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

by Daphne DeWitt

  He couldn’t blink back the tears anymore.

  “I told him,” Ralph whispered. His voice was so low and hoarse that it was almost silent. “I told him we shouldn’t have come here. It wasn’t worth it.” He closed his eyes. “Even if we could have found the stupid thing, what good would it have done?”

  My mind flashed back to the night I died, to the holes dug up in Mrs. Hoover’s house. It was them, Patrick and Ralph. They had been looking for something, something they hadn’t been able to find. What was it? And was this the man who had pushed me down those steps? His voice was so hoarse, I couldn’t have pinned it down as the gravelly tone that growled at me before my final tumble.

  “What was it, Ralph? What was he looking for? What about the wrench?”

  “That wasn’t him!” He exclaimed as loudly as his current condition would allow. The monitors linked to him beeped louder, indicating his heart was speeding up. “She was already dead when we got there. And that wrench, she didn’t deserve to have to go through that again.”

  Again?

  I wanted to ask, but I decided to let him speak instead.

  “He wouldn’t have killed her though, not ever, not even for the money. Jake loved that woman. He always had.”

  “Ralph, what--”

  A shriek sounded throughout the hall, and then I heard a loud rapping on the door.

  My heart skipped a beat as did Ralph’s judging by the sounds emitted from the monitor.

  “One sec,” I said, standing and making my way to the door.

  I opened it to find Mayor McConnell standing at my feet, tail wagging and barking loudly.

  “What on earth?!” I asked. “We’re seven floors up!”

  He shot me a look and darted off toward the stairwell. If Mayor McConnell came all this way to find me, upstairs even, it must be important.

  “Is that your dog?” A nurse asked me, perked atop her desk with a rolled up folder in her hand.

  Sheriff Dash and Harvey jogged toward me.

  “I have to follow him,” I said breathlessly. “I think he wants to show me something.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Sheriff Dash said. Turning back to Harvey, he pointed to Ralph. “Watch him!”

  We both took off toward the stairwell. Mayor McConnell was waiting patiently, but he bolted as soon as he saw us.

  I was gasping for breath as we rounded all seven flights of stairs, but I did manage to throw a tidbit of intel the sheriff’s way.

  “I think Ralph’s car was tampered with, but it only could have happened—”

  “Between the auto shop and here. Way ahead of you. I’ve already got my men checking every gas station and rest stop along the main road for clues.”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t call that way ahead,” I muttered, as we rounded the last flight of stairs and followed the mayor as he rushed outside on all fours.

  He galloped toward the parking structure and then toward the set of stairs in there.

  Thankfully, we only one flight to climb there, before we followed Mayor McConnell down the main aisle.

  He stopped at the tailgate of the old red truck Charlie gave me upon my return to Second Springs.

  He looked back at me, and then at the truck again. His expression was less obnoxious than usual, which set my internal flashers off. Something had scared him.

  “Oh no…” Sheriff Dash muttered as we got near enough to the truck to see what the trouble was.

  I gasped as I took it in. My entire windshield was shattered and, lying on my seat, along with a sheet full of broken glass, was a wrench.

  17

  “What are you doing?” I asked, as Sheriff Dash pulled his phone from his pocket and started dialing.

  “I’m getting a detail to bring you back to Second Springs,” he answered. “This is too dangerous. I don’t want you dealing with this anymore.”

  “Oh no, you’re not!” I said, snatching the phone out of his hand. “I’m involved in this now. I have a wrench in my windshield that says as much.”

  Sheriff Dash shot me a look that would curdle milk. “Which is why I don’t think you continuing is a very good idea.”

  “I do,” I answered, half mad and half indignant. “I think it’s a very good idea, the best idea I’ve ever had, in fact.”

  “This lunatic is obviously trying to send a message. You’re not safe so long as you’re digging into this,” Sheriff Dash continued.

