This was a big deal for me. After all, when I was younger, I was all-too happy to oblige whatever dessert whims that came my way. Ultimately, that proved to be a costly decision to my waistline.
Over the years, I found myself building more self-control. Especially as my metabolism slowed. Mostly because I hated spending hours in the gym burning off calories.
At the same time, I was only so strong. Even more, there was a very finite amount of restraint to go around, even when I wasn’t in the heat of an investigation. During the middle of a case, my willpower was more fragile than ever. To the point where the sight of a Mitchell’s Bakery delivery truck driving by on the street made my mouth begin to water.
So much for keeping my sweet tooth under control. I felt like there was no use trying to reason with my taste buds anymore. It seemed like a trip to Mitchell’s was inevitable.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who was having a serious dessert craving. When I mentioned wanting to head over to Mitchell’s, David didn’t put up a fight.
***
A few minutes later, we were sitting at a table inside Mitchell’s Bakery, ready to make quick work of a piece of chocolate fudge cake.
To avoid making a complete mockery of my diet, I asked David to split a piece with me. I severely underestimated my appetite, however. Not to mention how delicious the cake was. Mitchell’s had a way with baked goods. They made the best desserts in Treasure Cove, hands down.
Their cakes were sweet without being complete sugar bombs. Flavorful, but not too rich. They also had a texture that walked the line between too stiff and too spongey. If that wasn’t a skillful enough feat, they also managed to be one of the rare stores to sell food that tasted like it was homemade.
As a matter of fact, if I were to complain about one thing, it would be that their food was too scrumptious for its own good. Desserts were already addictive enough. But a cake from Mitchell’s was in a class of its own.
I was reminded of that when David and I polished off the piece of cake and I immediately clamored for more.
“Wow. That disappeared in a hurry,” David said.
I stared at the empty plate in front of us. “You’re telling me.”
“Oh well. It was good while it lasted,” he said. “You ready to head out?”
I bit the corner of my lip before responding. “Actually, how about we order one more piece?”
“I’m not sure your diet would approve of that.”
I scoffed. “Really? You’re going to bring my diet up now? After we’ve made quick work of an entire piece of cake?”
“Fair point,” he replied. “That said, it’s probably best to quit now. There’s no reason to dig an even deeper diet hole.”
I rubbed my tummy. “Try telling that to my stomach.”
He bit the corner of his lip. “You realize this is a slippery slope.”
“Let’s be honest. You’re not going to talk me out of this,” I said.
He took a deep breath. “All right. I just thought I’d give you fair warning that this is some serious diet sabotage.”
I held my pointer finger up. “Face it. Diets have no place in a murder investigation.”
Just then, I heard a familiar male voice behind me. “Funny running into you here.”
I turned around and saw Jake Williamson standing a few feet away. The sixty-seven-year-old multi-millionaire business mogul was a slender man with short gray hair.
He also hadn’t come to Mitchell’s by himself. His physical therapist wife, Clarissa Hunt, was with him. The hazel-eyed, lean-framed sixty-three-year-old loved floppy hats. That afternoon, she happened to be wearing a beige-colored one.
I shrugged as I looked at Jake. “What’s so funny about running into me here? Mitchell’s is my favorite bakery in town.”
“It’s just that you’re in the middle of a murder investigation. So, I figured this would be the last place I would find you right now,” Jake said.
“To be fair, during a beast of an investigation like this, coming here gives me some much-needed relief,” I said.
“Are things really going that poorly?”
“It’s safe to say that I’ve had better weeks,” I deadpanned.
Jake laughed as he shook his head.
My eyebrows knitted. “What’s so funny?”
“I’ve just never met someone who understates things quite as much as you do,” Jake said.
“Hey, we all deal with stressful situations in our own ways. This is just how I cope with the craziness of the case,” I said.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” Clarissa said. “You two have a great record when it comes to solving these cases.”
Jake looked at David, then at me. “I’ll say. I’m constantly in awe of you both. And frankly, I’m not sure how you do it.”
I stared out into the distance. “Thanks for the compliments, but I don’t know how we’re going to crack this case.”
“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Jake said.
My brow furrowed. “You’re more confident about that than I am.”
“You and David always seem to find a way. So, why should this time be any different?” Jake asked.
“Because sometimes you just can’t help but wonder if your luck has run out,” David said.
“I think you’re giving luck too much credit. I believe you are so successful because you don’t give up,” Jake said. “It’s amazing how much perseverance pays off.”
“I hope that’s the case this time as well,” I said.
