“No,” Bee said, “she usually does this. It’s her form of art.”
I bit back a laugh, but it soured at the thought of getting the grape juice out of my sweater.
“To each their own,” Harper said, airily, her gaze darting to my diary in hand and back up to my face. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Trudy.”
“Ruby,” I said. “It’s Ruby.”
“Of course. I apologize.” Harper’s pleasant demeanor was similar to the one she’d had the other day, but now she’d put on airs and graces. Like she was the Queen rather than a gallery owner. “What brings you here today?”
“Just thought we’d see some sights Muffin has to offer,” I replied.
“And we wanted to wash our eyes out,” Bee put in. “Sort of like cutting an onion, isn’t it?”
Harper frowned.
I cleared my throat to distract her. “It’s a lovely exhibit. Did you do it all yourself?”
“Most of it,” Harper said, raising her head. “I do source some outside art from local artists. You know, just to support them.” She shrugged as if it was nothing. “I’m glad you stopped by, though. I can tell you about the pieces. You see, I take my inspiration from the greatest artist to walk the face of the Earth. Pablo Picasso. My favorite.”
“That’s… nice.” I tried searching for a resemblance, but saw none. Then again, I wasn’t an art buff.
“Are you interested in buying?” Harper raised an eyebrow.
“Buying?” Bee asked. “Another glass of champagne?”
“No, a piece of art of course, you silly goose.” Harper tittered at the joke.
“We were just stopping by before we head over to grab something to eat,” I said, searching for the right segue. “Been working on the truck all day. Funny thing, though, we ran into someone who mentioned that you and Misty got into a fistfight. We just wanted to check that you were OK.”
“Me? I’m fine,” Harper said, tossing her hair. “But why are you asking?”
“Oh, we just heard a rumor,” I replied. “And from our talk the other day, it got me worried that maybe you might have seen something. You know, if you and Misty got into a fight, you might have passed the murderer in the street.” I made my eyes wide, as if the thought haunted me.
“Goodness, no. I didn’t see anything, thankfully. I spoke to Misty during the morning, though it wasn’t really speaking and more shouting. You see,” Harper said, tapping her fingernails against her cheek, “everyone in Muffin knows I’m wealthy, including Misty, and she’s not. She’d run through all her funds, and her father refused to give her any more. So, she tried to get me to give her money. I refused. She threw a punch. I extracted myself from the situation.”
“Wow.” I wasn’t sure I’d bought a word of it. Except for, perhaps, that Misty had wanted money from Harper.
“We weren’t the best of friends, that’s for sure. But then, no one in town liked Misty. She was a horrible witch. She would do whatever she wanted to get ahead, and if you got in her way, well, she’d just try to get rid of you.”
“Seems like someone decided to get rid of her instead,” Bee said, pointedly.
Harper didn’t register that it had been a jab. “Unfortunate. I guess.” She pulled a face. “For Misty and her family. Her father came back from vacation when he heard.”
“How sad,” I said. “Well, it’s good that you didn’t see anything. If you had, the murderer might’ve come after you next.”
Harper laughed. “Oh no. That wouldn’t happen.”
“Why not?” Bee asked.
“Because it just wouldn’t, trust me.”
“Harper, darling.” A woman with a British accent waved from the front of the gallery.
“Excuse me. This is one of my clients. Feel free to enjoy the snacks and juice.” She swept off, and I watched her leave.
“What do you think?” I asked.
“That Harper’s a little too confident for her own good,” Bee said, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Also, she likes primary colors too much.”
“Let’s get out of here. We need to consolidate what we’ve found.” And we had to prepare for something else. Or rather, I had to prepare for it. Tomorrow was Bee’s birthday—she’d tried hiding it from me, but I’d managed to find out by a few choice online searches and phone calls. My investigative history had paid off again.
We hurried from the gallery, and I could’ve sworn that Harper’s gaze had followed us.
