Itsy-Bitsy Murder (Chocolate Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Wendy Meadows

  They were probably still shell-shocked from Bitsy’s scene. Some of them buried their anxiety in the food at the stacked table. One of the men lifted a slice of pizza and rammed it into his mouth. He chewed noisily, eyes wide, grease dripping from the corner of his lips.

  “I’m not here to disturb you. I’ve actually come to pay my respects to your sister,” Olivia said. And it was true. Just because she’d run into Pinkie and Jessica, her two main suspects, didn’t mean her intentions were bad.

  Jessica clicked her tongue twice. “I don’t believe it for a second.”

  “You don’t have to believe me,” Olivia said and folded her arms across her chest. “I’m here for your sister and not for you.”

  Alvira made an ‘o’ shape with her mouth, which transformed into a smug smile. She didn’t like conflict, but they’d both had enough of Jessica Jujube’s mean attitude.

  “Whatever. I should call Detective Keene and tell him you’re drifting around here again. Snooping.”

  “You’re such a gracious host,” Olivia replied. She sighed. “Call him if you want.”

  “I, I would, but I—” She craned her neck and peered past Olivia’s shoulder. “I have business to attend to. I’ll let your presence slide this time. But you’d better not come around here again, or there’s going to be trouble.”

  Alvira opened her mouth to complain, but Olivia stood on the toe of her assistant’s shoe, and she held back.

  Jessica pushed past Olivia and stormed off toward the end of the garden, then around the corner of the house, her back stiff and her nose in the air.

  “She’s up to something,” Olivia said to her A. “And I plan on finding out what that is.”

  “Another adventure? I don’t think my heart can take another stakeout,” Alvira whispered.

  “You stay here,” Olivia said. “Rest your anxious heart for a change.”

  Alvira gave her a thumbs-up and chuckled. “Sure, I’ll go eat some of those horrific, allergy-inducing sticky cherry truffles we made.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Wouldn’t want Mrs. Bitsworth to choke on one.” That was trouble she didn’t need in her life.

  Olivia strolled toward the corner of the house, casual as could be, and a gentle breeze rustled the trees at her side. She slowed and strained her ears for any hint of noise. She poked her head around the corner.

  Nothing. The coast was clear.

  “Weird,” she muttered. Where had the elusive Jessica Jujube disappeared to? Had she entered the front garden?

  Olivia walked around the corner, then dropped into sneak mode. She hurried along the side of the house, toward the front gate, her footsteps whispering along the paving stones.

  Voices drifted around the corner ahead. She slowed and came to a halt just short of the front porch’s white railing. Curiosity twisted through her belly and drove her forward a step.

  “You’re late.” That was Jessica’s voice. What was she up to this time? More business dealings or cutbacks at the Cuddle Clinic?

  “I came as soon as I had time. I’m a busy woman. I’ve got articles to write.”

  Articles to write?

  Olivia leaned forward and gazed over the lip of the porch.

  Two women stood in front of the steps. Jessica’s back was toward Olivia, and the other was… “Henrietta Long,” Olivia whispered. The rude reporter. What on earth would she have to discuss with Jessica?

  “Today wasn’t a good time for me either, but you insisted,” Jessica said. She looked left and right, then back toward the corner of the house.

  Olivia darted out of sight, just in time.

  “Well then, why did you want to meet?”

  “There wasn’t another time for this. Look, let’s just go inside,” Jessica said.

  “What’s the matter, Ms. Jujube? Why don’t you want to be seen with me?” Henrietta asked. She drew a notepad and pen out of her handbag and narrowed her eyes.

  Olivia kept a low profile but didn’t shift her gaze from the duo in front of her. This just didn’t make sense.

  “It’s not about that,” Jessica hissed. She glanced around, and Olivia ducked down to avoid blowing her cover. “This is a sensitive subject. The wrong people could hear; they could be watching.”

  There wasn’t any doubt in Olivia’s mind that she was one of the “wrong people” Jessica spoke of. She peered over the edge of the porch again and exhaled a long, thin stream of relief. Jessica had refocused her attention on the reporter.

