S'more Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  Bee sucked in a breath. “You’re onto something. Keep going.”

  “So, if the person who attacked Francescan was the same one who attacked Madeline. That person is the murderer. Right?”

  “It follows, yeah. But who? Phillip?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t think so. Because Phillip was writing Madeline those letters talking about protecting her. Not hurting her. He may have been obsessed, but it seemed he was in grieving.”

  “But we’re back to square one, then,” Bee said. “If it was a man who did it, setting aside the whole glittery shoe saga, then—”

  A shout sounded outside, and Bee and I frowned at each other.

  “—leave my property.” That was Frank’s voice, raised and almost panicked.

  I shifted the curtains aside and caught sight of a pink Chevrolet parked outside. Was Francescan here?

  The rumbling of a second male voice came from the porch, which was just out of sight from my perspective.

  Puzzle pieces clicked together in my mind, and my eyes widened.

  “What? Good heavens, Ruby, what’s going on out there?”

  “I know who it is,” I whispered. “I know who it is.”

  “Tell me!”

  “There’s a pink Chevrolet parked outside,” I whispered.

  “Francescan?”

  “No. Petey. The assistant. It’s him,” I said, trying not to let my shock override my urge to get the facts out and fast. If I was right, we needed to call the cops before Frank got hurt. “Petey was the one who shot Madeline. He was closest to the bar and had access to all the staff areas—he could easily have tripped the lights. When he walked me back to the truck, the day after Francescan was attacked, we ran into Madeline and Frank together, kissing, and he stormed off. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

  “He also encouraged Francescan to fire us after he found us fiddling with the car!” Bee hissed.

  “Yes. Yes, he did.” I gasped. “And remember that message from Francescan to Petey? She had asked Petey to pick up Madeline and Frank and give them a ride to get fittings for clothes for the event. Petey would’ve been enraged to see them back together. He liked her. He was obsessed with her. It’s got to be him.”

  A thump sounded from the porch, and Bee and I lurched toward the hallway. We sprinted down it and burst onto the porch.

  Petey and Frank were on ground near the car, rolling around, punching, and hollering.

  “You hold still while I kill you!” Petey yelled.

  He wanted Frank dead too. It all made sense.

  Now isn’t the time, Ruby.

  “He’s got a gun.” Bee pointed to the black slab of metal sticking out of the back of Petey’s jeans. “Ruby…”

  “Call the cops, Bee! Call Snodgrass!” I darted down the steps, unthinkingly.

  Petey reached back, grappling with his shirt to get to the gun. I scooped it out of the back of his pants before he could, clicked off the safety and aimed it at him. “Not so fast,” I said, through gritted teeth. “One move, and I’ll do it. I swear.” My stomach revolted at the thought of squeezing the trigger.

  Petey froze, lifting his hands.

  Frank, who’d been half strangled by the fight, choked on the influx of air. He pushed Petey off him and scrambled away, got up and ran to join Bee on the porch.

  “Turn around slowly,” I said. “Hands in the air.”

  Petey got up and did as he was told, licking his upper lip, eyes darting this way and that, seeking an escape, his face covered in sweat.

  “Don’t do anything stupid.” I held the gun steady aimed at his chest. If I had to, I’d shoot him in the arm to stop him. Murderer or not, I wasn’t about to get blood on my hands.

  “You think you’re so smart,” he hissed. “How do you know I don’t have another weapon.”

  “That’s a good point,” I replied. “Say Frank? Would you come over here and pat this man down?”

  Frank gulped but did as I asked, tapping Petey’s legs apart and feeling him for another weapon. “No, he’s got nothing.”

  “Good. Thank you.” I stared at Petey, my focus consumed by his beady brown-eyed stare. He had gone pale. He knew he was caught. “Did you pay off the detective?” I asked.

  It was the only missing piece of the puzzle I didn’t have.

  “Huh?”

  “Did you pay off Detective Spasinski not to investigate the case? Or to leave your name off the suspects list or something like that?”

  “No,” he said.

  So, Spasinski was the true one in a million lazy detective. Even Snodgrass, who was mean and hyper-focused on us, did her job well.

  “I called them,” Bee said. “911 and Snodgrass afterward. They’re coming.”

  I didn’t relax. I wouldn’t until the gun was out of my hands and Petey was in handcuffs. Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long for that. The police arrived, and Petey was taken away, spitting out foul language and glaring hatred at me, Bee, and Frank.

  Another case solved. Another murderer who’d spend their life behind bars for the trouble they’d caused.

  And we were safe. At least until the next case cropped up. I was starting to believe that they were an inevitability. Something that God or fate had intended for my life.

  I could deal with that.

  19

  After a frenetic week, a relaxed day on the food truck serving our favorite customers in Prattlebark Village had been what we needed. Now, the sun set on the long day of baking, smiling, and chatting. Shoot, even Sara, the local councilwoman, had come by to check on us and make sure we were OK.

  The only one who hadn’t been in evidence was Francescan.

  And that didn’t bother me one bit. I wasn’t under any illusions about the type of person she was or had become. She hadn’t apologized, and I doubted that I’d be asking her for help in future. What was the point when it only led to disagreements and unhappiness?

  “Donut?” Bee asked. “We’ve got extra.”

  “What about some of the s’more pots?” I asked, gesturing to the last of our warm tray of melted chocolate and marshmallows.

  “I’ll have a donut, you have the s’more pot,” Bee said.

