Raspberry Revenge: A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 4

by Point, Rosie A.

  Raspberry Revenge

  A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 4

  Rosie A. Point

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  More for you…

  Thank you, Reader!

  Also by Rosie A. Point

  Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020.

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  Created with Vellum

  1

  There was nothing more invigorating than the thrill of the hunt.

  That was what I’d believed until the NSIB had placed me in hiding in my grandmother’s inn in Gossip, Texas. Now, the hunt comprised me sitting up late at night with the resident cat, Cocoa Puff, curled up in my lap, my gaze glued to my laptop’s screen.

  My fingers scrabbled the bottom of a bowl of popcorn on my nightstand, and I shoved the last few buttery scraps into my mouth, chewing noisily.

  Cocoa meowed at me.

  “What?” I croaked. Man, it was late. “You don’t expect me to sit here and do nothing, do you?”

  I’d been ‘trapped’ in the Gossip Inn for months. It wasn’t so much the inn, its residents or the cleaning and cooking that got to me—I’d started enjoying the slower pace of things around here, much to my chagrin—but the constant reminder that my ex, Kyle Turner, could turn up at a moment’s notice.

  He wanted me dead.

  He was a rogue spy on the run.

  He might be hiding in my closet, waiting to strike.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I murmured, and continued my research. Cocoa meowed at me again. “What’s wrong?” The cat was unsettled tonight, occasionally sitting upright, his tail stiff and his chocolate brown, furry head turning left and right.

  His behavior didn’t help set me at ease about the whole ‘killer ex in the closet’ theory.

  Cocoa meowed a third time, then jumped off the bed and pitter-pattered to my door. He scratched the wooden bottom, sticking his paws underneath. He flicked his tail from side-to-side and cast an annoyed yellow-eyed look at me.

  “You need to go to the bathroom again?” I brushed popcorn off my PJ tank top. I set my laptop aside and dragged myself to the door. Gosh, I was a sight. Butter streaked my top, and my pants were creased from tossing and turning earlier on.

  It was just past 3am, if the blinking red numerals on my alarm clock were right, but no amount of popcorn or warm milk would stop my mind from racing. Where was Kyle? What was he doing? And was my new flame, Smulder, going to leave Gossip and return to the NSIB headquarters soon?

  Not that I wanted him to go. Or maybe I did. I wasn’t used to the emotional, lovey-dovey stuff.

  Cocoa meowed impatiently.

  “All right, all right, I’m coming.” I grabbed the door handle.

  A bloodcurdling screech rent the air.

  My training kicked in—a cold rush that swept through my body to my extremities. A wave of calm and clarity.

  I fetched the gun from my bedside table, one from my grandmother’s weapon stash, and held it low at my side, switching off the safety. I nudged Cocoa away from the door with my socked foot, then laid a hand on the doorknob again.

  Three, two…

  I opened the door, checking corners, my finger sitting to the side of the trigger. The stairs were clear, but movement at the end of the hall drew my attention. I spun, bringing the gun up. The next door over from my room opened, and Smulder emerged with a flashlight. He directed a beam of light at the man near the end of the hall, standing barefoot on a throw rug.

  Pale from head-to-toe, wearing PJs, he bore no weapons. His hands gripped his cheeks. Gray beard, flecks of brown in his hair. Spectacles.

  Threat level zero.

  I stowed the gun in the waistband of my PJ pants before Smulder noticed it and started asking awkward questions. Like why I had a gun in the first place when I was undercover as a maid at an inn.

  I liked Smulder, maybe a little too much, but I didn’t trust that he’d keep Gamma’s secret weapon stash to himself. If the NSIB found out, they’d sweep down on her and confiscate everything. Possibly arrest her for it. She owned five different machine guns, all of which were illegal under the National Firearms Act.

  “What’s going on?” Smulder asked, in clipped tones.

  The man at the end of the hallway trembled.

  He was just a guest out for a midnight stroll. Or sleep walking?

  My grandmother’s door slammed open, and she came out, holding her shotgun and pointing it at the terrified man.

  He whimpered and put up his hands.

  “What the devil’s going on out here?” Gamma echoed Smulder’s sentiments in her posh British accent.

  “Sleepwalking is my guess,” I said, the tension easing from my shoulders.

  “D-d-don’t shoot.” The guest trembled like a trifle in an earthquake.

  “Good heavens.” Gamma lowered her shotgun and hit the light switch. The polished wooden floor, calming teal wallpaper, and eclectic bits and bobs on their corner tables came into focus. “Mr. Shone? What on earth are you doing walking around at this time of night?”

  “It’s not so much the walking that’s worrying,” I said, “as it is the screaming. Are you starting an opera career, Mr. Shone?” We hadn’t been introduced yet, which meant he’d arrived at the inn after last night’s dinner.

