A Little Taste Of Murder_A Brightwater Bay Cozy Mystery

by Carolyn L. Dean

  “What did they say?” Claire asked, almost breathless. Her morning had started off so well, but the police officer’s words were taking her right back into the stress and horror of the day before.

  “We were right about the cause of death,” Darryl said, his voice serious. “He was shot just once, in the back. The burns on the back of his coat show the muzzle of the gun was actually pressed against him when it was fired.”

  Claire’s eyes were wide at the news. “Did they find anything else?”

  “He did have some pills in his pocket but, knowing Orrin, that’s not a huge surprise. It was common knowledge that he used drugs whenever he could get his hands on them.” He gave a wear sigh. “The medical examiner’s conclusions will be in the paper this afternoon, so I’ve been told. I can release it to the public now.” His eyes cut away for a moment, and Claire had the distinct impression that he was keeping something important away from her.

  Scott must’ve thought so, too, because he asked, “Is that it? Nothing else?” and Darryl paused, then looked at Claire.

  “He had a .44 caliber handgun in his coat pocket. Whatever he was doing at your house, he was definitely up to no good. A gun that size is only built for one thing. Even the cops around here only carry .38s.”

  The reality of the situation felt like a crushing blow on Claire. An armed felon had been walking up to her door in the middle of the night, with who knows what on his mind. To make it worse, his killer was on the loose, and they’d proven were willing to shoot a man in the back, in cold blood.

  She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the bitter December wind.

  Chapter 9

  “You know, it’s only four days to Christmas,” Scott said, looking down the street. He was jamming his hands deep in his coat pockets, the collar of his jacket flipped up around his neck. “At the rate everything’s going, don’t you think you’ll be in town for the holidays?”

  Claire nodded numbly, the police officer’s words still ringing in her ears. A killer on her sidewalk. Maybe two, if Orrin was coming with a gun.

  They’d talked a bit more with Officer Portman before he had to drive back to the police station at the edge of town, but her mind was elsewhere. She could feel Scott’s eyes on her as they walked, and knew he was trying to distract her from the shocked realization that she had possibly almost wound up as a victim, too. They stopped in front of a small shop, with a red and white OPENING SOON banner draped across the front window. There was a hand-painted sign tacked up over the door, with the picture of two large cupcakes on either side of a steaming mug of coffee.

  “I wish Daisy’s new place was open,” Scott said. “She just put the sign up yesterday afternoon, I guess. The Dogwood has pretty decent coffee but doesn’t do anything fancier than asking whether you want cream in that or not. Some days I’d kill for a good latte.” He cupped his hands around his eyes and peered in the window. “Looks almost empty. Probably going to be weeks before she’s open.”

  Claire leaned down and petted Roscoe. She’d been worried he might be cold, but he seemed happy and eager to keep walking. Straightening up, she finally answered Scott’s question.

  “I think you’re right. The way things are going I think I’ll wind up being in Brightwater Bay over Christmas.”

  Scott’s smile was wide and genuine. “Well, if that’s the case then we need to get you all set up for Christmas. You need some Christmas cheer.”

  “Booze?” she asked, not quite teasing, but Scott laughed.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a Christmas tree for your living room and maybe a stocking for the fireplace. That little cottage of yours could use some serious sprucing up. What do you think? If you leave earlier than you expected, I’ll take the tree down for you and clean up the cottage, I promise.”

  There was a pause while Claire thought about it, and finally decided. “Okay, if it isn’t too big,” she said, and Scott gave a whoop of delight.

  “That’s great,” he said. “Let’s go back to the tree lot at the hardware store. I’m always happy to support the Boy Scouts and they have fresh trees that are cut every day at Alderman’s farm.”

  “Fresh?” She’d gotten used to her artificial tree in Arizona. Real Christmas trees were horribly expensive there, and when her husband had suggested getting a fake tree she’d thought it was a great idea.

