“You, call the cops on us?” Bee was suspicious. “We’re not the ones stalking around town looking menacing.”
“Menacing?” The guy laughed. “Last I heard, it ain’t a crime to look any type of way.”
“There was a murder at the guesthouse,” I said. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
The guy’s laughter cut out. “Who are you?” he asked. “You cops?”
“No.”
“Yes.” Bee cleared her throat. “I mean, no. But that doesn’t matter. We know you’re up to something. We saw you with Millie, and she didn’t look too happy about having you around.”
“Of course she’s not happy about having me around.” He drew closer, swaggering, his shoulders and arms swaying. “I’m her ex-husband.”
If my jaw could have dropped lower, it would have punctured the earth’s crust and mantle and fallen right into the nickel core. “You’re what?”
“Her ex-husband.” He stuck out a tan hand. “Tony Malone,” he said, saying the “Malone” like “Maloney.” “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Bee shook his hand. I did too and found that his grip was strong. Maybe a little too strong. “What are you doing in Carmel Springs?” I asked. “I don’t mean to be rude, but we didn’t even know Millie had been married.”
“Of course you didn’t. Why would she tell anyone about her failures?” His lips parted in a sharkish grin. “I was coming down to this guesthouse to see if I could get a room for the night. Millie doesn’t want me sleeping on her sofa, and I’m tired of sleeping in my car.”
His car. The Honda. Why hadn’t he driven here if he’d wanted to book a room? Suspicion bubbled inside me.
“Sam’s not at the guesthouse. And you can’t make a booking in the middle of the night,” Bee said.
“All right then. I guess I can wait until tomorrow. You two have a lovely evening,” he said and winked at us. He strolled past, whistling and taking his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.
Bee and I stood quietly until he’d turned the corner.
“Good heavens,” I whispered. “What was that about?”
“The lying?” Bee asked. “I don’t know, but I don’t buy that this Tony guy wanted to stay over at the guesthouse. Or that he’s Millie’s ex-husband.”
“We could always ask her.”
“How? Short of ambushing her while she’s at work or out to eat, how will we ask her? She’s been avoiding us like we’re the flu.”
I didn’t have an answer. Instead, I looped my arm through Bee’s, and we walked back to the Oceanside together. We stopped on the porch, and Bee brought her keys from the tote bag. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” she asked.
“Do tell.”
“We haven’t checked out any of the alibis for the people staying at the guesthouse.”
My brow wrinkled. “What, you think that it was someone who lives here?”
“Obviously the cops thought so or they wouldn’t have arrested Sam. What if the evidence has been staring us right in the face all this time, and we didn’t even realize it?” Bee opened the front door, and we slipped into the warmth of the guesthouse.
I removed my woolen coat, unbuttoning it with ice-cold fingers. “What about Tony?”
“We don’t have anything on him,” Bee said, quietly. “He’s still a suspect, of course, and so is Millie, but we need to focus on the people who were here on the night of the party. Jones was killed here. His body was placed in the living room on your gifts. It’s got to be someone who had access to the guesthouse.”
Food for thought, yeah, but it also pointed back to Sam as the one who’d done it.
Trouble’s kitty meow drifted from the staircase that led to the second floor, and I switched on the hall light and smiled at the calico puff of fluff. “Hello, sweetheart. Do you want to sleep in my bedroom tonight?” The poor dear. And poor Sam, having to sleep in a jail cell, fearing for her future.
I could relate. Jones had dumped me in a jail cell over Halloween weekend because he’d decided my citizen’s arrest was code for interfering in his murder investigation.
“Come on,” I said, “let’s get some rest.”
“Fine,” Bee replied. “But I suggest we hold a meeting with the guests over breakfast and establish some alibis. If they care at all about Sam and the guesthouse, they’ll want to help us figure out who did this.”
