“Is that what she said?” William’s tone was ice.
“Pretty much verbatim,” Bee put in.
“Evil little witch.” The words came out hard, yet quiet. “She’s nothing but a witch, that woman. She never wanted Honey and me to get married. She was always jealous of us. The day we got engaged and Honey posted a snap of our engagement ring online, Jessie had nothing nice to say about it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, she told Honey that I wasn’t good enough for her. But Honey saw right through that. Truth is, Jessie’s just jealous of us and always has been. She hates the fact that she married a man who’s poor.”
I didn’t have words. It spoke to their characters that it mattered so much to them how wealthy their spouses were.
“Jessie and Honey were always competitive. And Honey always won. Ever since I met her, they were at each other’s throats, and I told the police as much, too. If anyone killed Honey, it was her.” William set down his coffee to stop from spilling any more. “Jessie kept telling Honey what to do. She tried to give her legal advice, for Pete’s sake, and all because she couldn’t stand the fact that Honey was finally happy and doing better than her.”
“Well,” Bee said, “that’s just terrible.”
“Terrible,” I echoed.
William sat back. “Anyway,” he said. “I can’t wait to be out of here. I thought coming back to my hometown would be refreshing and happy. I guess I was wrong. It’s time for me to leave.”
“We hope you feel better.” I got up. “I know that probably won’t be possible for a while.”
“I’ll be happy when that Jessie gets what’s coming to her,” William replied.
We let ourselves out of his room and walked down the hall in silence. The urgency to solve the case had peaked. Had Jessie done it? Had Richard? Clearly, William hadn’t. And there was still that wedding planner, Gina.
“What now?” I asked.
But Bee only shook her head.
20
The Corner Café was located directly across from the town hall in a brick building that claimed it was as old as the town itself. The pictures on the walls showed the first dirt road through the center of town, along with horse-drawn carriages and folks in old-timey clothes.
The atmosphere hummed with gossip and activity, and that was exactly the reason we’d come calling. If anyone would have seen something, it would be the people in this street. And servers were always eagle-eyed, looking out for new customers or for a chance to take a quick break from the grind of waiting tables all day.
Besides, this café smelled great, and we did need a break from walking, thinking, and deducing.
We took a table right in front of the window, and I turned my gaze to the town hall. Its grand, dark doors were closed. Any evidence that a crime had been committed there was gone now—no police lines or cars or onlookers.
“Good afternoon! My name is Leon, and I’ll be your server today.” A teenager bobbed up and down next to the table, smiling. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A coffee for me,” I said.
“Pumpkin-spice latte, please.”
Leon rushed off to put in the order.
“Here’s how I see it,” I said, once Leon had disappeared, leaning in so my words reached Bee’s ears alone. “We’ve got three main suspects left. Jessie, Richard, and Gina. They all had reasons to get rid of her, though I think Richard’s is probably the strongest with the whole ‘will’ thing.”
“True.”
“Our problem is, we need to narrow down exactly who was at the crime scene on the day it happened. If they weren’t here then they couldn’t have done it.”
Bee nodded. “The back door to that kitchen was rusted shut. None of the windows were broken. I have the pictures, and I’m positive there was no other way in.”
“One entrance. The killer had to have used it.” It was horrifying to think that the murderer might’ve passed us in the street after the deed. Or just missed us even. What if we’d walked in on them in the act? I grew faint at the thought.
Leon returned with our drinks, setting them down shakily. “Can I get you something to nibble on?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’d like a slice of pie. Lemon meringue.”
“Same for me. Say, Leon.” Bee put her hand on his arm. “I wonder if you could tell us more about what happened at the town hall.”
“The t-town hall?” he asked, tucking his pen and pad away. “You mean, the murder?” The last part came out as a whisper.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’m concerned,” Bee said. “We’re only here visiting, but it’s scary to think that there might be a killer on the loose. Did you see who did it?”
“Oh no, no.” Leon shook his head vehemently. “I didn’t see anything like that. I mean, I didn’t see anyone who looked like a killer. But I did notice there was kind of, like, a lot of activity over there. At the hall.”
“Yeah? What kind of activity?”
“Oh, just people coming in and out.” Leon turned to go, obviously done with the creepy conversation.
“What kind of people?” Bee asked.
He half-turned back, flinching under her intense gaze. “I don’t know. People. Like a guy. I saw a guy go in there.”
My heart pitter-pattered. “What did he look like?” I asked.
Leon shifted his weight from his right foot to his left. “He was tall. Dark hair.”
“Did he have a mole?” Bee hissed.
“I don’t know. I’ll be right back with your food.” Apparently, the question was just too much for Leon. He practically sprinted back toward the front counter. It would have been amusing if I could think of anything other than what he’d told us.
Richard had definitely been there. Richard or William. But William had an alibi.
“Now, that is interesting,” Bee said.
“You mean the fact that you scared that poor server out of his mind?”
“That too. But mostly that Richard was here. Of course, that doesn’t rule out the other suspects. Just because Leon over there didn’t see them doesn’t mean they weren’t here.”
