A Taste of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Alaine Allister

  Chapter 04

  The banging on Clarissa’s front door nearly made her jump out of her skin.

  “Hang on, I’m coming!” she called, reluctantly stepping away from her computer. She shoved her feet into her slippers and tried unsuccessfully to tame her uncombed hair. Then she shuffled over to the door and found Liana standing there impatiently.

  “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Liana demanded, not bothering to say hello.

  “I didn’t hear it. Why, what’s wrong? It’s the middle of the night, is everything okay?”

  Liana smirked. “It’s not the middle of the night. Look outside, silly. It’s morning! And you’re a mess – you know I’m just telling you because I love you. I hope you haven’t left the house looking like that? You’re never going to find a boyfriend if you go out in pajama pants and with your hair looking like, well, like that.”

  Clarissa rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with finding a boyfriend, not me! But for the record no, I did not leave the house looking like this,” she said, glancing down at the ratty – but very comfy – oversized t-shirt she was wearing.

  Liana had tried to make her throw away that worn out, faded t-shirt countless times back in college, but Clarissa had always rescued it from the trash. Why was it that the ugliest clothes were always the comfiest?

  “Let me guess: you were up all night again.”

  Sheepishly, Clarissa nodded. “I guess I was.”

  “What caught your attention this time?” Liana asked knowingly. Clarissa had a habit of losing track of time when she was particularly engrossed in something. Back when the two had been in college Clarissa had frequently pulled all-nighters!

  “I had a great idea!” Clarissa exclaimed enthusiastically.

  “Okay...do I have to guess or are you going to tell me?”

  “I’m going to start up my own newspaper. I know it sounds crazy but it’s not. These days thanks to technology, all you really need is some paper and a printer. I’m going to hand out newspapers in the town square. The first one will be free and after that I’ll sell subscriptions.”

  Liana looked skeptical. “If it’s that easy, then why did the Gazette go out of business?”

  “Their expenses were too high,” Clarissa explained. “I’m not renting office space or paying employees. It’s just me, working out of my house. So I will have virtually no costs except ink and paper.”

  “I see. That sounds like a massive undertaking,” Liana cautioned.

  “It is. But a little hard work never killed anyone, right? Oh, and best of all: I’m going to sell subscriptions for less than subscriptions to The Green City Chronicle cost,” Clarissa added smugly. “Everybody loves a bargain! So I’ll sell copies and take business away from the jerks that shut down the Gazette.”

  “That’s...that’s actually pretty brilliant!” Liana admitted, looking awed. “How can I help?”

  “You’re a graphic artist,” Clarissa said. “Will you make me a banner – some kind of cool logo?”

  “Consider it done!” Liana grinned. “This is so exciting! Sign me up for a subscription. Actually, sign me up for two – I’ll send the second one to my parents. Oh, I almost forgot, I got you that landscaping job with my neighbor if you still want it.”

  “That’s great,” Clarissa said gratefully. “Maybe I can afford groceries this month after all!”

  “Is it that bad?” Liana asked, wide eyed. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and –”

  “Relax, I was exaggerating,” Clarissa said – though she hadn’t been exaggerating by much. “Besides, I know what your idea of cooking is. You’re the only person I know who managed to ruin a perfectly good peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

  “Hey, that was way back in college! And besides, I was on a health kick at the time. I thought the sandwich would be healthier with protein powder in it,” Liana said defensively. “I was making it fit my macros.”

  “It wasn’t the protein powder that ruined it as much as the kale.”

  “Kale is a superfood,” Liana protested indignantly. Then she added, “You’re no cook yourself. Remember the time you tried to make me a birthday cake and it ended up being like some weird pancake thing that was as hard as a rock?”

  “I’d love to reminisce but I have tons of work to do!” Clarissa announced.

  “Okay, I can take a hint,” Liana said good-naturedly as she headed toward the door.

  Then something across the room caught her eye.

  She stopped dead in her tracks. Her face lit up like a Christmas tree decorated with dynamite.

