My interest was piqued. A mystery case about a break-in that involved the local bakery? Which just so happened to be run by one of my least favorite people in Gossip?
And when I’d just started getting bored with the push and pull of everyday life at the inn?
Count me in.
2
Later that afternoon…
* * *
After a successful breakfast service—no one had removed their earrings or choked on a cupcake, proving miracles did happen—I helped Lauren clean up, occasionally checking my phone for texts from Miss Rogers’ mother.
They came through thick and fast, along with an offer that dropped my jaw at the sheer number of zeros.
With this kind of money, I could help my grandmother refurbish part of the kitten foster center that was attached to the inn. A necessary requirement now that we’d started converting it into a kitty hotel combo—a place where owners could drop off their cats for care while they went away on vacation or while they stayed at the inn.
Kind of like a kitty daycare.
Business had been good at the inn lately, but not “redo the kitten foster center” good.
“Need anything else from me, Lauren?” I asked, trying not to be too obvious about my excitement over the new “case.”
Lauren’s sister, Josie, was the owner of The Little Cake Shop which my new client had allegedly broken into. The last thing I wanted was to upset my friend. Even if I despised Josie and all her blustery bossiness.
“Not for now, Charlie,” she said. “I’ll see you back here in a couple of hours for the service prep.”
That was perfect.
It gave me plenty of time to head down to the station and see Tina Rogers before she was transferred to county or saw a judge. Things went slower in Gossip, and that worked out in my favor this time.
“See you later.” I stripped off my apron and hung it on a hook next to the kitchen door. I swept out into the hall, my excitement building at the prospect of seeing a new client.
I loved this kind of thing.
The thrill of the chase. The spy-work without the threat of death. And the prospect of wrestling the truth into the light of day.
I couldn’t wait to tell my grandmother about it.
“Excuse me! Miss? Excuse me.”
Shoot. Freedom was only a few steps away—the sunny exterior of the Gossip Inn, with its fountain, benches, and trees beckoning. My grandmother’s Mini-Cooper was parked out front, glinting deep sea-green.
I sighed and turned to the guy who’d called me. “Yes? How may I help you, sir?”
The guy was short and squat, with a piggish nose and a set of glasses sliding down it. His name was Brent Grote, and he’d arrived at the inn two days ago. “I have a problem.” He lifted a cat and thrust it toward me, scattering fine white powder everywhere.
“Uh?”
“My cat,” Mr. Grote said. “I left him in the kitten foster center for care while I went out last night, and this morning, he looks like this.”
He waggled the cat. The kitty meowed at me, black face and whiskers speckled white, and his yellow eyes wide.
“Uh… that’s odd.”
“Odd? Odd? That’s my cat you’re talking about.”
“I know, sir. I meant the dust.”
“What is it?” he asked, wrinkling his nose.
“I—can’t answer that with confidence,” I said. “May I?”
He thrust the cat into my arms. “Somebody’s going to pay for this. I need him kept clean for the cat show this week. He’s a pedigreed show quality cat.”
“I see.” I lifted the cat, who meowed again, gormlessly. “Hello there, boy, how are you feeling?”
A blank stare in response.
“Has he been… ill? I’d be happy to take him to the vet if—”
“If he was ill, I wouldn’t be having this discussion with you,” the man snapped. “He’s not ill. He’s… ugly.”
I barely held back a snort. The irony of that coming from Mr. Grote was, frankly, astounding. Also, I didn’t like people who insulted cats.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” The white powder coated my jeans and t-shirt, but I didn’t mind. I pinched some of it off the cat’s fur—named Speckles, if his nametag was to be believed—and rubbed it between my fingers.
“What is it? Is it asbestos? I’ll sue, I tell you. I’ll sue—oh my—what are you doing?”
I had inserted my powder-tipped finger into my mouth. I rolled the flavor around on my tongue, my initial suspicions correct. “It’s flour,” I said. “He must’ve gotten into the pantry.”
“The pantry! Speckles would never do such a thing, and I resent the insinuation.” He took the cat back.
“I wasn’t insinuating it so much as saying it outright,” I replied. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Grote, but there’s not much I can do. I suggest you have a chat with Georgina and arrange for a kitty cleaning. She’ll be happy to cover the costs. And I’ll speak to our chef about pantry security.”
Mr. Grote grunted but appeared satisfied by my answer.