  “Oh, please!” I balked. “We’re always in danger. Look at what happened to me two--” I stopped short. “Look at what happened to the other Rita. That poor and devilishly beautiful girl was just doing her job. She was delivering pies, and some monster killed her. None of us are ever safe, not really. That doesn’t mean we stop trying to take down the bad guys.”

  “You deliver pies!” he said, shaking his head. “You’re not a police officer. You’re not a detective. You’re not even a crossing guard. You have no business here. The fact that I’ve let it go this far is a testament to what I can only describe as temporary insanity.” He cemented his stance, a “no nonsense” look on his face. “Now, I’m sorry. I understand that you, for whatever reason, you’re personally invested in this case. I just can’t let you get hurt, even if you’re hell bent on running toward it headfirst.”

  He walked away from the truck, taking me by the arm and nudging me along with him.

  Mayor McConnell growled as the sheriff touched my arm.

  “It’s okay,” I said, looking down at the dog and feeling a hint of pride at Mayor McConnell’s newfound protective nature. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m going to get you safely into the waiting room, have Harvey and those other idiots watch over you until a unit arrives, and then I’ll come out here and tape off the area around your truck. Though honestly, I doubt I’ll find much evidence. Whoever this lunatic is has been particularly careful thus far.”

  “They sure have,” I answered, the wheels spinning in my head. “Almost too careful.”

  * * *

  We moved back into the hospital without incident, once again leaving Mayor McConnell outside. But when the doors of the elevator opened on the seventh floor, we realized things were not as simple as we had hoped or expected.

  People rushed back and forth. Nurses, carrying bags of clear liquids and doctors with worried looks on their faces all bee-lined for the room where Ralph was being held.

  “What happened?” I asked, looking up at Sheriff Dash, though I knew he didn’t have any more information than I did.

  “Nothing good,” he answered, and moved out onto the floor.

  Harvey rushed toward us, a cup of coffee in each hand and his hair whipped around his head.

  He’s been running his hands through his hair. This isn’t good.

  “Talk to me, Deputy,” Sheriff Dash ordered as Harvey approached.

  Harvey swallowed hard and stammered. “He … Ralph, I mean. He had something called a major cardiac arrest.” He looked back at the room.

  “I thought he was stable? They were prepping him for surgery,” Sheriff Dash countered.

  “I overheard them arguing with each other,” Harvey said. “They said it looked like he had been given an overdose of something.”

  “That’s what the wrench was about,” I said, tugging on Sheriff Dash’s arm to get his attention. “It wasn’t a warning. It was a diversion. They wanted to get us out of the way so they could take care of Ralph.” My eyes narrowed. “They didn’t want him talking.”

  “He’s not taken care of yet,” Sheriff Dash said. “The doctors are still working on him. Maybe--”

  No sooner had the words left the sheriff’s mouth than a torrent of doctors came walking slowly out of the room. They didn’t have to say anything. The looks on their faces were all I needed to see to know what happened.

  So much for pumping him for more information. Ralph had just been murdered. No wrench required.

  Fire danced along Sheriff Dash’s eyes, and Harvey settled into his crosshai
rs. “Who went into that room, Harvey?!”

  “No one!” Harvey stammered. “I didn’t see anyone!”

  “And were you here the entire time we were gone?” Sheriff Dash asked through clenched teeth.

  “Yes,” he answered. “The whole time. Except…” His eyes went wide and drifted down to his hands. “I thought you guys might want some coffee when you got back.”

  Sheriff Dash leaned closer, so close, his and Harvey’s eyes were nearly touching. “If you ever got the idea I was considering rehiring you, rid yourself of it.” He swatted at Harvey, knocking the coffees out of his hands. They splashed against the floor, staining it brown. He pulled back. “Now get out of my crime scene.”

  Harvey pursed his lips and blinked hard. He nodded curtly and moved past the sheriff toward the elevator.

  “Harvey,” I said, my heart breaking, not only for Ralph, but for Harvey, too. Since he was a little boy, this was all he’d ever wanted. I was watching it all fall down at his feet.

