Baby Back Murder: Hawg Heaven Cozy Culinary Mysteries Book 2

by Summer Prescott

  Deciding that she was disgusted enough about all of the violence and intimidation and just plain nasty tricks that she’d been subjected to over the past couple of weeks, Rossie threw caution to the winds, and rather than approaching the biker with calmness and reason, she marched up to him defiantly, hands on hips.

  “Let me see your hands,” she demanded, eyes spitting fire.

  “What?” Apparently, her manner and question confused him to a degree that made him more curious than hostile… so far.

  “Your hands, I want to see them,” she ordered again, arms crossed stubbornly.

  “Why?” the suspicious hostility returned.

  “Because I’m sick and tired of being afraid. Because I hate violence, and you shouldn’t have gone off and beat someone up even once on my account, never mind twice. Because all I want to do is settle into this stupid town with my son and feel safe,” she fumed bitterly, unaware of the tears that had begun to flow. “I just want to raise my son and run my business and not be questioned about murders and beatings and all the horrible things that people move to places like this to get away from. Is that so hard to understand?”

  Rossalyn’s voice had risen shrilly and Tom Hundman looked at her with a mixture of curiosity, anger, and something else that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. If she was going to die, right here on her front porch, because she’d challenged a violent man, so be it. She refused to be a potential victim any longer. She had no idea how the ice inside her café would affect the building, or if she’d be able to recover from it, and had no problem with the idea of packing up and walking away from Hawg Heaven and Chatsworth altogether. She’d be ruined financially, but she’d recover. She’d been through worse than this and survived.

  “In this town, whether we agree with each other all the time or not, we help each other,” Tom Hundman. “That’s some awfully judgmental stuff you’re throwing out there,” his eyes narrowed. “I came over here this morning because I thought you might want me to check out the woman who was crawling around behind your hedge and peeking in your windows. She tried every doorknob and every window that she could before I got here, then took off like the hounds of hell were after her when she saw me, but I guess I was out of line for trying to help you out. That’s fine. How’s the view up there from that ivory tower that you’re on?” he gritted, teeth clenched. “You want me to mind my own business and not get involved? You got it, lady.”

  Heavy motorcycle boots clomped down her porch steps and Tom stood very close to Rossie, his physical size and raw masculinity imposing.

  “And as for my hands,” he ripped his leather gloves off and thrust them toward her, turning them slowly so that she could clearly see the fronts and backs. “They’re just fine, thank you very much.”

  They were. The cuts and bruises from earlier in the week were healing, and it looked like there was no new damage whatsoever.

  Rossalyn’s face colored with shame.

  “Tom, I’m sorry, I…”

  She reached toward him, but he turned gruffly away and stomped toward home.

  “Just forget it,” he called out over his shoulder. “I won’t be a nosy neighbor ever again.”

  His promise cut her to the bone, and Rossie felt physically ill at the thought of how badly she’d misjudged him. No free dinner at Hawg Heaven would make up for her rude behavior, but she had to push aside her shame for a moment and focus on what Tom had said. There had been a woman sneaking around the outside of her house this morning. It had to be Stella Castle.

  Was it possible that the petite, but angry, woman had beaten up Samuel Preston? And if so, why? Had she killed Parker? And if she did, did Sam see her? As much as she wanted to figure out what was going on, one thing was certain. She needed to keep Sam with her anytime that he wasn’t in school, until this whole mess was sorted out. At least with the repairs that would undoubtedly be needed at the café, she’d have plenty of time to take him to and from school. She hoped that he wouldn’t get teased by the other kids. For now, she needed to get him out of bed and dressed, so that he could go to Hawg Heaven with her.

  She needed to call her insurance company, and the police would be there investigating the vandalism. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she swiped them away angrily, refusing to give in to the pity party that threatened to consume her. She would keep Ryan safe, she would salvage her café and get it running again, and she would apologize to her neighbor. She’d lived her whole life always trying to do what was right, she certainly shouldn’t deviate from it now, no matter how extreme her circumstances might be, and, in her current mood, she dared Stella Castle to show her face.