  Scott scoffed at her question. “Of course, fresh. You’re in Washington State now, missy. Have you seen how many fir trees grow around here?” he said, with a broad sweep of his arm.

  Of course, he was right. Not only were there forests surrounding the small town, but most yards and even some stores had firs or pines growing by them.

  The tree lot was packed with last-minute buyers, poking through the upright stacks of leaning trees, sorted by type and size. Claire couldn’t remember the last time she’d tried to pick out the perfect tree, and there was a lot of laughter and scrutiny as Scott suggested specimen after specimen. He held the top of each candidate and pointed out its attributes while Claire would walk around it, making sure there were enough branches and it would fit in her little front room. Scott seemed to have the idea that bigger was better when it came to Christmas trees, and Claire had to remind him that she’d still need space to walk by the tree and actually get into the kitchen.

  When they’d finally decided on a six-foot-tall noble fir, she almost clapped her hands together with excitement. It was beautiful, clean and perfect, and had a soft, fresh smell that somehow reminded her of her childhood. Scott bought a simple metal stand to put it in, and then jogged a few blocks to retrieve his car. By the time he was back, Claire had already made friends with Fred, the scout master, and had learned the names of the two boys who were helping her. They’d put the tree on a mechanical tree shaker, which fascinated Claire when it vibrated so hard that any loose needles fell into a ring-shaped pile under the tree. When the scouts had offered to tie it to the top of Scott’s SUV, Scott made sure to tip the boys five dollars each for their effort.

  Just as Scott was doublechecking the knots and pulling them tight, Claire spied Lucy, the owner of the Dogwood Café, walking through the assortment of small trees. She seemed to be considering a little three-foot specimen when she saw Claire and Scott.

  She pulled out the little fir in front of her and looked it over, then glanced over at Claire. “Think this one will do for the counter in back of the register? I kind of need something cheery right there, and it’ll help get people into the holiday spirit.” She looked over at Scott, still working with the ropes holding the tree to the top of his car. “I thought you already got your tree.”

  “This one’s for Claire,” he explained while he pulled the last rope taut. “I think the one you’re looking at would be great for the Dogwood. Not too big.” He leaned against the car. “How are things going at the cafe?”

  “Could be better,” Lucy said as she gave a snort of disgust. “If you see that policeman of ours, would you have him give me a call or stop by, please? I know he’s busy, working with the sheriff’s department and all, but I still need him to do the paperwork he promised me.”

  “What paperwork?” Claire asked, and Lucy picked up the little tree and carried it toward the cash register, Scott and Claire trailing behind her.

  “The paperwork about the break-in at the Dogwood. I need to get the police report before I can file a claim with my insurance company, and right now that’s not happening. I’ve still got a sheet of plywood up over the broken window and it looks really tacky. I want it fixed as fast as possible.”

  Scott looked surprised. “He still hasn’t stopped by?” he said, shooting a glance at Claire. “Maybe Officer Bell can get you the paperwork,” he suggested, but he still looked troubled. “Darryl’s been really busy with this Orrin Cable investigation, so I’d bet he just forgot.”

  “Probably,” Lucy said, but her expression said she doubted it.

  Chapter 10

  “Hey, Edgar! Does this l
ook straight to you?” Scott poked his head out the front door of Claire’s little house, the upright Christmas tree in the background. Claire was standing beside it, hands on hips, with her head tilted to one side.

  Edgar was standing on the sidewalk, wearing a thick brown coat and a handknit scarf and hat with green stripes. He walked up the steps and tilted his head, too. “It’s crooked.”

  Claire burst into laughter. “I told you!” she told Scott. “It’s leaning toward the kitchen, when it should be straight up and down.” She grinned at Edgar. “I don’t think we’ve actually met, yet,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Claire. Scott says you’re the best cook in town and after eating your pancakes, I’d have to agree. Nice to meet you.”