9
The following morning
“What’s going on?” Bee asked, tearing her sleep mask down. “Why are you—?” She gasped, her fingers fluttering to her lips. “Are you serious? Ruby, I—how? How did you know?”
“I have my sources,” I replied, from the foot of her bed. My arms were laden with gifts, and I grinned at her. “Since we didn’t get to stay with Sam for your birthday, I figured I’d buy extra presents to make up for it.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.” Bee pushed herself upright, but she couldn’t hide her excitement.
Bee and I were so different but similar too. I doubted she’d celebrated many of her past birthdays, and she definitely hadn’t had friends to celebrate with.
I dropped the presents onto her bed, and she scooched up, eying them with thinly concealed glee. “This is all too much. Ruby… I mean—”
“Hey, remember my birthday? At least, I didn’t organize a surprise party for you.” I had to withhold a shudder. My party hadn’t exactly gone to plan.
“That alone is a gift.”
“Ha. Oh it wasn’t that bad.”
“There was a dead body strewn across the table,” Bee said. “It was pretty bad.”
I shivered again. “Anyway, I thought we’d take the day off the truck. We’ve done so well in sales this past week, we can afford it. And I doubt our customer-base will disappear. People are obsessed with what happened to Misty. More so than we are.”
“I doubt that,” Bee said, and unwrapped one of her gifts. A selection of baking-themed pins fell out—a cupcake, a donut, and a macaron. “These are adorable.” She pinned one of them to her PJ top.
“I’m glad you like them. Since we’re taking the day off, I thought we’d head out to the park and have a picnic lunch. Mrs. Rickleston was kind enough to pack a basket. We’ll have some donuts and treats and go over what we have for the case.”
“Yes,” Bee hissed.
It was the best gift I could’ve given her, honestly. She missed working as a detective, and when things like this just fell into her lap, it was the obvious choice. Besides, we’d already peeled back a few layers of intrigue—Misty had been hated by Olivia, who had been seen with an ex-mob guy, and then there was Harper, who’d had an altercation with her.
“All right, you unwrap the rest of these,” I said, giving her a hug. “Happy Birthday.” Like me, I doubted Bee would appreciate the scrutiny while she opened her gifts.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in twenty,” Bee said, happily. “Thanks so much. Like I said, you didn’t have to do this.”
“What are friends for?”
Downstairs, I gathered everything for our picnic and checked the weather forecast on my phone. It would be sunny with a chill wind, but we’d survive. Besides, there were plenty of covered areas in the park, gazebos and the like, and exploring the town was a big part of our stay here. When I’d decided to get into the roaming food truck business, it had been to get away from New York and the memories and stares after Daniel had left me. But it had also been for the sense of adventure.
What was the point of stopping in gorgeous small towns across the country if we weren’t going to explore them?
“Here you go, dear.” Mrs. Rickleston handed me a wicker basket. “If there’s anything else I can help you with, you just let me know.”
“I will, thank you, Mrs. Rickleston.”
She patted me on the cheek and squeeze it lightly. “Such a precious girl. You’ll go far, you know. I can just tell,
you’re one of those women who have what it takes to succeed.” And then she shuffled off again, heading for the swinging kitchen doors at the end of the dining area.
I didn’t want to examine too closely what she’d said. Perhaps, because I didn’t believe it of myself. Our trip thus far had been amazing but fraught with mistakes, failures and flops. Not in the baking department, though. Bee had that covered.
Oh stop it. Today will be a good day.
I set the basket on a sideboard then grabbed my box of glazed donuts and put them inside. I couldn’t wait to find out what Mrs. Rickleston had packed for us. Her chef was a genius.
“Ready!” Bee presented herself at the base of the stairs, grinning and wearing her donut pin and a thick orange sweater, a trench coat and a pair of gloves.
“Great.” We made our way out of the inn and down the road, opting for a brisk walk instead of a drive so we could take full advantage of the town’s sights and sounds.