  ***

  “It was definitely a deliberate act,” Morgan confirmed. “We weren’t able to get any fingerprints off of the thermostat or the water faucet. Chances are, whoever did this was wearing gloves, but we’ll keep looking around for clues. Do you mind if one of the guys takes the fish home?” he asked, referring to the fish that were still swimming in her sink.

  “No, that’s fine. Whatever happened with the other fish? Do you have the lab results back yet? Were they laced with anything?” Rossalyn asked.

  “No, they weren’t. They were just fish.”

  “That’s weird,” she frowned. “Do you think that Sam was just being nice? It’s looking more and more like Stella may be the killer,” Rossie shivered.

  She had told Morgan about her encounter with Tom Hundman, and he had sent a couple of officers over to her house to see if they found any clues that would confirm who her intruder had been.

  “That’s my inclination too,” he admitted. “But there’s still more work to be done. We need evidence before we can charge her with anything. I’m going to talk to Hundman after I leave here and see if he can give me a description. If he saw enough that a description matches, I can at least pick her up for questioning. It’s not much, but it’s a start. Sometimes just being in an interrogation room makes people crack,” Morgan shrugged.

  “Something tells me that she’s a tougher cookie than that, but I guess it’s a start,” Rossalyn sighed.

  “We’ve got a guard on Sam Preston while he’s in the hospital, and when he wakes up—IF he wakes up, we’ll ask him what happened to him. He may have just the information that we need.”

  “He might… die?” Rossie swallowed hard. For some reason, the thought that he had been beaten so badly that his life hung in the balance made her feel ill.

  “Can’t really comment on that, but I’m hoping that he pulls through. I think he may be the key to solving this whole thing.”

  “I just want it to be over,” she wrapped her arms around her midsection, her gaze dropped to the floor, where the ice had finally begun to melt.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” Morgan touched her shoulder briefly, then moved toward the kitchen, where a couple of techs were just finishing up.

  ***

  Once the police and the representative from the insurance company had departed, Rossie dropped a sleepy and bewildered Ryan off at school and pushed up her sweatshirt sleeves, grabbing a mallet to help José and Garrett break up the major chunks of ice that were resistant to melting. There were sloppy puddles and pools everywhere, and the entire place was a nightmare to navigate, with patches of ice beneath the water.

  “Howdy, Rossalyn!” a cheerful voice boomed from the front doorway.

  Rossie crawled out from behind the front counter, the knees of her jeans soaked, her hair disheveled and askew, to see Forrest Hotchkiss next to Franz Hellman, with a handful of men behind them, ranging from middle-agers to retirees.

  “Uh… hello. We’re closed for now,” she smiled wryly, gesturing to the mess around her.

  “Of course you are,” Forrest nodded. “That’s why we’re here. I heard something come over the police scanner about what had happened, so Franz and I gathered up a bunch of our fellow Elks and decided to lend a hand, if you’ll have us,” he smiled.

  Once again, Rossie’s judgmental tirade about C
hatsworth came back to haunt her. Here was a group of good and kind people from the town who wanted nothing more than to offer help. Tears sprang to her eyes once again, and she took a deep breath before she spoke.

  “That’s awesome. I can’t thank you enough,” she said finally.

  “No thanks needed,” Forrest cheerfully brushed aside her discomfort. “We’ve got some tools and supplies in my truck. You just let us know what you need and we’ll get started,” he said, rolling up his sleeves.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  *

  Stella Castle sat sullenly in the Chatsworth police station interrogation room. Officer Morgan Tyler had picked her up at a motel outside of Roscoe, a neighboring town that was in his jurisdiction, after finding a book of matches underneath Rossie’s hedge with the motel’s logo.

  “Why were you creeping around Rossalyn Channing’s house?” Morgan asked, getting straight to the point.