  Edgar gave a broad smile as he shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, too. I make ‘em from scratch, you know. The pancakes, with real blueberries.”

  “Thought so,” she said.

  Scott had scooted under the tree, making some adjustments with the long bolts holding the trunk in place. “How’s it look now?” he hollered, as if they were in the next room, and Claire stifled a giggle. She glanced at Edgar, who shrugged noncommittally. After checking it over carefully, she told Scott it was finally straight. As Scott hauled himself out from under the dense branches, Claire smiled at Edgar.

  “I’m sorry we kind of shanghaied you like that, but we definitely weren’t agreeing on whether it was straight or not, and I’m glad you were walking by. Heading to work?” she asked, and Edgar nodded.

  “Late shift today. It’s kind of nice to sleep in for a change, and my wife likes it better. We’re going to be doing a full Christmas dinner at the Dogwood for people who don’t want to cook at home, and starting prep work on it today. You should come by.” He smiled at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Bring Scott if you want. He likes a big ham dinner with all the trimmings.”

  “I—” Claire began, not sure how to respond to Edgar’s invitation, no matter how well-meaning it might have been. “I’m sure he’s got places he needs to be on Christmas.”

  Edgar grinned. “Probably, with his family. We’re doing the dinner Christmas Eve, too, if that makes a difference.” He pulled his hat down further on his head and stepped toward the door. “I hope you’ll come by. It was nice to meet you, Claire,” he said, then looked up at the sky as he walked outside. “Smells like snow. I’ll bet we’ll get some today.”

  Claire followed his gaze, as if she could assess the snow content of the dense clouds overhead. She didn’t have the first idea how to drive in snow, and if they got enough it would be just one more reason she was going to be stuck in town over Christmas.

  ***

  It didn’t take long to wrap a couple of tinsel garlands around the tree and to plug in the lights. Claire couldn’t help but squeal like a little girl when Scott flipped on the tiny, colored lights and the tree seemed to come to life. He was watching her, a look of sheer satisfaction on his face, until she caught him looking.

  “What?” she asked, a bit defensive. “It’s my first real Christmas tree in a long time. I have a right to get a little sentimental about it, don’t I?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Scott commented, trying to suppress a smile. “It’s just nice to see you so happy. How about a break? I think we earned it, even if we did need Edgar’s help.” He pulled a thin, folded newspaper out of his jacket pocket. “We can prop up our feet for a bit and see what’s going on locally.” He sat down on the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles, and flipped the newspaper open. Looking over the front page, he gave a low whistle of surprise. “I guess Darryl was wrong about that information being in the afternoon edition. It looks like the medical examiner already released some of the news this morning.”

  Claire sat down next to him. “What does it say?” she asked, leaning over and trying to see.

  Scooting to one side so she could have more room, Scott shared the front page with her. He was scanning the text, and finally said, “Looks like the gun that killed Orrin was a .38. The rest of the info is pretty much what Portman told us. There’s not much else here…” He paused, still reading, but Claire was peeking over his shoulder and a name in the article instantly caught her attention.

  “They’re talking about me,” she said, and her stomach gave a sharp lurch. Even if the people around her had been kind about the fact she was in the middle of the circumstances of Orrin Cable’s death, her name was now public knowledge and there was bound to be speculation and gossip.

  Scott nodded, still reading. “It doesn’t look like anything bad. Just says you discovered the body when you opened your front door. I don’t see anything in here about the police questioning you or thinking you had any involvement beyond that, but from my experience, the cops don’t always tell the papers everything that’s going on.”

  It still gave Claire an uneasy feeling that her name had appeared in the paper. If this little hometown paper was like so many around the United States, it would also have an online edition. That meant her name would be searchable by anyone looking on the Internet, and it gave her a very uneasy feeling.

  She tried to change the subject. “So, a .38, huh?” she said, and Scott nodded.

  “Lots of people around here with guns,” Scott said, “—including .38s.”

