of course. Maybe that was the unfinished business Charlie was talking about back in the cemetery. Maybe I had to help the people I loved get used to the idea of a life without me. After that, I’d go on to … how did he put it?

  What’s next.

  I pulled over in one of the six diagonal parking slots reserved for Pie Ladies’ Paradise. I knew I should have probably gone by the Inn first. Charlie was right when he’d said Mrs. Jenkins didn’t like renting to strangers after nine. And I likely couldn’t pull up to Dad in a brand new body asking for my old room back. Not that I was ready to see him, anyway.

  But something was pulling me here, drawing me into that square shop where so much of my sweat, tears, fears, and laughs had been housed. Part of me was there, most of me probably. Maybe going inside would make me feel more like myself.

  I turned off the engine and the headlights because on this old model they weren’t automatic. Opening the door, I stepped back out onto the pavement, already feeling better to feel Main Street beneath my feet. Even if, technically, they weren’t actually mine.

  “Stay right here, Mayor McConnell. I’ll be back in just a minute, and then we’ll see about getting a roo--”