  “Who is that?!” she squealed, racing across the room.

  Clarissa knew the drill.

  She knew she was powerless to stop it.

  All she could do was watch the horror unfold.

  “Oh my goodness, who are you? Who are you?!” Liana crooned in a baby talky sort of tone. “You’re my new best friend, that’s who you are! Oh yes, yes you are! Yes you are! Oh, you look so soft! Do you like being pet? I want to pet you! I just want to eat you up! Yes I do!”

  The black cat was curled up on Clarissa’s favorite chair, no doubt shedding all over it. It cracked an eye open as Liana charged toward it, but seemed mostly disinterested. It rolled over as she approached, turning its back to her. When she tried to pet it, the cat growled menacingly. Then it proceeded to fall back to sleep.

  The way Liana always fussed over animals – particularly cats – could be downright terrifying. Clarissa had to suppress a smile as her friend turned around, looking dejected. The whole thing really was kind of comical.

  “That’s the first cat I’ve met that doesn’t like me,” she complained in disappointment.

  “If it’s any consolation, it isn’t a normal cat.”

  “When did you get a cat? Since when do you even like cats?” Liana demanded.

  “I don’t like cats. I especially don’t like this cat,” Clarissa tried to explain. “But it’s been hanging around and once I made the mistake of feeding it...well, there was no getting rid of it. It sits at the window meowing and it’s so distracting. It’s just easier to let it in. At least then it shuts up and goes to sleep.”

  “It’s adorable!” Liana said, looking over at it wistfully. “What’s its name?”

  “How should I know?”

  Liana blinked. “You didn’t name the cat?”

  “Of course not,” Clarissa replied as if that was the dumbest question ever.

  “Well then what do you call it?”

  “Cat,” Clarissa said with a shrug.

  “Aww, you did too name your cat! You named it Cat! That’s ridiculous...and also kind of perfect. And you’re letting it sleep on your favorite chair! You do so love it!” Liana teased. “I think you just don’t want to admit that a cat won you over. But it totally did.”

  “It did not!” Clarissa insisted vehemently, appalled by the thought.

  “Did too!” Liana trilled, sticking out her tongue.

  Clarissa scowled. “This visit has been just great but I have tons of work left to do,” she said, shooing her best friend out the door. “Bye, love you!”

  Once Liana was gone Clarissa returned to her computer, eager to get back to work. She had already done a lot of the technical stuff, like formatting a template and figuring out operating costs. Although her budget would be very tight, she was hopeful she could make it work.

  It was an ambitious project that Clarissa was taking on, but doable. Best of all, she finally felt motivated and hopeful about the future. She was a reporter at heart. Writing was what she did best, and she missed delivering the news to the residents of Sugarcomb Lake.

  But there was only so much that could be accomplished from inside the house.

  Being a reporter for a small town newspaper meant getting out and interacting with the community. People wanted to read about local events and juicy interviews. They wanted to see pictures and read editorials. They wanted to feel like they were a pa
rt of whatever was going on around town.

  And of course, right now the big news was Jed Black’s murder.

  On a whim, Clarissa decided to walk over to the cabin where the murder had taken place. She tucked her phone into her pocket, intending to snap a photo or two of the crime scene if the opportunity presented itself. She hoped that wasn’t disrespectful – but she was a reporter and she had a job to do.

  She knew roughly where the mayor’s tiny wood cabin was – it only a short distance from her own place. Of course, even if she hadn’t known where it was, it would have been easy to find. All she had to do was follow the procession of vehicles driving out of town and into the woods.

  In a small place like Sugarcomb Lake, a murder wasn’t an everyday occurrence. It wasn’t even an every-decade occurrence! So when something like that happened, it was big news. It was no real surprise that virtually everyone in town had gone out to see the site of the crime for themselves. Maybe that was tacky, but in Sugarcomb Lake it was simply what was done.

  But as it turned out, there wasn’t much to see.

  The cabin, from the outside, looked as normal as ever.

  The inside was inaccessible, as the door was blocked off by yellow police tape.

