I’m hoping that when I give you all the letters I’ve written to you, you’ll see how much you mean to me and you’ll accept my love.
OK, so clearly Phillip had been more than a little invested in Madeline. I straightened the page and continued reading.
When you told me that you were afraid of what Francescan might do to you, it made me sweaty all over. I want to protect you from all the big bad things in the world. She’s one of those. So I’ll do what I can to make sure you stay safe.
And when the time is right… you will be mine.
Love you always and forever no matter what.
Phillip.
“Overly attached,” I said.
“And not a great writer,” Bee added. “Big bad things in the world? Really?”
I reread the paragraph about Francescan. “It looks like there was something going on between Francescan and Madeline that we don’t know about.”
“That would explain her overreaction about me picking the trunk of her car.”
“To be fair, Bee, that wasn’t an overreaction. We were trying to break into her property.”
“Eh.” Bee flapped a hand. “People need to learn to lighten up.”
I folded the letter and handed it back to her. “So, what do we know so far?”
“There’s a lot to process,” Bee said.
“Time to write it all down!” This was my favorite part of the investigation. “We can use Francescan’s descriptions of all the major bachelors and bachelorettes at the Valentine’s Day event and add our clues on the end.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
So I set to work, copying and pasting the information over from the email Petey had sent us, then typing out our extra clues and evidence about each of the main players.
Francescan Taupin—The hostess of the Valentine’s Day Ball taking place at the Green Mountain Resort. Glamorous and the most popular person in Prattlebark Village (soon to be the most popular person in Vermont) you may identify her by her penchant for wearing pink, designer clothes, and her luxurious pink hair.
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Francescan and Madeline had been fighting according to Phillip’s letter. Francescan was also jealous of Madeline—she didn’t want to be second-best to her. Could she have murdered Madeline out of envy? A crime of passion? Could Madeline have been the one who initially attacked Francescan and then Francescan retaliated? The shoe that Madeline had been clutching was in Francescan’s car.
Katrina Sweete—Madeline Sweete’s redheaded sister, she is tagging along to the ball in the hopes of finding a man who will accept her.
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Despised the attention her prettier and more fashionable sister got from everyone in Prattlebark Village and at the event. Wanted people to pay more attention to her! Threw a tantrum on the phone to her father and was laughing and smiling the day after the murder. Also used to get rides with Petey in Francescan’s Chevrolet. She had access to the vehicle and might’ve been able to change her shoes after the murder?
Charles ‘Stony’ Williams—Tall, dark, and handsome, Stony is an eligible bachelor attending the ball in search of a young woman to make his wife. (Or so the rumors say). A notorious flirt who sets hearts aflutter.
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Came back to Prattlebark Village much earlier than the others. Could there be a reason for that? Was seen staring at Madeline on the night of the murder but had apparently turned her down because he didn’t want to be ‘played’ by her. Doesn’t seem to have motive for the murder, though.
Phillip Rorke—With fiery red hair, muscles and a lot of height, Phillip Rorke is another eligible young man attending the ball. It’s rumored that he’s seeking a woman to take home to his parents…
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Had an entire shrine to Madeline and seemed obsessed with her. He spoke about protecting her, but it’s common knowledge that Phillip was rejected by Madeline, according to both Francescan and Stony. Could he have grown irate after her rejection? Maybe killed her? He clearly didn’t give her the letters as he had intended. And he was staring at her on the night of the murder and saw her kiss Frank Porter.
Frank Porter—Shorter than the other bachelor, but no less handsome, Frank works as a carpenter’s apprentice and is due to take over his father’s business in Prattlebark Village. Available to all interested female parties as Francescan does not want to date him.
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Madeline’s flame. Might be an idea to track him down and speak to him. But not sure what his motive would be. They had only just started dating, clearly liked each other, and it wasn’t like he stood to gain from her death financially.
Peter Bierman—The assistant and driver to Francescan Taupin, the most popular and sought after woman in Prattlebark Village. Dark hair and strikingly good looking.
Ruby and Bee’s notes: Also had access to Francescan’s car, but that doesn’t seem relevant as he wouldn’t have been the one wearing heels. Protective of Francescan but fed up with her and wanted to quit? Might have attacked her out of anger? But what motivation would there be for harming Madeline?
“Are we sure the killer is a woman?” Bee asked, peering over my shoulder at the laptop screen.
“Madeline was clutching a glittery shoe when she died.”
“Hmm. Yeah, but what if that was just a coincidence?”
“Maybe, but it’s the only solid lead we have, other than this Francescan thing that Phillip mentioned.”
Bee fell silent, tapping her chin.
I sipped my hot chocolate, waiting for inspiration. But there was nothing. We didn’t have as much as I would’ve liked, and to make matters worse, there was a lazy detective working the case. Contacting him would be fruitless.
“Why don’t we follow Francescan?” Bee asked. “She’s back in town. We know where she stays. We might be able to overhear something incriminating or find something that will help us either eliminate her from the case or implicate her. It’s a longshot, but it’s all we’ve got.”