My cheeks iced up, but I didn’t care. The sun was out, cars trundled down the roads, and Muffin showed its beautiful side—the brick pathways, the shop windows, the men and women coming out to grab coffees at a local diner, laughing, chatting, joking.
“It’s weird to think that this place has secrets,” I said, softly.
“Every town has its secrets, Ruby,” Bee said. “It just depends how deeply their hidden.”
We reached the park and passed the duck pond where we usually parked. There were a few stragglers who perked up at the sight of us, but wrinkled their noses when they realized we wouldn’t be setting up shop today.
Five minutes later, we had our seat under a gazebo and a blanket each over our laps. I rubbed my hands together and opened the picnic basket. Tempting scents drifted up to greet us. I removed the donut box then gaped at what was underneath it.
“Oh my heavens,” I said. “Wow. Mrs. Rickleston outdid herself. Look at this. There are lobster rolls and roasted potato wedges, bacon sandwiches too.”
“Let’s hope none of it's poisoned,” Bee said.
“That’s not funny.” But I laughed anyway. We took out all the treats and stacked the Tupperware boxes on the bench either side of us.
The lobster rolls were over-the-top delicious, and we ate them greedily, talking about Carmel Springs and how much we missed Sam and Millie and all the other folks there. The view filled me with joy too.
It was sad to miss our friends, and weird to be embroiled in another murder investigation, but I was happy.
“Ruby,” Bee said, lowering her voice. “Is that Olivia Murphy?”
I followed her line of sight.
A couple walked across the grass together, heading for another of the gazebos nearby, hand-in-hand. The woman’s hair was dark, but I couldn’t make out whether it was Olivia from behind. But the man… he had tattoos down his arms just like Thomas O’Leary.
“I bet it is,” I said. “And she’s with that mob dude again.”
“O’Leary.”
“Right.”
“Holding hands. Looks like Olivia had all the resources she needed to get rid of her sister. My question is why the police haven’t arrested either of them if they did do it.”
That was a question we’d have to get an answer for. After the lobster rolls, of course. “I think I know who we could ask about them.”
10
The last information I’d received from Lucy, the nail technician who’d come to the truck, had been valid. And there wasn’t a place that bred gossip better than a salon and all its inhabitants.
“Are we really doing this?” Bee asked, checking her nails.
“Oh, come on. It will be fun. How long has it been since you’ve had your nails done?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Exactly. This will be great. And we’ll get some information out of it too. Besides, it’s the perfect way to celebrate your birthday.”
The outside of the Hashtag Nailed It salon stood out like a sore thumb. Most of the buildings in the street were brick-faced and humble, with flowerbeds under their windows and cheery fabric awnings. The salon, however, had been painted a violent shade of purple and slashed with zebra stripes of black, and its sign had been done in sparkling glitter.
“Oh no,” Bee said, as we stopped outside it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Do you want to find out what O’Leary and Olivia were doing together or not?” I asked.
A beat passed and then Bee sighed. “Fine. But my eyes are starting to water again. What is it with people in this town and bright colors?”
I pushed the glass front door open, and a merry chime rang through the interior—also styled in glittery purple and black.
“Oh hiya,” Lucy waved from a table on the side of the room. Several nail stations were set up with chairs facing the technicians and most of them were occupied. Thankfully, Lucy’s was free, and she rose from her seat and clip-clopped over in insanely high stilettos.
Lucy enveloped me in a perfumed hug. “Great to see you again, hon. Are you here to get your nails done?”
“No, we came to hammer up some drywall,” Bee said.
Lucy guffawed. “You’re funny. What’s your name?”
Bee, who was used to her sarcastic humor being frowned upon, returned a gap-toothed grin. “Bee.”
“Well, you can take seats right here.” Lucy gestured to her table and the one next to hers, where another glammed up technician sat inspecting her nails. The collection of fake nails not the ones on her fingers.