  “Fine,” Henrietta said. “We can go inside, but like I said, we’d better make this quick. I’ve got places to be.” The manner in which she said the word places tickled Olivia’s curiosity. She stayed put, however.

  The women trooped up the wooden front steps and onto the porch. Jessica glanced back over her shoulder at the empty street. She inserted her key into the front door of her house, then turned it. The latch clicked, and she hesitated another moment.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Henrietta said and drew back her left sleeve. She checked her watch. “Hurry up!”

  Jessica pressed the door handle and opened the door. The women disappeared, the door slammed, and tense silence jostled between the trees in the garden.

  Olivia bit her bottom lip. What were Jessica and Henrietta up to?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Olivia tucked her hands into her pockets and bowed her head against the swift wind that carried them.

  Alvira shivered and rubbed her upper arms. She raised her face to the clouded sky and frowned. “It looks like it’s going to rain,” she said.

  “Good thing we left Dodger at home,” Olivia said and followed her assistant’s gaze. “He’d go mad in this weather. Make the worst of things by splashing in puddles and muddying himself up.”

  Alvira chuckled. “That sounds like Dodger.”

  Dark rain clouds bubbled on the horizon, and lightning arced through them, chains of light that split the darkness. The pressure built beneath the canopy of clouds. A drop splattered the sidewalk just in front of them.

  “Uh oh,” Alvira said. “I forgot to bring an umbrella.”

  Olivia’s phone vibrated in the front pocket of her jeans, and she jerked upright. “Oh!” She scrambled the cell out of her pocket and pressed the cold plastic against her palm. She frowned at the flashing name on the screen.

  Home.

  “Who is it?” Alvira asked.

  “It has to be Alphonsine,” Olivia replied. She clicked the green icon, then raised the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Olivia,” Alphonsine hissed, and the French accent thickened with fear. “Where are you?”

  “We’re just around the corner from the Block-a-Choc Shoppe. What’s wrong?” Her heart fluttered in her chest. Alphonsine was the bravest of her As. If she was spooked, then something bad had happened.

  Dodger barked on the other end of the line, and the young woman shushed him.

  “Olivia, we hear some noise from the downstairs. It sound as if someone tries to break in here.” Alphonsine’s whisper crackled on the landline.

  Olivia’s legs moved of their own volition. She rushed down the sidewalk, and Alvira hurried behind her, hot on her heels.

  “We’re almost there. Don’t worry. Just stay inside and keep everything locked,” Olivia said, and her voice shook with each impact of her boots on the concrete.

  “Hurry,” Alphonsine whispered. The line went dead.

  Olivia broke into a run and slipped the cell back into her pocket at the same time. Her sensible boots chewed up the sidewalk and carried her around the corner and into the street that held her favorite place in the world: her home.

  “Did she say where the noise, came from?” Alvira asked between breaths, her cheeks ruddy from the exercise.

  “No,” Olivia replied.

  She skidded to a halt in front of the locked front door of her store. The empty street didn’t give up any clues. She looked up, and a set of brown eyes peered down at her. Dodger pressed his nose to
the hall window and barked once.

  “It must be around the back,” Olivia said. She hurried to the entrance of the short alley that separated her store from the one beside it.

  The clouds overhead brought on an early dusk, and a distant rumble broke any lingering sense of comfort that Alphonsine’s alarmed phone call hadn’t driven away.

  Olivia took a single step into the alley, her boot scraped on the dirt, and Alvira clamped her hand down on Olivia’s coat sleeve. “Wait,” she whispered. “What if it’s dangerous? Shouldn’t we call the cops?”

  Olivia squished her phone out of her pocket again. “It might just be a cat or something.” Still, she unlocked her cell and brought up the number for the police station, just in case. She crept down the narrow passage toward the end. Her boots crunched on dirt and grit, but Olivia didn’t stop.

  A rustling noise drew her forward. A bang and then a clatter. What on earth was that? It didn’t sound like a cat.