“I’m sure it will be,” Jake said.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jake’s kind words gave me a temporary boost in confidence, but by the time the following evening rolled around, I was once again having a difficult time keeping my optimism from sagging. I knew that patience was an important part of the investigative process, but mine had worn quite thin. It was one thing if we had a solid lead to work with—or any sort of a lead really. Unfortunately, we had been drawing a blank for a number of days, and that didn’t show any sign of changing.
So, when we arrived home from the police station that particular evening after another afternoon of making zero progress, I was feeling rather low. Perhaps some food would help my attitude. It certainly couldn’t hurt. I put my purse down on the coffee table in the living room and then headed into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
David, meanwhile, walked down the hallway to our bedroom to change into his sweatpants.
Part of me wished that David and I had gone out to eat, but we had been doing that a lot lately. We could only afford so many restaurant meals in a row, financially and health-wise. The strain on our bank account was pronounced, but so was our recent caloric intake. After all, it wasn’t like we were ordering salads and diet food from those restaurants. Instead, junk food was turning into too much of a staple in our lives. I could already hear the treadmill at the gym calling my name. When that occurred, scarfing down pizza and pot pies no longer brought me comfort.
Even so, on a night like that, I was too tired to cook dinner from scratch. Instead, it was a TV dinner kind of evening. What microwave meals lacked in taste, they made up for in ease of preparation. I opened my freezer, grabbed two low-calorie TV dinners, and put the first one in the microwave to begin heating it up.
Much to my surprise, less than two minutes later, David rushed into the kitchen with his work clothes still on.
I shrugged my shoulders and squinted at him. “I thought you were going to change into sweatpants.”
“Forget about the sweatpants,” he said.
“Why?” I asked.
The minute I looked into his eyes, I could tell that something had happened while he was in the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” I continued.
“You won’t believe the call I just got,” he said.
***
My jaw dropped as David described the call he had received on his police radio.
“Pretty crazy stuff, hu
h?” David said.
“Wait a minute. You’re going to have to go over that with me again,” I said.
“Fair enough. It is a lot to process.”
“It sure is,” I said. “So, the 9-1-1 operator got a call from someone claiming to be one of Megan Davidson’s neighbors.”
David nodded.
“And this neighbor—who preferred to stay anonymous—told the operator that they saw Megan come out of her townhome and drop a knife in her garbage can?”
“Exactly,” David said.
“That is unbelievable,” I said.
“Whether you believe it or not, we have to go. This sounds like exactly the lead we have been looking for,” David said.
***
So much for eating dinner. Following up on that lead became a top priority.
David and I darted out to the driveway, hopped into the car, and made one quick stop at the county courthouse before heading over to Megan’s place.
When we arrived at 162 Wheeler Drive, we were joined by a number of deputies and a forensics team.
After David pulled his sedan into Megan’s driveway, he got out of the car and ran over to the garbage can that was beside the townhome. I jogged behind him.
The moment of truth then arrived as David opened the lid of the trash can and spotted a bloody knife inside it.
David turned to me. “It looks like that anonymous caller was dead-on.”
My eyes widened as I stared at the knife. “I can’t believe it.”
“It is pretty shocking. Not to mention game-changing,” David said. “Granted, the forensics team will have to run tests on the blade, but unless I’m completely wrong, I’ll bet this is the knife that killed Ryan Davidson.”
“That seems like a fair assumption.”
“You know that means—” David began to say.
Before my husband was able to finish his sentence, he heard footsteps behind him.
That was followed by the sound of Megan’s voice.
“What do you think you’re doing here?” Megan asked.
I whirled around and saw Megan looking completely outraged.
“You have a lot of explaining to do,” David said.
Megan stared at the garbage can. “Wait a minute. Have you been going through my trash? What gives you the right?”
David grabbed a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Megan.
“This warrant gives me the right to search every inch of your home. Including this trash can,” David said.
Megan unfolded the paper and read it to herself. She then turned her focus to David once more. “But I don’t understand why you’d even care about my trash.”
“Megan, now isn’t the time to play dumb,” David said.
She squinted. “What are you talking about?”
“Drop the act already,” David said.
Megan took a few steps forward and looked into her trash can. When she saw the knife inside the can, she jumped backward and gasped.
That reaction really got my attention. Her body language was very curious to me.
David, meanwhile, didn’t appear to be thrown off by her reaction. Instead, he was quite annoyed with Megan.
My husband shook his head. “I just told you. Drop the act.”
“This isn’t an act. I have no idea where that knife came from. It isn’t mine,” Megan said.
“Then how did it end up in your trash can?”
Megan shrugged. “It beats me.”
David folded his arms. “Try again.”
Megan threw out her arms. “I honestly have no idea.”
“I hate being lied to—”
“I’m not lying,” Megan said.
“How can you say that when one of your neighbors spotted you dropping the knife in the trash can earlier this evening?” David asked.