“Deal.” I picked up Trouble and made my way to the second floor and into my room. I was too exhausted to take a shower before bed. I flopped down and fell asleep, drifting into dreams of strange tan men who talked like Don Corleone from The Godfather.
14
“Good morning, everyone,” Bee said, standing next to the fireplace, her hands behind her back. She wore a smart blouse tucked into a pair of waist-high slacks and had paired her reading glasses with the outfit for effect. “How’s the food?”
The Carlingtons smiled at her from their usual window seat. “Delicious as always,” Mrs. Carlington said.
“Delightful,” Kayla called out, from her spot in one of the armchairs. She had a habit of grabbing something she could eat with her hands rather than a knife and fork. She held a croissant over her plate and swept it through a puddle of jam. “Shawn’s outdone himself again.”
The chef, Shawn, stood next to the kitchen doors, leaning against the wall, his dark hair falling across his eyes.
We’d asked him to come into the room and hang around. It was important. It was to help free Sam from prison, and since Sam was the one who’d given Shawn a second chance at turning his life around, he’d do whatever he could to help. And that was another reason I couldn’t believe he’d have killed Jones either.
Why would Shawn have jeopardized his future?
“We need to talk to you all,” I said, joining Bee, my heart skipping about twenty beats a minute. This was it. What if they got super angry with us for this? I didn’t like upsetting people, but we had to do whatever it took to help Sam.
“About what, dear?” Mrs. Carlington asked, brushing off her neat flowery dress. She wore thick stockings with it, and a coat hung over the back of her chair. “I hope it won’t take too long. We were hoping to get out there and go exploring today. The Lobster Shack has another special this week.”
“As you may know,” I said, “Sam has been arrested for the murder of Detective Jones.”
Mr. Carlington dropped his fork, and it clattered onto his plate. “She what?”
“She was arrested yesterday evening just before dinner.”
“I wondered where she’d gone,” Mrs. Carlington said, faintly. “Poor woman. But did she really … she doesn’t seem like the type to…”
“We don’t think she did it,” Bee said.
“But then who did?” Kayla asked, leaning in and spilling croissant flakes across her lap.
“We don’t know, but we have to start asking questions, because the police certainly aren’t going to,” I said. “We need to know what you saw. As guests at my party, you likely came into contact with the murderer. So, we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Kayla checked her watch. “I’m not sure I have time for this. I have to go train for my competition. My, uh, gym instructor will be expecting me.”
“This won’t take long,” Bee said.
“Please, help us out. You guys are our only leads at this point.”
“Meaning we’re suspects?” Kayla’s dark eyebrows rose.
“No, just that you might inadvertently be witnesses,” I said.
“And suspects,” Bee put in.
I palmed my face. She was incorrigible. It was easier to get information with honey rather than the stick, but Bee wanted the same result I did.
“We’ll help in whatever way we can,” Mr. Carlington declared. “What do you need to know?”
“We need to know where you were before the party and if you heard anything during it,” I said.
“Oh, that’s easy,” M
rs. Carlington said, brushing off her dress. “Before the party, we were at the Lobster Shack. We’d been dying to try out their new seafood chowder, and it didn’t disappoint. And during… well, there was some noise after the lights went out, but I didn’t realize what it was until we saw the body.”
“Yes, that’s right.” Mr. Carlington clicked his fingers. “There was a sort of banging noise. I thought someone had fallen over, but it was quiet after that. So I figured everyone was OK.”
“You couldn’t see anything moving in the dark?” I asked.
All three of the guests and Shawn shook their heads.
“Well, I was on the beach before the party,” Kayla said. “I go for a walk at that time every single evening. Good for stretching the muscles after a workout. I didn’t hear any banging or thumping during the ‘lights out’ part of the party.”
“I was here all day, setting up for the party. I heard strange noises upstairs a few times, but I didn’t think it was a big deal. Figured it was just some guests getting ready for the party,” Shawn said, shrugging.
“Is there anything else you’ve noticed around here?” Bee asked. “Anything strange or suspicious?”