  The officers on scene weren’t allowing anyone to get too close. Infuriatingly, they didn’t seem to be too hard at work investigating, either. They seemed more interested in chatting with the local townsfolk, talking and laughing and drinking coffee.

  There were a lot of people there who Clarissa recognized. There were other faces that were familiar but she didn’t know the people personally – she had probably just seen them around town in passing.

  When she saw crotchety old Mrs. Meddler headed straight for her, Clarissa tried to avert her eyes and edge away. But sadly, the old woman had already zeroed in on her. There was no escaping.

  “You’re the reporter!” the old woman announced, pointing a long, bony finger at Clarissa.

  “I uh...not anymore, Mrs. Meddler,” Clarissa corrected her. “The Gazette closed up shop.”

  The old woman ignored her. “I know who killed the mayor!” she declared loudly.

  Several people nearby looked over. Some were grinning. Others looked uncomfortable. Everyone around town knew that Mrs. Meddler was a grumpy old lady with nothing better to do than peer out her living room window and jump to ridiculous conclusions about anyone and everyone who was unfortunate enough to catch her attention.

  “Let me guess,” a young man standing nearby said. “It was the pizza delivery man!”

  Everyone snickered – until Mrs. Meddler thwacked him in the shin with her cane. Then they all continued to snicker (except for the guy who was rubbing his shin) but they all did it much more discreetly. No one else wanted a beat-down from awful old Mrs. Meddler.

  Clarissa knew better than to argue with the gossipy old know-it-all. It was easier to simply humor her, thank her for her time and hope she would go away. So, mustering up every shred of patience she had, Clarissa forced herself to smile.

  “Why don’t we step over here and talk?” she suggested brightly, ushering Mrs. Meddler away from the crowd. She knew it was going to take some award-winning acting on her part to pretend to be taking the old woman seriously.

  Mrs. Meddler seemed to think soap operas were too tame so instead of watching them, she made up her own ludicrous stories about the locals. It would be kind of humorous if her tall tales didn’t frequently cause inconvenience and embarrassment to those involved.

  “Jed Black was a terrible mayor!” Mrs. Meddler declared impassionedly. “Have you seen the state of our streets? The potholes are like craters! Last month I drove my car right into one and got a flat tire. Do you think the city would pay to fix it? No!”

  “That’s...unfortunate,” Clarissa said, biting the insides of her cheeks to try to keep from grinning. Everyone in town knew Mrs. Meddler had no business driving, yet she still continued to drive. Apparently even the cops were scared of her!

  Clarissa had witnessed Mrs. Meddler’s driving firsthand. The general consensus was that when Mrs. Meddler was behind the wheel, pedestrians were safer on the street than on the sidewalk. If she had gotten a flat tire, Clarissa had no doubt it was nobody’s fault but Mrs. Meddler’s.

  “Jed Black was a terrible mayor, but you know what?”

  “What, Mrs. Meddler?”

  “He would have been an excellent mayor!” Mrs. Meddler said, pointing to a baby-faced young man wearing a suit and tie. He was clearly the best-dressed person in sight, but did that alone qualify him to be Sugarcomb Lake’s next mayor? Was he even old enough to vote?

  “Um, I’m sorry but who is he?” Clarissa asked.

  Mrs. Meddler pursed her lips. “I thought you were a reporter,” she chastised, as cranky as ever. “You’re supposed to know these things! He’s the Preston boy. Chad? Charles? Oh drat, I forget. But he’s a dear. He grew up three doors down. His mother used to send him over to shovel my front walk every winter. He’s a nice boy.”

  “So he shoveled your snow and therefore...he should be the next town mayor?”

  “Don’t you know anything?! He’s a good boy. He studied hard and went to a good college. Jed Black mentored him,” Mrs. Meddler told Clarissa impatiently. “It’s no wonder you aren’t a reporter anymore.”

  Biting her tongue, Clarissa resisted the urge to say something snarky in response. “So he’s the intern who took over for the dummy whose social media account landed him in hot water, huh?” she said instead.