“Of course. But we can place Richard at the scene. That’s a clue.” Bee seemed satisfied, but I had my doubts.
Yes, Richard had a lot to gain, but my gut feeling said there was more to this than met the eye. But what was it?
21
The lemon meringue pie from the Corner Café had been on the heavy side, but the walk down the beach, back toward the Oceanside, helped work off the calories. And to get those investigative juices flowing.
Bee and I tossed ideas back and forth as we walked, our toes squidging in the cold sand. Our feet would be frozen by the time we got back to the guesthouse, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk around with shoes on the beach.
“If only we had more information,” I said.
“It’s all circumstantial evidence,” Bee agreed. “If we had something concrete, maybe we could make a citizen’s arrest.”
The thought drove a spike of panic through my stomach. Relax. Nothing’s going to happen. “Do we really think it was Richard who did it?”
“The fact that he was there and that he had a motive to murder Honey points toward it. The changing of the will is a huge indicator that something was afoot.”
But if it was Richard, why would he have brought so much attention to himself in the Chowder Hut the other night? He had confronted Jessie about her gossip session with Honey in front of everyone.
I stopped, facing the distant Oceanside, the dunes and scrubby bushes to my left and the ocean washing the sand on my right. “You know, Jones probably thinks we did it because of Honey’s phone.”
“Yeah, and Jones is also a—”
“No cussing, Bee.”
“I wasn’t going to, I swear. I was just going to point out that he has about as much investigative integrity as a rat with a crooked nose. That’s all.”
The wind whipped my hair back from
my face and drove needles of cold against my skin. “We should probably—”
A lone figure had appeared on the path that led from the back of the guesthouse. Tall, with dark hair and wearing a trench coat that trailed through the sand. It was Richard! I grabbed Bee by the arm and dragged her behind some of the scraggly bushes, crouching low.
“What in the name of—?”
“Look! It’s him.”
Richard stopped once he’d reached the sand. He looked left and right then hurried off toward a line of bushes near the base of the embankment that led to the path above. He bent between the branches and rustled around, his coat flapping in the breeze.
“What on earth is he doing?” Bee whispered.
Finally, Richard straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. Once again, he appeared to check the coast was clear then hurried back up toward the path that led to the guesthouse. I waited until he’d gone then piled out of our meager hiding spot.
Bee was practically dancing. “If that wasn’t suspicious, then I don’t know what is. This is it, Ruby. I can feel it in my baking bones.”
We rushed over to the bushes. I reached into my pocket, removed my gloves and slipped them on. “Just in case,” I said.
“Good thinking.” Bee tapped her nose. “Don’t want to contaminate the evidence.”
I parted the bushes carefully. My jaw dropped.
Between them sat a hollow in the sand, carefully demarcated with stones, and filled with what could only be described as a treasure trove of junk.
“What is this?” I asked, shoving my way through to get a closer look.
“It looks like some sort of… nest. Except without bedding. And creepier.”
I shifted some of the items aside. There were all sorts of things: a pocket radio, a watch on a long gold chain that appeared to have stopped working, a bottle of expensive bourbon, and a box that contained jewelry, both costume and real.
“He’s a thief,” I whispered.
“That would explain the whole financial difficulty situation and him being added into Honey’s will.”
A thought had occurred to me. Was it possible? It might just be the evidence we needed. Real proof that he had been the one to do it. “Got it!” I cried.
“What?”
I lifted a set of keys, dangling on the end of a donut key-chain. “The keys to the food truck. It was him after all. He was the one who stole the keys. And he must have been the one who planted Honey’s phone in the truck to try to frame us for the murder.”
“Of course,” Bee said. “Of course. He’s been stealing because he needed money, and now that he’s gotten it… well, he should be skipping town soon.”
“We have to get this information to Jones.” Though I didn’t like the idea, Jones was a qualified professional here. He would have to be the one to take down Richard for the crime. Poor Honey. Likely, she’d trusted Richard. Why else would she have put him in her will?
“Stand back, Rubes,” Bee said, “I’ve got to get some pictures of the scene. Put the keys back down, please. They’re useless to us now, anyway.”
I did as she asked then backed away from the pile of stolen goods. If we were right, and Richard was the killer, then why hadn’t Jones arrested him? Unlike us, the detectives had access to actual evidence, fingerprints, DNA, and perhaps other indicators we weren’t aware of.
If they knew about the will and what Honey had included in it, and if they had questioned the others involved like Jessie and Gina, then why hadn’t they made an arrest? It seemed so obvious.
I frowned.
But maybe it wasn’t? No, no, this had to be it. It had to be Richard.
“All right,” Bee said. “I think I’ve got everything I need.”
“Let’s get up to the guesthouse and make the call.”
“We shouldn’t leave the scene. The perp might return.”
“The perp?”
“Perpetrator,” Bee said.