  I walked up next to Smulder, hoping he wouldn’t notice the suspicious lump at my hip. Or that he’d think I was, once again, smuggling late night snacks up to my room. I’d gained two pounds over the summer.

  Gamma set down her shotgun in her room, then took Mr. Shone by the arm and brought him toward us. “Are you all right?” she asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  “Glass of warm milk?” I asked. “It might chase away the monsters under your bed.”

  “Too sassy,” Smulder whispered.

  It wasn’t a critique of my personality, but my cover. Charlie Mission was a sassy, sarcastic undercover spy. Charlotte Smith, however, was a wilting flower of a maid who only meant well and didn’t know how to incapacitate a man in over fifty ways.

  I cleared my throat. “I mean, we have milk and cookies if you’re feeling unsettled, Mr. Shone.” I smiled sweetly.

  “Too sugary.”

  I rolled my eyes at Smulder.

  “N-no, thank you.” Mr. Shone was too shaken up to notice my quips. “I… I don’t want to sound crazy… I just. I—”

  “What happened?” Gamma patted him on the back.

  Another door opened, and a guest peeked out at us, curlers in her hair. She gave a bleary-eyed blink then retreated into her room.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” Mr. Shone said, “so I decided to go to the library. You know, get a book to read.
I’m sure there’s something sufficiently boring down there to get me to… drop off. And then…” He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I saw it.”

  “What, the clown?” I asked.

  “He was an intergalactic being,” Smulder said. “That’s why he could take the shape of the children’s greatest fears. And feed off them. The clown was just one of the forms he could take.”

  Gamma stared at him.

  “Sorry.” Smulder grimaced. “I’m a big King fan.”

  “What did you see?” Gamma patted Mr. Shone again, gently, like he was a cat that’d bolt.

  “I saw… I saw…”

  “What?” Smulder and I asked, in unison.

  “A ghost.” Mr. Shone pointed at my bedroom door. “Right there.”

  2

  I’d always considered myself a skeptic, but the ghost sighting had me concerned. Not because I believed in the supernatural or anything. The ghost which was definitely not a ghost, had been standing in front of my bedroom door.

  That left a scary possibility.

  It had been Kyle or someone associated with him. That or Mr. Shone had hallucinated the apparition because of sleep deprivation. Or he was a big fat liar.

  “Are you all right, Charlie?” Lauren, the chef at the Gossip Inn, had smeared a splotch of pancake batter across her apron. Her vibrant red hair was pulled into two pigtails that bounced as she spoke. “Are you worried about the ghost?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t believe in ghosts.”

  Lauren hissed and waved her hands at me. “Not so loud. They might hear you.”

  “Who?” I stopped turning the bacon for the inn’s sit-down breakfast. The gentle hum of chatter came through the doors that led into the dining area.

  “The ghosts.” Lauren stroked her pregnant belly absently. “You don’t want to speak ill of the dead, Charlie. It’s bad karma.”

  I tried my best to keep a straight face, but it was difficult. Smulder and I had searched the inn from top to toe last night, both of us suspicious over who the ‘ghost’ might’ve been, but we’d found nothing. The inside and outside doors were locked and none of the windows had been jimmied open.

  “I’m serious,” Lauren continued, flipping a pancake. “My great aunt once saw the ghost of her departed uncle standing at the foot of her bed. He even spoke to her.”

  “Sounds like your great aunt ate too much spicy food before naptime.”

  “Don’t be such a cynic, Charlotte.” My grandmother swept into the kitchen. She retrieved an apron from a hook to the side of the hall door and slipped it on. “It’s important to recognize that you don’t know everything about this world and how it works. None of us do. For all we know, there very well might be a spirit realm.”

  Lauren nodded enthusiastically.

  I tried to keep an open mind, but I was too paranoid about Kyle to do that. The scent of bacon burning brought my attention back to the pan, and I set to flipping and storing the cooked pieces on a silver platter.

  Gamma took a position at the double doors that looked out on the inn’s quaint dining room, tying her apron strings. She peered through the porthole windows at the gathered guests. “Goodness, they’re a rowdy bunch this morning.”

  “It’s the ghost,” Lauren said, and crossed herself.

  I finished up the bacon and joined Gamma.

  Most of the activity out there was centered on a table near the windows. Vaughan Shone, the unfortunate man who’d spotted the ‘apparition’ sat across from a young woman who had the same hooked nose as him.

  “It’s amazing what a little ghost sighting can do,” Gamma said, tapping her chin. “It’s a pity we don’t have more of them per year. We’d sell out rooms and tables faster than you can say ‘poltergeist.’”

  “Wait, you’ve had sightings before?” I asked.

  “Yes. But never one like this,” Gamma replied. “And the last one was years ago.”

  “Did Mr. Shone say what the ghost looked like?” Lauren asked, bringing over a platter of pancakes. We’d already filled mini pitchers of maple syrup for the tables.