  Mrs. Meddler pursed her thin lips and looked Clarissa up and down. “Your shoes are covered in mud,” she observed disdainfully. “It looks terrible. You should clean them,” she scoffed. True to character, the awful old woman never passed up on an opportunity to criticize!

  Though Clarissa was really tempted to defend herself, she decided it was wiser to stay on Mrs. Meddler’s good side…assuming the old woman had a good side.

  “So uh, you said you know who killed Jed Black?” she reminded the exasperating old woman, desperate to get the conversation back on track – and over with.

  “I was getting to that!” Mrs. Meddler snapped. “You young people these days are all in such a rush. It’s disgusting. Anyway, isn’t it obvious? Jed Black’s political rival must have killed him, because he was mentoring a boy who would have been an excellent mayor!”

  Clarissa raised an eyebrow. “You do realize the only person who ran against Jed Black in the last election was Elwood Primrose, right? And since then, he’s had a stroke. He’s got to be at least eighty years old and he lives in a retirement home. He has no intention of ever running for mayor again.”

  “That’s a likely story!” Mrs. Meddler scoffed in utter contempt. “I went to school with Elwood Primrose! He was a liar then and he’s a liar now! Why, back when we were teenagers he said he’d take me out for a milkshake – but then he invited Jocelyn Higgins out instead. She’s a hussy and he’s a two-timing –”

  “Yes, Mrs. Meddler,” Clarissa sighed, her patience wearing thin.

  She slowly edged away as the old woman continued to rant and rave to anyone who would listen.

  Thankfully the crowd had grown to such a size that it kind of just swallowed her up. When there was a safe distance between her and Mrs. Meddler, Clarissa couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Now that the old woman was no longer breathing down her neck, she finally had a chance to look around.

  Clarissa scanned the faces, taking mental notes about how people were acting.

  One woman looked particularly shaken. She was standing with a stoic-looking man. She was sniffling, while he was blankly staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched. He was probably one of those guys who got super uncomfortable around displays of emotion. Talk about a walking stereotype!

  The woman’s reaction, however, was curious.

  Clarissa caught the attention of the older man who standing next to her, simply taking the scene in. She gestured toward the crying woman
as discreetly as she could. “Excuse me – do you know who that is?” she asked quietly.

  It was a well known fact that in Sugarcomb Lake, most men of a certain age met for coffee on a regular basis. Well, they called it going for coffee. What they were actually doing was sitting there at the coffee shop for hours shamelessly gossiping. But unlike Mrs. Meddler’s wild stories and crazy conspiracy theories, the coffee shop men tended to know what they were talking about.

  Clarissa’s father actually used to be one of those men, back before her parents had relocated to a warmer climate. He still loved to go down to the coffee shop to catch up whenever he was back in town for a visit. Clarissa’s mother would always just shake her head in disbelief and say that the men were even worse gossips than most women.

  That was what Clarissa was counting on.

  “That’s the mayor’s secretary,” the grey-haired man replied knowledgeably. He looked pleased to be able to help and continued to offer information without being asked. “She works at his investment firm in Green City. I think her name is Liz.”

  “Oh. She looks so sad. Poor thing – they must have been close. Is that her husband with her?”

  “No, that’s Adam Burke. He’s Jed Black’s business partner. I dealt with him once or twice years ago when I needed to do some retirement planning,” the man confided. “He’s a nice guy, and knows a thing or two about money. If you ever need investment advice, he’s your man! Tell him I sent you!” he added, without actually introducing himself.

  “I’ll remember that,” Clarissa said politely. If only she had money to invest!

  The man and Clarissa made idle small talk for a few minutes before she snapped a few quick photos and decided to leave. The conversation she had overheard in the street was still eating away at her. She decided if she was going to be a reporter again, then she would have to be fearless and perhaps even a little pushy.

  But she wanted to do so in as nice a way as possible, so she stopped by the local bakery first. Showing up unannounced at a grieving widow’s house seemed less despicable when freshly baked apple pie was involved, didn’t it?