  Olivia reached the corner. She glanced back at Alvira, who waited out on the sidewalk. She gave her a single thumbs-up, then peered around the edge of the brick wall of her store.

  Henrietta Long stood on top of one of her metal dumpsters, her fingers lodged beneath the window. She grunted and pulled, but the window didn’t budge.

  Olivia’s jaw dropped.

  An hour had passed since she’d seen Henrietta at the Jujube residence, but this was the last place she’d have expected to spot the reporter next. Had Jessica asked Henrietta to break in?

  Suspicion wrapped itself around Olivia’s questions.

  Henrietta heaved and huffed, but the window still didn’t open. The dumpster squealed beneath her weight, and her handbag flapped against her side.

  Olivia snapped her jaw upward. She cleared her throat once, loudly.

  Henrietta froze, mid-tug. Her cheeks flushed bright red. She turned her head in increments until she met Olivia’s gaze.

  “Hi there,” Olivia said and waved.

  Henrietta yelped and toppled backward onto the dumpster. She hit the lid and bounced, then rolled onto the paving below. She thumped to the ground and whined.

  “Next time, you should try knocking. We have a front door,” Olivia said. “And an alarm.”

  Henrietta scrambled to her feet and brushed off her coat. She coughed into her fist. “Olivia, I was just—I was, uh…” Henrietta said.

  “Trying to break into my store,” Olivia replied, coolly. “Care to divulge the reason for that?”

  Dodger barked somewhere overhead.

  “I thought I smelled smoke. Uh, I wanted to put out the fire?” Henrietta’s voice squeaked the question at the end.

  “Are you asking me?”

  “No?”

  “That’s it,” Olivia said. “You’d better start talking, or I’m going to have to call the cops. This is a total invasion of privacy and spectacularly illegal.”

  “I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it, I just—I’m writing up an article, and I needed evidence—ugh, I mean info about—”

  “Evidence?” Olivia’s mind fogged with a haze of anger. How dare this woman overstep her bounds? Olivia raised her cell phone and pressed the green button.

  Henrietta’s eyes went round as dinner plates. “I—you don’t understand.” She jerked forward a step, then back again.

  “Don’t move,” Olivia commanded.

  But Henrietta Long tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind either ear, kicked up her heels and sprinted toward Olivia.

  Olivia hopped out of the way just in time.

  Henrietta dashed past in a reporter-shaped blur and rounded the corner. Alvira’s shriek confirmed her exit into the street.

  “Olivia?” Alvira yelled. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Olivia called back, though she was far from it. She lifted the cell and placed it against her ear.

  “Chester Police Department, how may I help you?” a woman asked on the other end of the line.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Olivia sat in the center of her store and balanced one tired leg on the chair opposite her. A plate of truffles beckoned from the tabletop, along with a steaming hot cup of coffee, but she didn’t touch either.

  “Why was she here?” she muttered.

  Darkness touched the panes of the windows and pressed into the store. The only light came from the counter, glistening on empty trays. She’d kept the light on for her evening snack, as she did some nights when she needed a break from Dodger’s pawing.

  Henrietta Long had tried to invade her shop, or perhaps her home upstairs had been the reporter’s ultimate goal. But why? What on earth had driven the woman to try break into Olivia’s store?

  A knock rattled the glass front door, and Olivia jerked upright. A yelp escaped her lips, but she melded them shut right away.

  Jake Morgan stood in front of the store, his fist raised. He risked a smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Olivia slipped her leg off the chair, then rose from her seat. She resisted the urge to dust off her jeans. They were as clean as they could get after the day’s investigating and the sad memorial for a good woman. Poor Jana. The grief hadn’t hit Olivia yet.

  She stopped in front of the door and narrowed her eyes at Jake. Each time she’d seen him this week, he’d brought a fresh load of trouble. “What do you want, Mr. Morgan?” she asked.

  “To talk to you. To show you something important,” he said and tapped the laptop case he carried in his left hand. “Olivia, I know I’ve been a bit strange with you, but—”

  “What do you want to show me?” She didn’t have time for apologies from this man. He’d chosen his side, and it rested with the law.