Good thing too. I could barely wait to get out of here and speak to Tina Rogers about the bakery break-in, the embroidered glove, and why she didn’t want to hire a lawyer to help her with her case.
“You’ll need to sign in here, date there, purpose of visit, and all the rest as indicated there,” the police officer, Miller, said, lazily. He fingered a line on a fresh page. “And then I’m going to have to conduct a search. For contraband.”
“Fine,” I said, hurriedly scratching a pen over the page. The Gossip Police Station was a dreary place, with white tiles, old wooden counters, and gray walls, but it was neatly kept. Often, smaller towns had better budgets for policing compared to their city counterparts.
“If you’ll step this way, ma’am,” Officer Miller said, gesturing off to the side of the desk. “I’m going to search you now, and then I’ll let Miss Rogers know that she has a visitor and take her to the visitation area.”
I did as he’d asked, allowing him to check that I had nothing that could be passed through to Tina, my patience waning by the second. Officer Miller grunted his satisfaction, then exited the room through an open archway. His footsteps squeaked on the tiles, and I checked my watch.
I’d have to be back at the inn soon, especially if I wanted to ask Lauren about the pantry and how a cat had gotten in there, before we started preparing for the dinner service. I hadn’t even gotten around to my dusting for the day.
A shout rang from the holding cell area.
“Officer Miller?” I frowned and peeked through the doorway.
The room beyond it was large and open, with brown counters lining the walls, blue plastic bins beneath them. Off to one side was an area with red lines demarcated on the tiles—where mugshots were taken—and in the corner was what I could only describe as a cage.
Officer Miller was in the process of unlocking the cage’s door, fumbling around with his keys, one hand on his radio as he called for help.
Tina Rogers lay supine, staring sightlessly at the ceiling, her hand open, the scattered crumbs of a chocolate brownie on the floor next to her.
3
The interrogation room’s door slammed shut behind the detective. He walked over to the table that had been shoved into the corner, and sat down, producing two bottles of water.
New guy. I’d been so involved in life at the inn the past few months, I hadn’t even registered that the detective who’d investigated the previous murder cases was gone. Detective Crowley had retired, and this young man, I said young, but he was probably around the same age as me—mid-thirties—had to be his replacement.
Neatly trimmed black hair and sharp, green eyes set in a masculine face. Strong jawline. Handsome, even though it didn’t matter to me. I’d been through too much with men, already. No more dating. And no more ex-husbands, thank you very much.
“Miss Smith,” he said, offering me a white-toothed smile. His
teeth weren’t perfectly straight, but that added to his charm. “My name is Detective Aaron Goode. Are you comfortable? Happy?”
“I wouldn’t say happy, but sure. I’m comfortable. I did just see a dead body.”
Detective Goode flipped open the brown paper file he’d brought in. “It seems you’ve got some experience with dead bodies.”
“Uh… should I be complimented by that?” Remember, Charlie, you’re a maid. You’re not meant to know anything about anything.
Goode’s lips twitched upward at the corners. “I’ve got a record here from my predecessor, Detective Crowley, that mentions your involvement in several cases. It’s interesting. Seems like you’ve been everywhere and nowhere all at once.” He shut the folder. “Why is that?”
“No reason is particular,” I replied. “ I’m a maid at the Gossip Inn. But, I’m curious, Detective Goode, why are you here?”
“Meaning?”
“It’s a small town,” I said. “Even when Detective Crowley was here, I wondered why Gossip saw fit to have a detective around.”
“It’s with the town’s best interests at heart given the uptick in murders around here lately.”
“There hasn’t been an incident in nine months,” I said, coolly.
I wasn’t usually like this. I tried to maintain my friendly, wilting maid cover, but there was something about Detective Goode muscling in on my territory that got under my skin. And his line of questioning wasn’t setting me at ease either.
“Exactly nine months,” Goode said, examining me with a tilted head. “You’ve been keeping track of the time?”
“Look, I’m sure you’re just doing your job, but you can’t seriously think that I had anything to do with Tina Rogers’ death. Ask Officer Miller where I was when he found her, if you’d like.”
“Don’t worry what I think, Miss Smith,” Goode said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you saw today.”
“Sure. Go ahead.” Calm down, for heaven’s sake. He’s doing his job. And you have an alibi.
“Let’s start from the beginning. Why did you come to see Miss Rogers today?”
“She asked to see me.”
“Why?”
“Because she needed my help with her arrest.”
“Her arrest?”