  “It’s okay,” he shook his head, his voice cracking. “It’s for the best, maybe.”

  He walked to the elevator and boarded it.

  I turned back to Sheriff Dash, this time it was my turn to give him an accusing look.

  “Don’t start with me, Rita,” he said, lifting his hand as if to stop me before I began.

  “You were hard on him,” I said.

  “I said, don’t start,” he repeated. “That man in there was our only lead.”

  “Our?” I asked, stifling a grin.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t press your luck. We’re back at square one.”

  I shook my head, this time letting my grin show. “Not exactly.”

  “They’re brothers?” Sheriff Dash asked, staring at me from behind the desk of an office in the hospital that the administration was kind enough to let us use for the time being.

  The Dalton police department was in the middle of going over the wreckage of my (or, I suppose Charlie’s) truck, and they didn’t necessarily need an out of town sheriff cramping their style. I had a momentary panic attack when they asked for my registration and insurance information but found that both her snuggly in the glove box and registered to Rita Redoux, as was the driver’s license that had found its way into my purse.

  Thank you, Charlie!

  Not that we were aching for things to do or anything. Ralph might have taken a turn for the grave, but he left me with a helpful bit of information, one that Sheriff Dash was having trouble wrapping his head around.

  “They were,” I answered, in a tone reverent enough to show respect for the newly deceased. “At least, that’s what he told me.” I bit my lip. “He also told me that Patrick loved Mrs. Hoover.”

  Sheriff Dash’s brows shot up as if independent of his face. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I circled around the room, settling in front of him. “Patrick was in Second Springs the night Mrs. Hoover was killed. When I brought that up to Ralph, he assured me that his brother would never hurt her.” I nodded. “I believe him.”

  “I do, too,” he answered as he phone beeped.

  Okay, so he surprised me with that answer.

  “Really?” I asked.

  “Don’t look so surprised.” He looked up from his screen. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re sort of on a roll.”

  I stifled a smile as he continued, typing on the desktop in front of him. “I had a few officers search the auto shop in Mt. Gregor. They didn’t come across anything too suspicious. The owner had no idea where Ralph lived, and it turned out he wasn’t much of a pack rat where his job was concerned. But they did find his prints, and it turns out we just got a hit. I knew there was a reason he was paid under the table.” He turned the screen toward me so I could see a mug shot of a teenage boy with a bad haircut and a document. “Meet the kid who grew up to be Ralph. His name was Carter Weston.”

  I peered closer. This kid was young, no older than sixteen, but I could see the makings of Ralph inside of him, and it made me ache a little.

  “He was a criminal?” I asked, pulling back from the screen.

  “Not really,” Sheriff Dash answered. “He was arrested for some low-level shoplifting in ’95. Other than that, his record is clean.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” I answered. “I’m missing something. I have to be.”

  “You are,” Sheriff Dash answered. “But I’m about to give it to you.” Sheriff Dash turned the screen back toward him and started typing again. “Turns out he was stealing food. Want to guess why?”

  “His brother,” I said, piecing everything together.

  “Right,” he said. “Turns out Patrick’s real name was Steven Weston. He and his brother were nine and fourteen respectively when their parents were killed in a hit and run. They were separated by the foster system, but three months after their placement, Ralph found Patrick and they took to living on the streets.” Sheriff Dash looked up at me. “But the arrest brought light to their situation, and the pair were put in a foster home in Philadelphia, this time together. They spent the next five years being raised by the Frazier family. Molly Frazier, the foster mother, changed her name a few months after her husband died.” He turned the computer screen back toward me. “I’m going to give you three guesses as to what her new name was, but something tells me you won’t need it.”

  “Mrs. Hoover,” I mumbled, looking at an old family photo of a younger Mrs. Hoover, her now deceased husband, Patrick, Ralph, and a chubby blond girl who was undoubtedly Amelia, the daughter Harvey thought I was.