14
Francescan lived in her father’s three-story house on Pine Needle Way. Unlike Phillip’s house, there were fantastic silver gates blocking the house from the street, so it wasn’t like we could sneak up and listen in on her conversations.
Bee and I parked down the road in our super-conspicuous food truck, hoping that no one would try knocking on the side shutter for service. It was after dark and outside of our normal operating hours, but stranger things had happened in Prattlebark Village.
“There’s not much going on,” Bee said, lifting a pair of binoculars and staring at the mansion from afar. “The lights are on downstairs but not upstairs. I think there’s a TV on in there, but other than that…”
What a pity. We’d hoped to find out something. Anything. But we were out of ideas, and it wasn’t like we could go back up to the resort and snoop around at the crime scene. The place had been cleaned from top to bottom by now.
“What a waste of time,” Bee said, dropping her binoculars into her lap. “I feel like we’re so close but we’re missing something. A vital fact or clue.”
I nodded, squinting up at the house. The front door opened, and I tapped Bee on the arm. The binoculars came up again.
“Ooh! Something’s happening. OK. OK. Someone’s coming out. Is it Francescan? Is it—? No. It’s Petey. It’s her assistant.”
“That doesn’t seem out of the ordinary. He’s probably just running errands.”
Sure enough, the Chevrolet parked in Francescan’s driveway started, and Petey drove out of the gates and down the road in the opposite direction to our truck. The gates closed again, quickly, leaving us no time to sneak past them and into the grounds.
Not that I wanted to do that or anything.
Who are you kidding? You want to sneak around in there and find out what Francescan’s up to.
“Well, that doesn’t—wait a minute. Wait one hot, jelly-filled minute.”
“What is it, Bee?”
“There’s someone par
ked over there. They’re sitting in their car.”
Bee was right. A black SUV was parked across from the mansion, the tinted windows rolled up. The rear window was clear, and the figure of the person behind the driver’s seat kept moving, their head turning to stare up at Francescan’s house.
“Looks like we’re not the only ones interested in Miss Taupin,” Bee said, mimicking Petey’s haughty tone of voice when he spoke to his employer.
Bee opened her door.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m going to find out who’s keeping tabs on our mark. Care to join me?” She placed the binoculars in the glovebox then hurried off without waiting for me.
I sucked in a breath, trying to slow my pulse a little. Bee was all action, and I was the opposite of that most days.
“Get it together!” I hissed at myself, then jumped out of the truck and jogged after Bee.
She’d already reached the driver’s side of the SUV. She rapped her knuckles on the window, imperiously. “Hello in there. Could you help us? We need directions.”
The window zoomed down, and none other than Katrina Sweete, the evil stepsister, met Bee’s gaze. “Huh?”
“Katrina,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
She blinked. “Uh. I was just, uh, I was just…”
“Spying on Francescan,” Bee put in.
Katrina stiffened. “Uh, no? I was just, uh…”
“I’d love to wait for you to come up with an excuse for your behavior, but I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon. Let’s cut to the chase. You’re spying on Francescan, and we want to know why. You can either tell us, or we can go to the local police and report you.”
Boy, Bee didn’t mess around. I drew my shoulders back. “After all,” I added in. “You were sharing Francescan’s car with her, and the murderer’s shoes were found in the back of it.”
Bee rewarded me with a gap-toothed smile. She liked putting pressure on the suspect.
“I—uh—I—uh—” Katrina swallowed. “Look, it’s not what you think. I’m not trying to hurt her or whatever. I just—she’s the one who tried to murder Madeline.”
Tried to murder? Madeline is dead. There was no ‘try’ about it.
“How do you figure that?” Bee asked, cocking her head to the side.
“She fought with Madeline just before it happened. They had a disagreement because all the guys were interested in Madeline and didn’t want anything to do with Francescan. I overheard them fighting when Francescan came to visit Madeline in our bungalow,” Katrina replied.
It was interesting information, but it didn’t allay my suspicions regarding the stepsister herself. She had hated Madeline as much as Francescan had. She’d thrown a tantrum after Madeline’s death, for Pete’s sake.
“And those weren’t my shoes in the car,” she said. “I haven’t used Francescan’s car in weeks. The last time Petey gave me a ride was in January, just after New Year’s.”
I narrowed an eye at her. “And if we asked Petey about that, he’d confirm that you’re telling the truth?”
“Sure. Sure he would,” Katrina said. “I don’t even know what the shoes looked like or anything.”
“They were glittery silver.”
Katrina paled.
“What is it?” Bee asked. “What’s wrong?”
“G-g-glittery silver? With a long heel?”
“I think so, yes,” I replied.
Katrina wet her lips. “Well, the day that Francescan came to talk to Madeline, she asked to borrow a pair of her shoes. When Madeline gave her the glittery silver ones, they had the argument and Madeline stormed out.”
“Wait, so they were Madeline’s shoes?” I asked. “But she wasn’t wearing them that night.”