“I know what it means. It’s just funny that you’re saying it.” I giggled, but there wasn’t any real mirth behind it. Richard had killed his brother’s fiancée. That was a crime unimaginable, and it had been motivated by money.
The leads we’d pursued regarding Gina and the others had been for naught. Bee looped her arm through mine, and we hurried up to the guesthouse together, keeping an eye out for roving Richards in trench coats.
If it was him… But there were no more excuses. It had to be Richard. He wasn’t even that likable of a guy, and he hadn’t exactly been distraught over Honey’s passing.
Then why does it feel like we’re making a huge mistake?
22
I entered the guesthouse through the back door, searching the living room for any sign of the “perp.” There was none. I gave Bee a thumbs-up over my shoulder. She immediately lifted her phone and made the call.
I slid the Oceanside’s back door closed and kept guard, the hair on the back of my neck rising. We’d already confronted a killer once—well, two killers—and I didn’t want to repeat the experience.
“—sad to see you go.” It was Sam speaking from the front desk.
Curiosity nagged at me, and I crept forward, doing the Pink Panther walk without the music. I peeked around the side of the archway. William stood in front of the desk, his bags organized next to it and his card extended.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Sam said, in her sweet voice. “I wish it hadn’t gone down like that. How are your family taking it?”
“Does it matter?” William asked.
His family. That’s weird. Why didn’t Richard and William stay with their parents while they were in town? And he’d just been terribly rude to Sam. He’d seemed quite sad when we’d spoken to him, apart from his rant about Jessie being the killer. What had changed?
“Oh. OK. Well, thank you so much for staying here.”
“Yeah, whatever.” William tucked his wallet into the pocket of his coat. He bent to lift his bag, and Trouble darted down the stairs. The kitten stopped at the sight of the ex-groom. His calico fur stood on end, his back arched, and he hopped back on the spot, hissing silently. “Your cat is weird.”
“Oh, he’s just, um—” But Sam couldn’t manufacture an excuse, it seemed.
I grew hot all over. Something wasn’t right here. I stepped out from my hiding spot and into the reception area. “Hello,” I said, trying for a genuine smile. But I was too nervous, and even Samantha gave me an odd look. “Were you leaving, William?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I need to get out of this town. It doesn’t feel right to be here anymore.”
“I can only imagine. Well, we’ll miss having you around.”
“Yes, we will,” said Sam.
Once again, William was less than responsive to what Sam had said. Meanwhile, Trouble was still doing the hissing, hopping, and fur-on-end dance near the stairs. William lifted his bag and made for the door, and Trouble darted back upstairs, his tail thick.
I had to do something. William couldn’t leave. What’s missing? Something isn’t right.
“Bee and I are calling the police, Sam,” I said, loudly.
William stopped mid-stride, his hand on the doorknob. He didn’t look back, but it didn’t matter. He had stopped.
Think. Think, Ruby.
Trouble had reacted to William exactly the same as he’d done the night we’d found the keys missing from my room. Maybe it was that he’d smelled William’s cologne? But it was proof enough for me. Hadn’t Sam said that Trouble was a great judge of character?
“We think we’ve figured out who the murderer is,” I said. “And the motive. The cops are on their way.”
“Really?” Sam’s hands flew to her mouth. “Who is it? Do I want to know?”
“Why don’t you ask William?” It had been an impulsive thing to say and incredibly stupid too.
William spun around, dropping his bag. “What did you just say?”
“I said that Sam should ask you about who the m
urderer is.”
Sam’s head swiveled as she turned first toward William and then to me. “Um? What’s going on?”
“I think William can tell you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” William said, but already, he had started bearing down on me, a cool glint in his eyes, one he had hidden when I’d first met him and last spoken to him.
“It was easy for you, wasn’t it? To pin it all on your brother?” It all made so much sense now. Honey hadn’t wanted to marry William. William had tried to force Honey to put Richard in her will, as well, because that would pay off his brother and lay the blame on him too. Richard in the will when Richard didn’t belong. “You’re trying to frame your brother, aren’t you?”
“It’s none of your business, you nosy witch.”
“I think it’s everyone’s business when there’s a killer on the loose. What was it? The money?”
“Isn’t it always the money?” William asked, cracking his knuckles. His usually handsome face transformed—anger twisted his lips and turned his eyes to slits. “I didn’t even want to marry her. I didn’t even love her.”
“Well, your plan fell through,” I said. “The cops are on their way.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” I replied. The only thing that confused me was how William had an alibi. Unless…? Was his brother in on the whole thing? A flash of that pink makeup bag in William’s suitcase came back to me.
I gasped. “You wore makeup. Of course. You faked a mole, and that’s why you weren’t seen. You pretended to be your brother.” It was one thing to murder, but to frame his brother?
It was just so wrong.
“Yeah, you’ve figured it out,” William said, waving his fingers like a magician. “Big deal. All that means is now I’ve got to kill you and that old broad too. If I didn’t need Richard, he’d be a goner too, but he was so easy. Kleptomaniac kills woman for her money after being added to her will? The headlines write themselves.”
The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 17