  We always rewarded ourselves after a long day on the truck with a treat.

  I dished up a s’more pot for myself and tucked in, using graham crackers to spoon the delicious mix into my mouth. I chewed, squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled.

  Everything was perfect today. Jamie would soon arrive for our belated Valentine’s Day celebration—we’d go to dinner. Hopefully, this one wouldn’t involve murder.

  “Excuse me.” A soft-spoken voice sounded from the truck’s window. We left it open at the end of the day while we cleaned so we could watch the sunset. Unless it was too cold to bear and our heater couldn’t manage.

  “Hello,” Bee said. “Sorry, but we’re closed for the evening.”

  The woman was short and middle-aged, with a heart-shaped face. A taller man with salt and pepper hair stood next to her, wearing a suit.

  “Oh, that’s fine,” the woman said. “I’m not here for food. We just wanted to thank you.”

  “Thank us?” I frowned. “What for?”

  The man cleared his throat. “My name is Ralph Sweete. This is my wife, Miriam.”

  “Oh. Oh my.”

  “Yes. I’m Madeline’s father, and this is her step-mother,” Mr. Sweete continued. “We’ve spoken to the local police, and, according to them, we have you to thank for helping bring our daughter’s murderer to justice.” He sniffed, removing a handkerchief from his pocket, and dabbing it under his eyes. “So, thank you. We can’t tell you how much we appreciate this.”

  “We couldn’t stand… not knowing why it had happened,” Miriam whispered. “You know, it’s such a senseless act. She was a lovely person. Beautiful and kind.”

  “There’s no need to thank us,” I said, quietly.

  “Oh, but we are grateful,” Miriam s
aid. “We wanted to give you something for your trouble, but we weren’t sure what was appropriate.”

  Mr. Sweete removed his check book from his pocket. “Tell me a number and I’ll give it to you. Anything to thank you for what you’ve done. You deserve it.”

  “We can’t take your money,” Bee said. “It wouldn’t be right. This was something we did because it was the right thing to do.”

  “Please,” Mr. Sweete said. “Please. I need to thank you.”

  It seemed that it was more important to Mr. Sweete to give us something than it was to us. He needed it from a cathartic point of view. “OK. You pick the amount,” I said.

  “Ruby.”

  “No, Bee, it’s OK. You pick the amount, Mr. Sweete. Whatever you feel is right.” We would simply fail to cash in the check. We’d keep it as a memory of how important people were. How important every life was.

  The murder cases we’d investigated, whether we’d stumbled through them or gone with purpose, weren’t just mysteries to be solved. Truths to be uncovered.

  These were real people with families, homes, lives, goals, and dreams. All of which had been snatched away from them too soon.

  Maybe we should start doing this in a more professional capacity? I dismissed the thought. How silly. We couldn’t do that, could we? We were bakers. Well, at least Bee was the baker. I was just a driver. A defunct investigative journalist.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Sweete repeated, while he scribbled across the check. “Thank you.”

  Miriam echoed his words.

  Bee boxed up several donuts and cupcakes and handed them over. “Take this,” she said. “Please. This must be a difficult time for you. Anyway we can help…”

  “You’ve done so much already,” Miriam replied, but accepted the box, graciously.

  “Thank you.” Mr. Sweete tore off the check and handed it over. “Keep safe.” They walked off together, hands linked.

  “Poor people,” I whispered. “I can’t imagine what that must be like.”

  “Me neither,” Bee replied.

  I glanced down at the check, and my eyes widened. “Goodness. He tried to give us twenty thousand dollars.”

  “What? That’s crazy!”

  “I know,” I said, folding it up and tucking it into my pocket. “You agree with me about not using it, though, right?”

  “I do,” Bee replied. “It wouldn’t feel right, taking money from someone who just lost so much.”

  A car horn honked nearby, and a Porsche pulled into the town square. Jamie leaped from inside, bearing a bouquet of bright red roses and a vast smile.

  “Ruby!” He jogged over, looking as handsome as ever, his cheeks kissed pink by the chilly air.

  I darted down the side steps and hugged him while Bee laughed in the background. Jamie swept me up in his arms and turned me in a circle. He planted a kiss on my cheek.

  “Looking beautiful as ever,” he said, once we’d parted. He handed me the bouquet, and I accepted, nearly as red as the roses were. “Hey, Bee!”

  “Good to see you again, Jamie.”

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “For what?”

  Jamie tucked a few strands of hair behind my ear. “For your surprise.”

  Butterflies erupted in my belly. “I think so. I hope so. What is it?”

  “We’re going on a vacation,” he said. “All three of us. A getaway to Grapefield, New York! What do you say? Do you want to go on a road trip with me?” I’d never seen Jamie this excited. He bounced on the balls of his feet.

  “What do you think, Bee?” I asked my bestie, already clued into what she wanted to do by the shimmer in her sharp, hazel eyes.

  “I say it’s time we leave this town in our sugary dust,” she replied.

  Jamie whooped with joy, Bee laughed, and I hugged my boyfriend. So, Valentine’s Day hadn’t exactly gone to plan. At least the week would end well. With my best friend, the food truck, and a handsome ex-detective at my side, what could possibly go wrong?

  “Grapefield, here we come,” I said, squeezing Jamie in my excitement.

  Ruby and Bee’s adventures continue in the fifteenth installment of the Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery series, Marshmallows and Murder, coming February 2021!

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