The guests exchanged glances.
“Well, um, there is one thing,” Mrs. Carlington said. “It’s silly, and I don’t think it has anything to do with the murder, but my perfume has gone missing.”
“Your perfume?” I asked.
“Yes. It was an anniversary gift from my dear husband.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “It smells of roses, and it was my favorite scent. It went missing a few days before the murder. I can’t understand where it’s gone since I put it right there on my bedside table.”
Shawn grunted. “I’ve noticed the same thing. Kitchen stuff missing.”
“Yeah,” Kayla said, shifting in her seat and spilling more crumbs everywhere. “Totally. Um, my journal went missing. I use it to track my weight. But I didn’t think it was anything serious, you know? It’s just a calorie journal.”
Now, that was strange. A thief and a murderer?
“Has anything else gone missing?” I asked.
“You mean, apart from my letter opener?” Bee countered.
The Carlingtons grew pale. Kayla sighed.
“Nothing for me,” Shawn said. “But I keep my door locked at all times. I don’t let nobody come near my stuff.”
That didn’t give us much information, other than the fact that Shawn didn’t have a real alibi. Neither did Kayla, for that matter. Could either of them have done it? But what would the motivation have been?
“Thanks for your time, everyone,” I said. “We’ll try to get to the bottom of this one. The sooner, the better, right?”
“Right,” the Carlingtons said, in unison.
And that was it. We had a few leads, but what if they didn’t go anywhere? Our only option was to follow them and to talk to Millie about what had happened with her ex-husband. As far as I was concerned, the thieving of personal goods couldn’t possibly be connected to the murder, could it?
15
I served another customer on the food truck, trying to put up a smile, but it was difficult, especially since Sam was behind bars. How were we supposed to concentrate when one of our closest friends was locked up unlawfully?
And none of the evidence pointed toward anyone else, either.
Shawn had had a fight with Detective Jones, but his DNA wasn’t on anything—a relief, if I was honest, because we liked Shawn. And he’d been so good at recovering from his past transgressions.
Millie and her ex-husband were definitely up to something. Why on earth had he headed toward the guesthouse after talking to her? That didn’t make any sense. And I didn’t buy his story that he’d wanted to stay at the guesthouse or check in so late at night.
“Rubes?” Bee poked me on the arm. “Are you all right?”
The customers had gone, and the sun was high in the noon sky. The cry of a gull punctuated the quiet after Bee’s question.
“I’ve been better,” I said, softly. “I just want us to figure this out. Where do you think we should look next?”
“I don’t know,” Bee replied and rubbed her temples. “It’s strange to me that things have been going missing in the guesthouse. And that the body was dumped there like the killer wanted it to be found.”
“Or maybe, they couldn’t move it far enough away.” I paused. “This means that Detective Jones was at the guesthouse. Why do you think that is?”
“I have honestly got no idea. And that’s what makes this even more frustrating.” Bee stripped off her apron. “You know, I think we should—ooh!”
“You think we should ooh? That doesn’t sound conducive to a successful investigation.”
“No, I just got a text.” Bee extracted her phone from the pocket of her high-waisted pants. “Oh, it’s from Millie.”
“What does it say?”
Bee tapped her screen. “She’s asking to meet us at the Lobster Shack tonight at six. She says she wants to explain what’s been going on. She heard that we met Tony.”
“We have to go,” I said, immediately. “Maybe she needs help. Maybe Tony is manipulating her.”
“As we initially suspected, yeah.” Bee dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. “Let’s do it. I’ll text her back.”
“Good. Do you think we should close up early?” I checked my filigree watch—it was already past four. “We might need time to prepare our questions and maybe snoop around the guesthouse a little. Especially if someone’s been breaking in.”
“Good idea.” Bee sent off the text to Millie to confirm.