  The boys were standing right in front of Mrs. Hoover. Amelia sat perched in her arms. For his part, Mrs. Hoover’s husband looked out of place.

  I squinted, peering at the photo and taking it all in. Mrs. Hoover had been Ralph and Patrick’s foster mother. This was all connected in ways much deeper than I’d imagined.

  Looking up at Sheriff Dash, I set my jaw and said the statement I had been waiting forever to utter.

  “I think know who the killer is.”

  18

  “What do you mean?” Sheriff Dash asked me with narrowed eyes. “We barely have a handle on what any of this is about. Whoever killed Ralph cut the feed to the security cameras in that section of the hospital first. So how could you possibly have a suspect?”

  “It’s obvious,” I answered, plopping down on the desk in front of him.

  “Really?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and eyeing me up and down. “Perhaps for you. But I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten the rest of us mere mortals.”

  “Look at the picture, Darrin,” I said, pointing to the screen. “Everyone on that screen has been murdered, all but one.”

  “The little girl?” he asked, looking from the screen to me and back again.

  “Amelia,” I answered. “Except she wouldn’t be a kid anymore. She’d be a grown woman, and if I’m worth my salt, a murderer.”

  “Are you trying to get me to arrest you, Rita?” he asked, standing and folding his arms over his chest.

  “Um … I feel like I want to say no.” I furrowed my brows.

  “You just told me you were hired by Amelia Hoover,” he said. “You said it was the reason you came here in the first place and now you’re telling me that you think she’s the killer.”

  “Oh, right,” I murmured, smacking my head in that figurative way. “My bad.”

  “Rita, if you don’t start--”

  “Okay, I lied to you. I’m a liar, but I’m also good at what I do.” I stood to meet him. My heart was racing. I wasn’t sure if I could worm my way out of things this time. “You have to admit it. What I’m telling you, it makes a lot of sense so you have to listen to me.”

  “Oh, I am listening to you,” he answered, bridging the gap between us. “Who are you, Rita Redoux? Really, who are you?”

  I closed my eyes and held my breath. It had come to this. To solve this mystery, to move on the way I needed to, I was going to have to come cl
ean. I answered. “I’m the reincarnated soul of Rita Clarke.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, narrowing his eyes as if he was trying to decide on just how crazy I was.

  “Very funny,” he answered. “If you’re a reporter or an FBI agent or something, I wish you’d just tell me. You’re right. For whatever reason, you are good at this. However, I’m not going to be able to work with you if I can’t trust you, and I’m not going to be able to trust you unless you tell me the truth.”

  He walked passed me toward the door.

  “But I am telling you the truth!” I said, grabbing his arm. “My name isn’t Rita Redoux. It’s Rita Clarke. I know everything there is to know about this town because I was born in it. I know these people because I grew up with them. That’s why I have a connection to these people and this place. It’s why I want to solve this case so badly. Because it’s mine, too! I was murdered the same night Mrs. Hoover was. The person who killed her very likely killed me, and unless I can solve this murder and bring the person responsible to justice, I’m not going to be able to move on.”

  He glared at me, his eyes wide. “You actually believe this, don’t you?” He pulled his arm away from my grip. “You have two days to get out of town. That’s more than enough time to get your affairs in order. If I catch you in Second Springs after that, I’m arresting you for obstruction of justice.”

  “That old song and dance again?” I asked, shaking my head for some reason, the idea that this man would actually arrest me seemed odd and out of place. I didn’t know him that well, but it seemed like I did. It seemed like we were close.

  “The only reason I’m not hauling you into custody right now is because you’ve actually managed to help this investigation.” He pursed his lips. “That woman’s murder nearly tore this town apart. Mrs. Hoover was bad, but Rita Clarke was a young woman. She was the sheriff’s daughter and a light to this place. Now I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but having you running around besmirching her memory isn’t something this town needs, and it’s not something I’m going to allow.” He opened the door. “Two days, Ms. Redoux. Don’t let me catch you after that.”