“No, because Francescan sent Petey to collect them for her later on,” Katrina said. “They had this type of, like, love-hate relationship. Madeline and Francescan did. Look, that’s all I know. I wanted to make sure that Francescan wasn’t doing anything… bad. That’s all. Please don’t report me to the police.”
Bee pursed her lips. “You’re fine. This time.”
Katrina affected a relieved sigh then started the engine of her car. “Look, I’m just going to go home. OK? I—just don’t call the cops!” She took off down the road, tires squealing and disappeared around the far corner.
“What do you make of it?” I asked.
“That we’ve got new information linking Francescan to the crime scene,” Bee said, glancing up at the mansion. “And that it’s time we take our investigation to the next level. We need to get in there and find out more.”
My stomach turned with a mix of excitement and fear. Were we really going to do this?
Oh you bet your last s’more pot you’re going to.
15
Bee and I grabbed coffee and parked the truck around the block from Francescan’s house. We sat inside, nervously fueling ourselves with caffeine and checking our watches every five minutes until it was late enough that activity in the street had ceased.
At 3am, we exited the food truck, jittery from the coffee and determined to find the information we needed.
The mansion’s walls were made of rough stone, a few gaps in the bricks providing foot and handholds for climbing.
“The lights are still on downstairs,” Bee whispered, frowning. “She must be awake.”
“Let me boost you up,” I replied, bending, and making a cradle with my foot.
This was the riskiest thing we’d ever done. Growing panic threatened at the base of my throat, but I kept it at bay with deep breaths. This would be fine. If we got caught… we wouldn’t be fine. We’d be in deep trouble because Francescan hated us.
Bee stepped into my hands, and I boosted her up the wall. She scrabbled over the top, and I followed, scaling the wall, and hurting my fingertips. I heaved myself over and landed in a bush.
“Ouch,” I murmured.
“Let’s check for open windows,” Bee whispered.
We progressed across the lawn, checked the front windows first—they were closed—then moved around the house clockwise. A window in the only lit room in the whole house, was open an inch.
Bee and I stopped outside it, sharing a nervous glance.
My bestie peeked through the gap, shifting the curtains aside, gently.
Oh my heavens!
Francescan was in there, all right, but she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Her phone was on the coffee table. I nudged Bee and pointed at it.
Bee nodded.
This was it. If we could get our hands on Francescan’s phone, we’d have inside information. The social media star was always attached to the phone.
“One of us goes in and get is,” Bee whispered. “Brings it back. We check it out. Take screenshots and send them to your phone.”
But who would go in?
“I’ll do it,” I breathed.
Had I lost it? The last thing I wanted to do was sneak into Francescan’s house and steal her phone. Sure, we’d put it back afterward, but what if she woke up? After Bee’s show of strength earlier confronting Katrina, I needed to pull my weight.
“You sure?” Bee whispered back. “I can go.”
“I’ve got this.”
Bee patted me on the back, and I crept into the dried-up flowerbed. I sneaked my fingertips underneath the window’s edge then shifted it up, slowly. It slid, noiselessly, into place.
My heart pounded wildly in my chest.
You can do this.
Nope. Nope. Nope. You can’t do this.
I ignored my inner monologue and lifted myself onto the ledge. Carefully, I placed one leg in the room, then the other. And just like that, I was inside. Officially breaking the law.
Again.
Bee gave me a thumbs up and a confident smile from outside.
I crept toward the coffee table. One foot in front of the other.
Quietly. Quietly.
Francescan let out a terrific snor
t and slapped her nose, scratching in her sleep.
I jolted and held back a squeak of fear.
But Francescan didn’t wake—her breathing eased into the slow rhythm of sleep again, the TV on the wall muted but flashing images from a reality show. I reached the coffee table, lifted the phone off it, goodness but it was heavy, then crept back to the window.
I handed the phone through and climbed out, dropping down.
Bee and I retreated, crouching behind a tree in the yard.
“Well done, Ruby!” Bee whispered. “You were great.”
“I nearly had a heart attack when she snored.”
“Me too. All right. Let’s see what we have here.” Bee tapped the button on the side of the phone and the screen lit up.
An image of Francescan was her phone wallpaper. Well, that was in keeping with her.
“Emails first,” Bee said, and opened the inbox. We scrolled through them quickly, but there wasn’t much of interest. Just a few from Petey confirming the booking at the Green Mountain Resort. No contact from the police or even from friends. But, of course, she used this phone for social media, not for emailing people.
“Can I try?” I asked.
Bee handed me the phone, and I opened one of Francescan’s social media apps, then tapped on the little inbox icon.
“What’s this?” Bee asked.
“These are her direct messages on the app. Basically she can have chats with anyone who she follows and who follows her back. So probably her friends and—oh! Look, there’s a message from Phillip Rorke.” I opened the string.
Thought you’d like this, gorgeous.
The message had been sent the day after Madeline’s murder. And an image was attached.
An image of Phillip kissing Francescan’s cheek while she took a photo of them in the back seat of her Chevrolet.
“So, Francescan lied about not wanting to be with Phillip,” Bee whispered. “They were together! But Phillip was still obsessed with Madeline.”
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