  “I was furious with her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought that either she killed Parker, or knew who did,” Stella stared at the table top, her jaw set.

  “She had no motive. She didn’t know Parker, or you, or anyone on your production team. Why would she have done that? And if she knew who did it, why wouldn’t she have come forward?”

  “I know. I couldn’t figure it out either. That’s why I followed her, and staked out her house and kept going back to the scene of the crime,” Stella sighed, gritting her teeth.

  “Seems like there are plenty of circumstances that point toward you being the murderer,” Morgan said casually, watching for a reaction.

  “That’s the sickest thing I’ve ever heard. I loved Parker. He was good to me. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we respected each other,” she shook her head, tearing up a bit. “I just wanted justice for him, that’s why I was so determined to figure out whether or not she was the killer, and it turned out that she wasn’t. I was wasting my time following her.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows shot up his forehead.

  “What changed your mind?”

  “I was poking around through one of the barns out on the property where Parker was… found, and I found what looked like the memory chip from his video camera. I know that when he films, he sometimes narrates his shots, and I just wasn’t emotionally ready to hear his voice again, so I didn’t put the chip into an adapter and watch the footage, until right after that big dude saw me at Rossalyn Channing’s house. I came back to the hotel and was scared because he almost caught me, so to calm down, I finally watched the film.”

  “And?”

  “And, she didn’t do it.”

  “Where is that chip now?” Morgan sat forward in his chair. The video chip would be the first piece of real evidence that had been found in the case.

  “In my purse.”

  “Do you have the adapter with you?”

  “Of course.”

  Morgan turned to the officer who was standing in the back of the room. “Reynolds, go grab my laptop, will ya?”

  “You got it.”

  Officer Reynolds returned minutes later and Morgan plugged the adapter, with the chip tucked firmly inside, into the USB port on his laptop, and turned up the sound.

  “You can basically skip through the beginning part. The important stuff starts at about the eleven minute mark,” Stella advised, her voice soft. Hearing Parker’s narration was clearly having an impact on her.

  “Here’s a dark corner of the barn,” Parker’s voice came through the speakers loud and clear. “We usually find the best stuff in these dark corners, so I’ll definitely point Rick in this direction when we film tomorrow. Oof!” Parker exclaimed, and the picture jumped, then pointed downward.

  “Me and my big feet,” the good-natured cameraman chuckled and Stella wiped under her eyes with the back of her hand. “I tripped on what looks like a vintage Persian rug. Let me take a look at this beauty. I wasn’t expecting to find a Persian rug on the floor of a barn, but stranger things have happened.”

  The camera panned down the length of the rug, which had some light wicker furniture and other assorted items sitting on top of it.

  “I’m just gonna lift up this corner and see if I can find an identifying label, after I move this chair.”

  Parker set the camera on a tripod that he carried with him, training on what he was doing, so that anyone viewing the film later, could see whether or not he discovered a label on the back of the rug. He moved the wicker chair, and a lamp that had been sitting beside it, to another location off-camera, then squatted down to lift the corner of the rug.

  “Hey, what do we have here?”

  When he lifted up the corner of the rug, he discovered that there was a trap door beneath it, which had a lock on it, but the lock hadn’t snapped tight, so he removed it. Opening the hatch, he let out an exclamation of surprise, then hurried back to grab his camera. Shining the light down into the subterranean space, he revealed stacks upon stacks of merchandise, mostly electronics and jewelry.

  “This gives buried treasure a whole new name,” Parker joked.

  “You don’t want to be doing that,” a male voice warned from behind him.

  The camera swung toward the voice, but was apparently knocked from Parker’s hands before anything significant could be seen. The screen went blank, and the sound disappeared.

  “You recognize that voice?” Stella asked hopefully.

  “Yeah, I do,” Morgan nodded grimly. “Let’s watch this from the beginning, one more time.”

  They actually watched the video several more times, and Reynolds’ text tone sounded.

  “Morgan, Sam Preston is awake and talking,” Reynolds showed him the screen.