  “They’ve taken me off the case. I’m not consulting for the cops anymore,” Jake said.

  Olivia froze and searched his face. “What? Why?”

  “I didn’t do enough, apparently. Keene is getting edgy now that Jana has passed. He wants to catch the killer as fast as possible, and he sees me as a liability rather than an aid,” Jake replied. Guilt tracked across his features. “But I can’t let the case go, Olivia. And I need your help.”

  That was rich. He’d rejected her when she’d asked the same from him.

  “Why should I help you?” Olivia asked. She didn’t move to unlock the door. “Why should I, when you wouldn’t help me?”

  Jake bowed his head. “I behaved terribly, I know, but I thought it was the right thing to do at the time.”

  “Right,” Olivia said and made to turn away.

  “Olivia, please,” he said, and the plea made his voice croak.

  She hesitated and studied his sincere expression through the plate glass. “Fine,” she said, “though I don’t know why I’m giving you a chance.” That wasn’t entirely right.

  She needed more information about the case, and if Jake Morgan would give it to her, she’d give him a chance to explain.

  Olivia unlocked the door, then swung it inward to let him in.

  Jake Morgan bustled out of the cold and gave an exaggerated shiver that shook his shoulders and littered Olivia’s floor with raindrops.

  “It’s raining?” She leaned out of the door and glanced up at the sky. “I thought the storm ended a half hour ago.”

  “It did,” Jake said.

  Where had he been that he’d caught the tail end of the storm? Surely, Jake Morgan hadn’t walked here with a laptop under his arm. Then again, crazier things had happened in Chester. Dumpster-dancing reporters to name one.

  Jake walked to the table she’d been seated at and placed his laptop case on top of it. He brushed off its fabric surface. “I don’t suppose I could have one of these?” He pointed to the chocolates on the plate.

  “They’re sticky cherry truffles,” Olivia replied. “And sure, you can have one. You can have them all. Actually, I’m not in the mood to eat them tonight.”

  Jake didn’t ask twice. He picked up a truffle between his thumb and forefinger, examined it with sat
isfaction, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly. “Oh wow,” he said. “Wow, these are even better than the last kind you made.”

  Olivia colored from the compliment. “Thanks,” she said. “I try. Now, what was it you wanted to show me?”

  “Right,” Jake said, around a mouthful of cherry and chocolate. “Right.” He unzipped his laptop bag. Olivia closed the front door and locked it again. Jake whipped out his laptop and fiddled with it. In no time, he had its screen flipped open, and blue light filled the semi-gloom in the front of Olivia’s store.

  “Come over here and take a look at this,” Jake said and crooked a finger.

  Olivia trooped over to the center table and took a seat beside him. She ignored the flutter of her heart—Jake had made it amply clear he had no interest in her—and focused on the blue background of his laptop.

  “What is it?”

  “This,” Jake said, “is one of the surveillance videos from the Cuddle Clinic. It’s from the evening of Jana’s assault, just after she’d closed up for the night.” Jake opened the video.

  It auto-played, and grainy footage of the back of the Cuddle Clinic sprang into focus. The alley contained no dumpsters, unlike the one behind Olivia’s store, and a single bush grew out of a crack in the paving, waggling in time with the swift breeze that chased down the narrow passage and out the other end.

  “Okay,” Olivia said, “what am I supposed to see here?”

  “Wait for it,” Jake replied. He leaned in, and the blue light caught the side of his face and illuminated the fine growth of stubble on his chin. “There!”

  A figure appeared in the corner of the camera’s range of view.

  Olivia inched forward and narrowed her eyes at the screen. “Who is that?”

  The figure rushed forward and halted in front of the scraggly bush. Olivia gasped. The unmistakable strawberry blond hair cut gave her away, even in the half-light of dusk.

  “Henrietta Long. What is she doing there?” Questions forced themselves into her mind and jostled for attention. “On the night of Jana’s attack?”