  “Not in so many words.” Gamma cast me a sidelong glance. “But it was a male figure. And pale.”

  My grandmother knew why I was skeptical and worried. We’d discussed it the night before. But with no evidence of an intruder…

  “There’s so much happening lately,” Lauren said, and went over to the oven. She brought out the freshly baked bread and set it on the countertop to cool. “First the new movie theater, and now this ghost. Gossip is alive with activity!”

  “New movie theater?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. It’s the drive-in kind, you know, with a concession stand and a big screen on a platform. We should go.”

  “That sounds like a lovely idea,” Gamma said. “We’ll go this evening. Make an outing of it. What do you think, Charlotte?”

  “Yeah, OK. That sounds good.” It would give me the opportunity to get out of the inn and clear my mind.

  “Brian can come too.” Lauren nudged me and winked. “There’s nothing as romantic as a few cuddles under starlight.”

  I grabbed the platter of bacon and pancakes and escaped into the dining room before either Lauren or Gamma got any wise ideas—like teasing me about my relationship with Smulder. Or the start of it. We weren’t technically official.

  How I felt about Smulder scared me more than anything else, bar Kyle arriving in Gossip and harming the people I cared about the most.

  Don’t think about that now.

  I set the platters on the antique serving table at the front of the room, but none of the guests jumped up to help themselves. Very unlike them. The Gossip Inn was renowned for its delicious breakfasts, and the pancakes smelled amazing—apparently people were more freaked out by the ghost incident than I’d thought.

  “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em,” I muttered, and grabbed a pot of coffee.

  I had to force my way through the crowd around the Shone’s table, throwing out an elbow here or there when folks wouldn’t budge. Finally, I reached Vaughan and put up my best smile. “Good morning, Mr. Shone.”

  “Oh, hello,” he said, and dabbed his napkin across his sweaty forehead. “I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be all right?” a guest asked.

  “Yeah. Was it the ghost?”

  People shuffled and spat out questions faster than I could take them in.

  “The ghost,” Mr. Shone announced, drawing himself upright, “was standing outside this woman’s room last night.”

  The young woman at his table clicked her tongue. “Dad, this is so boring. Like nobody even believes in ghosts. That’s so nineties.”

  Nineties? I doubted Shone’s daughter had been alive in the nineties. “I think you mean butterfly clips and the Backstreet Boys.” I offered them coffee.

  “What’s a Backstreet Boy?” the daughter asked, flipping her styled blonde hair.

  “Stephanie, please.” Vaughan rapped his knuckles on the table. “The good people have come for a story. We must give it to them. You know, if you all come to the Shone Drive-In Movie Theater tonight, I’ll be showing the movie Poltergeist. It’s the grand opening. I’ll expect to see all of you there.”

  A murmur of appreciation traveled through the crowd.

  He’s the owner of the movie theater?

  “Well,” I said, clearing my throat, “when you’re done with your stories, there are pancakes and bacon at the front. And Lauren is preparing her delicious raspberry cupcakes for after. And bread. Poached eggs. Ham. The works.”

  Interest in Vaughan’s ghost stories melted away like butter on a hot griddle. The guests collected their plates and formed a line for pancakes. Mr. Shone wilted in his seat.

  “Are you all right?” I asked, trying not to be pleased at my interference.

  “Fine.” He stared out the window, his bottom lip jutting out a little.

  Seemed like Vaughan had a penchant for seeking att
ention—possibly because he wanted more people to attend the opening of the movie theater tonight. Couple that with the fact that Smulder and I had found no hint of an intruder last night… maybe the ghost story was just that. A story.

  Then there wasn’t any real reason for me to worry. But my gut said the opposite.

  Something was on the horizon. Something big. I could only hope my instincts were wrong this time. Pity they’d never been wrong before.

  3

  At a quarter to six in the evening, when the sun drifted above the horizon, a hazy orange ball, Gamma and I piled into her Mini-Cooper, dressed in jeans and matching knit sweaters. The sweaters had been a coincidence, but I didn’t mind wearing the same outfit as her. It beat being dressed in violently pink dresses decorated in smiley emojis.

  “Are you sure Brian doesn’t want to join us?” Gamma asked.

  “He’s got a meeting this evening,” I said. “With a friend.”

  “I see.” Gamma fell silent. She wouldn’t speak about NSIB business out loud, but we were both two curious cats when it came to Smulder’s private meetings with my superior, Special Agent in Charge Grant.

  They’d been happening more frequently of late, and Smulder had been behaving oddly too. More withdrawn than usual, and that was saying something.

  “Let’s not bother with that now, Charlotte,” Gamma said, and clicked on her seatbelt. “We’ve got a night of horror and wonder ahead.”

  “I hope you’re referring to the movie and nothing else.”