Bee took the seat in front of the technician we didn’t know, and I took the comfy stool in front of Lucy’s station. She lowered herself into place, tossing her hair back, her earrings and bracelets clattering noisily, and took a hold of my right hand.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” She examined my fingernails. “These cuticles need care.”
“Yeah, I’ve been too busy for cuticle care.”
“One should never be too busy for cuticle care, Ruby,” Bee commented.
Lucy clicked her fingers and pointed them at Bee. “I like you. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders.”
I cleared my throat. “I’d just like a manicure and, uh, French tips, please. That’s it.”
“Sure thing, baby doll.” She set to work organizing her nail products then brought my fingers toward a warm bath of water.
I tried to relax, but it had been a long time since I’d had anyone touching me like this. And it kind of made me uncomfortable. Don’t be silly. This is meant to be fun. It was also meant to be an information reconnaissance mission.
“So, what’s new?” Lucy asked. “How’s life in Muffin treatin’ ya?”
“It was fine,” I replied. “I mean, it is fine. I think I’m still a little shaken up after the murder.”
“Of course, yeah, that’s horrible. Can’t imagine what that must’ve been like, walking in on somethin’ like that? No thank you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I spoke to Harper, by the way.”
“Oh, you did? And what did she say? I bet she came over all snooty on you. She’s like that. She thinks she can get away with…” Lucy raised her eyebrows. “Just because she’s rich. But she hated Misty just like everybody else in town did. They don’t even deny it.”
“What about the people who Misty made sick?” I asked. “Did they ever get into fights with her?”
“Oh, probably. But she made a lot of people sick, so it’s difficult to keep track.”
“That many people?” I asked.
“Oh yeah, she even made her husband sick at one point.”
“Ex-husband,” the technician who had Bee’s nails under her care said. “Tom ain’t with her anymore.”
“Tom?” I asked.
“Thomas O’Leary,” Lucy replied. “He was Misty’s man for years, but she was so crazy, she chased him away. And he was not the kind of guy you messed with, if you catch my meaning. It’s crazy how much he let her get away with. From what I heard, she had an affair.
”
“Tom and Misty were married?” My jaw dropped.
“Why so shocked?”
“We were in the park this morning and we saw Tom and Olivia together. Holding hands,” I said.
Lucy released my hand, clapping hers to her cheeks. “No. Really?”
“Really,” I said.
“They looked cozy?”
“Very cozy,” I replied. “And we saw them at La Griglia the other night, as well.”
Lucy brought my nails back into her care with a conspiratorial spy. “Now, that is something. I wonder how long that’s been going on. I doubt Misty would’ve been happy about them being together.”
“Do you think they were having an affair when Misty was still married to him?” the other nail tech asked.
“Hmm, I wouldn’t put it past Olivia,” Lucy said. “She hated her sister. You know, she was adopted before Misty was born, so they never really saw eye-to-eye. Because she was, like, older or whatever.”
The new information practically rattled around the inside of my skull.
“I wonder if she’ll be there at the funeral tomorrow,” Lucy said.
“Misty’s funeral is tomorrow?”
“That’s right. At the cemetery behind the church. Though, I doubt anyone will be there.” Lucy shrugged.
I glanced over at Bee. She gave me an infinitesimal nod. We had our next lead.
11
Bee had chosen a classy outfit—black tailored pants, a black polo neck and a fleece black jacket to match. I had gone for a black trench with a maxi dress underneath because I didn’t have that much black clothing.
Not that it mattered.
There were an awful lot of people wearing colorful clothing at Misty’s funeral. It was scandalous. To make matters worse, there weren’t many people in the cemetery present to pay their respects. There were a handful, apart from the pastor himself—the same man, Jack Byrne, we’d met in front of the bakery after Misty’s death.
Other than him, the handful of guests intrigued me. Since everyone had, apparently, despised Misty, it made no sense that any of them would’ve been in attendance, unless they had agendas of their own.
Bite-sized Bakery 06 - Murder Glazed Donuts Page 4