Quick as we could, we closed up the truck and headed back to the Oceanside, the sun glancing across the road and lighting our path, occasionally obscured by a cloud. Again, there was a storm on the away, hovering over the ocean, bruising the sky to black. How much longer until it broke?
I steered the food truck into our favorite parking spot and got out. The Carlingtons’ car wasn’t here, and neither was Kayla’s. Maybe she’d finally gone to her competition. Though, how she expected to win after drowning herself in cookies and cakes all week was beyond me.
“It’s quiet,” Bee said.
“Don’t say ‘too quiet,’ please. I’ve had enough drama to last me a lifetime.”
Bee and I hurried up to the front door of the guesthouse, and I drew the keys out of my handbag. But the door was already ajar, and the lights in the hall weren’t on.
“Uh, what’s this about?” I poked the door, and it creaked open.
“Creepy.” Bee entered and clicked on the hall lights. “Shawn? Are you here?”
“Shawn?” I joined her.
That was odd. Shawn usually started preparing dinner by four, and there were no sumptuous smells drifting through the guesthouse. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end.
I walked into the living room.
Shawn lay on the floor on his side, his eyes closed, one arm trapped under his body and the other splayed out, fingers grasping as if he’d been reaching for something.
It took all my energy not to let out the gut-wrenching scream that gathered in my throat.
Bee rushed past me and bent next to the young man, whose hair had fallen across his eyes. “Shawn!” She pressed two fingers to his throat. “It’s fine. He’s alive. He’s got a pulse. Shawn? Shawn!” She rolled him onto his back.
Shawn groaned. His eyelids fluttered and opened.
Relief flooded through my limbs and turned them into jelly. I stumbled and lowered myself to my knees next to him. “Oh my gosh. What happened?”
He tried to sit up, pushing himself up onto his forearms.
“Whoa, easy there,” Bee said. “Don’t move. We don’t know what happened to you yet. You might hurt yourself more.”
“Ow,” Shawn said, settling back again and pressing his hand to his forehead. “That hurts.”
“What happened?” I asked, breathless.
“
I don’t know. I don’t remember. No, wait. I was in the kitchen, and I heard a noise out here, like someone, shuffling around or breaking something. I came out to check what it was, but there was nothing. I was just about to—ouch, sheesh that hurts.” He squinted.
“You were about to…?” Bee prompted.
“I was about to go back into the kitchen when … I saw a flicker of something, and I smelled…”
I hung on the edge of his every word. “Yes? You smelled what?”
“Go on, Shawn. Tell us what happened.” Bee’s voice was much calmer than mine.
“I smelled roses. And there was movement behind me. I tried to turn, but then something whacked down on the back of my head. And that’s all I remember.” He winced again, sliding his hand over the back of his head. “I’ve got a bump. It’s huge. Ow.”
“I’m calling the police,” I said.
“And an ambulance.”
“No, I don’t need an ambulance,” Shaw replied. “I’m fine. I can stand.” He tried moving but slumped back again, closing one eye. “Woo, when did the room start spinning?”
“Stay still,” Bee said. “Rubes, you watch him while I call the cops.”
“On it.” I shifted closer to Shawn. I wasn’t sure what the protocol was with concussions—which he likely had if he’d been struck over the head. But I’d read somewhere that falling asleep was against the rules. “How are you feeling?”
“Drunk,” Shawn said. “And I haven’t touched alcohol in a year.”
“Oof. OK, don’t worry, help is on the way, Shawn. We’ll find out who did this to you.”
A silence fell between us. Thankfully, Shawn’s eyes didn’t droop closed. “Do you think it was the murderer?” he asked.
How could I answer that? Either way, I had no idea. But Shawn had mentioned roses. He’d smelled roses. Hadn’t Mrs. Carlington told us just this morning that her rose perfume was missing? Clearly, the thief, whoever they were, didn’t want to be caught.
Something twigged in the back of my mind, but I couldn’t quite place my finger on it.
The Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set Page 30