  “Including the police force, apparently,” Claire said, then instantly regretted it when Scott gave her a funny look.

  “What do you mean by that?” he said, and Claire felt a pang of guilt for even bringing it up.

  “Just an observation,” she said as she got up from the sofa to refill her mug of tea.

  Scott wasn’t pacified. “No, I’m serious. What did you mean by that?” he asked, following her into the kitchen and leaning against the wall while she fussed with the teakettle.

  “Look, where I come from nobody would be above suspicion for a murder like this. That includes the police.”

  Scott gave a huff of disagreement. “From what I hear, murder needs three things.” He held up his fingers and started ticking them off. “Motive, method, and means. You’ve got to have all three.”

  Claire nodded. She’d read dozens of mystery novels, and discovering the clues that led to finding the killer was always her favorite part. “I agree. It’s just that we don’t know what everybody’s motivation is, do we? Orrin Cable wasn’t exactly the most open person about his life, it sounds like. He had a drug problem and was a known thief. He also had just gotten out of prison, so who knows what sort of baggage he brought from that, or what had been unresolved from before he got arrested?”

  Scott still didn’t seem pleased. “I’m not sure I’d want to live where you’re from. I understand that no one’s above the law, but I know all the cops around here. I wouldn’t suspect them of doing something illegal, unless I had evidence that absolutely confirmed they had.”

  Mug in hand, Claire stood in the kitchen, looking at him but not knowing what to say. She felt like she was under scrutiny, and she didn’t like it. The simple joy she’d been feeling from decorating her cottage melted away. “Sounds like your experience with people is different than mine, I guess,” she said. “Maybe I’m just more suspicious.”

  “Maybe,” Scott responded, but he seemed unconvinced.

  Chapter 11

  When Claire hung up on the call, her first instinct was to throw her cell phone across the room and see how much effort it would take to break it. The conversation she’d just had with Detective Warren had been frustrating beyond belief. She’d felt like the detective hadn’t believed a word she said, even when she’d done her best to explain what had happened as honestly and evenly as possible.

  Just when she thought she was making progress in town and with the people there, it seemed like she kept taking steps backward. Her first instinct was to grab her little dog and her suitcase, throw them both in her newly-repaired car, and roar out of Brightwater Bay without a backward glance. Unfortunately, the detective had made it very clear
that she needed to stay in town, and when Claire asked if that was a demand, she was told in no uncertain terms that it was “a strong suggestion”. Maybe she wasn’t under arrest, but she certainly was under suspicion, and she’d gone from feeling scared about it to being downright angry. In a way, it felt better to be mad than afraid.

  Roscoe had watched his owner’s agitation with a wary eye. He’d always been very sensitive to when she was upset and, even if he didn’t understand the words, he knew something was wrong. As Claire calmed down she could see his little, brown eyes following her as she paced around the room muttering angrily, and she realized the effect she was having on him.

  Reaching down, she picked him up and stroked him reassuringly as he snuggled against her body. “It’s okay, Roscoe,” she said. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  She just wished that she believed it herself.

  ***

  Even if she and Scott hadn’t seen eye to eye on whether a police officer could be a suspect, she needed someone to talk to. But when Molly’s phone went straight to voicemail, she dialed Scott’s number next. He picked up on the first ring and she gave a sigh of relief. “Hey, it’s Claire. I hate to ask this, but do you think you’d be able to come over? I’ve just gotten off the phone with the detective and it was awful. I need someone to talk to, and maybe bounce some ideas off of. You up for that? I’ll make lunch.”

  Scott was there fifteen minutes later, his still-damp hair and freshly shaved face showing that he just had a shower. He was careful to stay calm while Claire told him the details of her conversation with the detective, then gave his opinion.

  “The problem is, the cops think that you’re involved because of Orrin’s phone and what was in it. There had to be some reason he had your address.” Scott looked rueful, even as he said it, and Claire bit her lip in concentration.