  “I’ll be at the hospital,” he rose immediately. “Don’t leave town,” he cautioned Stella. “I’m going to need your testimony. And don’t go near Rossalyn Channing.”

  “I won’t,” she agreed dully, emotionally drained.

  ***

  Samuel Preston’s face was so battered that it was a swollen and throbbing mass of unrecognizable purple and red bruises and assorted cuts that were stitched up, giving him a very Frankenstein-like appearance. His ribs were bruised and broken, and he’d had some internal bleeding that doctors were able to stop successfully, but it was difficult for him to do even the most basic things, like blinking and talking.

  “How you feeling Sam?” Morgan asked, approaching the beaten man’s bedside.

  “Been better,” he wheezed, grimacing.

  “Doc says my time with you is limited, so I’m gonna get straight to the point. I know who did this to you, but what I want to know is why.”

  ***

  Rossalyn looked around Hawg Heaven, more than satisfied with the progress that had been made. It was amazing what a determined group of men with tools and know-how could accomplish. The ice was gone, as were José, Garrett, and all of the other men, with the exception of Forrest Hotchkiss, who had generously offered to stay behind to help her with the final mopping up. Rossie leaned on her mop handle and nodded, happier than she would’ve imagined at this point. The fact that folks had come out to help her warmed her heart and made her ashamed of the uncharitable thoughts that she’d harbored against the small town earlier.

  “We’re getting there,” Forrest commented.

  “Yes, we are. Listen, I just want to thank you so much for helping me with this. It would’ve taken so much longer without your crew stepping up to help,” she smiled.

  “That’s how we roll in these here parts,” was the easygoing reply. “I don’t know about you, but I skipped lunch. You hungry? We can go get a bite to eat at the diner, my treat,” Forrest offered.

  The invitation seemed genuine, not like he was hitting on her, so Rossie said yes, but wanted to finish up in the kitchen first. He agreed, but there was something in his eyes that made her just the tiniest bit uncomfortable. Passing it off as paranoia, which was entirely understandable these days, she squeezed out her mop, and turned
her back, not seeing Forrest Hotchkiss stepping toward her, the look in his eyes predatory.

  ***

  Samuel Preston pushed the button to call the nurse, who injected powerful pain medication into his IV line.

  “You’ve got about ten minutes before he’s out like a light,” she warned Morgan.

  “Tell me everything you know, because you’re in danger as long as he’s out there loose, and I can’t pick him up without evidence.”

  Sam blinked sleepily as the medicine started to set in, but continued his story.

  “I knew that he had a bunch of stolen property under the barn floor. He takes it to the city and fences it, that’s how he makes all that money, but he left me alone, cuz he knew I wouldn’t say nothing. But then I saw him kill that cameraman…” Sam trailed off, falling into a light doze.

  Feeling like an utter heel, Morgan glanced around, then reached over and shook Sam awake.

  “Stick with me, I need to know the rest,” he said urgently.

  “He gave me money. I got new clothes and boots. Told me to… keep… quiet,” Sam drifted again, and again, Morgan woke him up.

  “I took fish over to Miss Rossalyn and I wrapped it in a piece of newspaper that had a story about him and some tax evasion case on it, hoping she’d get it without me having to say anything, but he got suspicious and told me he was gonna kill me. I was just fishing at the pond, had already caught two, and next thing I know, I’m here, all beat up.”

  When Sam fell asleep this time, Morgan left him alone. He had what he needed. Forrest Hotchkiss had beaten the poor man to a pulp, then took his fish when he vandalized Hawg Heaven to make it look like Preston had done it. Fear struck him as he realized that Rossalyn was on guard, watching for Stella Castle, when the man that she really needed to be afraid of was Forrest Hotchkiss, model citizen, pillar of the community. After instructing the guard to let no one in Sam Preston’s room, he jogged to his cruiser and headed to Hawg Heaven, lights and sirens flashing and wailing.