Megan squinted. “Which neighbor?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because they got it wrong.”
David groaned. “I’m growing tired of this conversation.”
Megan was adamant with her response, “Tell me which neighbor it was.”
“I can’t.”
She folded her arms. “You can’t, or you won’t?”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because when they placed the call to 9-1-1, they elected to stay anonymous,” David said. “But it doesn’t really matter who the caller was. The only thing that is important now is whether the blood on that knife belongs to Ryan Davidson. If it does, you’ll be going to jail for a very long time.”
“You have to listen to me. I’ve never seen that knife before in my entire life,” Megan said.
David scoffed. “Is that the best defense you’ve got? Because no jury in the world is going to buy that.”
Megan shook her head. “This doesn’t make any sense. I’m not a killer.”
“Do you honestly expect me to believe that the knife just happened to show up in your trash can?”
“Detective, stop for a minute and think this through. Why would I throw a bloody knife away in my own trash can?”
“Clearly, because you wanted to dispose of it,” David said.
“But why would I drop it in my trash can? Why wouldn’t I toss it in the ocean? Or throw it in a dumpster miles away from here? Or even bury it in my backyard? Anything but just throwing it away in my garbage can,” Megan said.
“My job isn’t to speculate. It is to uncover the truth. And this is a very eye-opening discovery,” David said.
“It also doesn’t make any sense. I mean, just say I was so desperate to get rid of the knife that I decided to throw it away. Why wouldn’t I have at least wrapped it up in a cloth first? Or placed it in a bag to conceal the fact that it was there?” Megan asked.
“Like I told you before, maybe you were in a rush to dispose of the weapon,” David said.
“Ask yourself this. If I was in such a rush, then why wouldn’t I have gotten rid of the knife right after the murder had taken place? Why would I wait until now?” Megan asked.
“That’s it. I’m the one asking the questions here,” David said.
“You don’t have an answer, do you?” Megan asked. “Well, I do.”
“Fine. Let’s hear it,” David said.
“Isn’t it obvious by now?” Megan said. “Someone is clearly trying to frame me.”
“That is far from obvious,” David said.
Megan shook her head. “I disagree. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only explanation that makes sense. Someone must have planted the knife here and placed that call so you’d find it.”
“That’s a pretty bold claim,” David said. “It’s a shame you don’t have any way of proving that.”
I looked around the neighborhood and then turned to my husband. “No. But I might.”
David shrugged. “What are you talking about?”
“I believe Megan,” I said.
Megan’s eyes widened. “You do?”
I stared into her eyes. A few seconds later, I nodded. “I do.”
David threw out his arms. “Are you serious?”
“Just hear me out,” I said. “I have a hunch.”
David squinted. “Really?”
I nodded. “My gut is telling me that Megan was framed.”
“Listen to your wife,” Megan said.
David snapped at Megan. “You be quiet.”
“David, I know you don’t want to hear this, but my instincts are telling me that someone else is responsible for Ryan’s death,” I said.
David leaned in and whispered to me, “Are you really sure about this?”
“I am.”
“Because what you’re talking about…it would turn this case upside down,” David said.
“I realize that.”
“Fine. If Megan isn’t guilty, then who do you think the killer is?” David asked.
“I’ll tell you in a minute,” I said. I then stared at the neighbor’s porch. �
��But before I say anything, there is something we need to check first.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It took a few minutes to follow up on my hunch, but it was worth it. We gathered all the information we needed to confirm that my instincts had been correct. Once we were done at Megan’s place, we drove over to Treasure Cove Landscaping, where we paid Scott Schlosser a visit. As expected, he was not happy to see us.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I want you both out of here—now!” Scott said.
David kept a cool head as he replied, “Mr. Schlosser, calm down.”
“I will not calm down. You aren’t welcome here. Now leave. And don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” Scott snapped.
David stared Schlosser down. “Nice try, Scott. But you’re not the one dictating terms here. I am. And you’re really getting on my nerves.”
“I’m going to tell you one more time—leave!”
David shook his head. “That’s not going to happen.”
Scott snarled. “I’m not afraid of you.”
I stepped forward. “You should be.”
Scott folded his arms. “Why? There’s nothing you can do to me.”
I pulled an evidence bag out of my purse. “This says otherwise.”
Scott stared at the bag, which had a small security camera inside of it.
He squinted. “A security camera? Where did you get that?”
“This isn’t just any camera,” I said. “The footage on this camera gives us all the proof we need to take you down.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott said.
“Go ahead and try to play dumb, but we’ve got you,” I said.
Scott shook his head. “No. You’re just bluffing. You don’t have anything on me because I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Mysteries of Treasure Cove Cozy Mystery Boxed Set Page 10