Oh boy, this was going to go down a treat. “Yes,” I replied. “She wanted my help proving that she had been wrongfully arrested. She claimed that she hadn’t broken into The Little Cake Shop and that the embroidered glove found on the scene wasn’t hers.”
“And why would she ask for your help?” Detective Goode asked.
“Because I like helping people.”
He waited for more, but I didn’t offer it. The cream colored walls and the stark floors should’ve made me uneasy, but I’d been in worse situations than this. Worse interrogations.
“So, you came down here to talk to her about her case.”
“Yeah.”
“And then what happened?”
“I didn’t get to talk to her.” I told him everything, from my arrival and signing in, to when the body had been discovered. “And that’s it, I have no idea what happened.” Probably poisoning, what with the brownie on the floor and all.
Detective Goode stared at me in silence.
“Do you know who else was visiting her this morning?” I asked. “Because that’s where I’d start my list of suspects if I were you.” If only I’d caught a glimpse of the sign in sheet. I’d written my details on a fresh page.
“Thanks for the advice, Miss Smith,” Goode said. “But I can take it from here.”
“Ah. Right. Sure.” I hoped he was right because the last detective who’d worked cases in this town sure hadn’t been able to handle it. Not that it mattered. I had no choice but to get involved this time around.
Tina’s mother had already transferred half the cash to clear her daughter’s name into my account, and I had a feeling that she would want me to figure out what had happened in the holding cell. Of course, I’d have to get hold of her first, after she’d been informed of her daughter’s passing, but regardless...
“Is that all you need from me, Detective?”
Goode scanned his notepad, his handwriting neat and blocky in blue ink. “Do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to harm Miss Rogers?”
“Say, I was wondering that myself,” I replied. “But no. I don’t.” I intended to find out. I’d been given the gift of purpose, and I wasn’t about to let go of the opportunity. “She mentioned Josie Carlson from The Little Cake Shop on the phone.” What would the motive be, though? Josie wouldn’t have a clear-cut reason to harm Tina.
You don’t know that yet. Find out more about what happened first.
“Detective, why was Tina arrested? Was it just the glove that suggested she was the one who had robbed the bakery?”
“That’s part of an open investigation, Miss Smith. I can’t share that information with you.”
“Oh.” I acted shocked. “Then what can you share with me?”
“I can share with you the time of day,” he replied, as cool as I’d been earlier. Cool as a slice of no-bake cheesecake. “And that you don’t need to worry about helping Miss Rogers anymore. That’s in the hands of the Gossip Police now.”
“I’m sure she would’ve appreciated that,” I replied, sweetly.
Goode raised an eyebrow at me before scanning his page of notes again. He pushed me a few more times, making me walk through exactly what had happened, but treating me as a witness. He hadn’t read me my rights, so I was free to go after another twenty minutes of prodding and cajoling.
I exited the Gossip Police Station, cell phone in hand, my gaze on the screen. Poor Mrs. Rogers would find out soon enough what had happened, if she hadn’t already. Regardless of whether she wanted me to investigate or not, I needed to find out what had happened.
I couldn’t let this lie. Nothing would stop me from ensuring no ill befell this town.
4
My grandmother and I met at our rendezvous point in the front yard, both for an update on what she’d discovered at Jessie Belle-Blue’s new guesthouse, and to discuss what had happened with Tina. It was a lovely sunny afternoon, birds chirping in the trees, and the day warm but not too hot. Not that I could appreciate it on a day like this.
“Fascinating,” Gamma said, seated on a bench under one of the many trees in the Gossip Inn’s grounds. “A brownie?”
“Yeah. Brownie. I’m sure of it.”
“A baked good kills a woman who broke into a bakery.” Gamma paused. “And that woman also owned a bakery herself.”
“Wait, back up a second. Tina Rogers owned a bakery too?” I asked.
“Correct. Specializing in breads of every kind. People like their baked goods in this town. Comforting food is a winner when there’s not much to do except sweat and gossip.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “I wonder why she didn’t tell me that,” I said. “Then again, she didn’t have time. She got cut off.”
“Did her mother mention it?”
“I haven’t heard from her yet. I assume she’s been busy with the police.”
Gamma fell silent, her hawkish blue eyes focused on a point in the distance. “But you’re curious, aren’t you? About who did this?”
“Georgina,” I replied, “do you even need to ask?” I had to call my grandmother Georgina in front of other people, and I’d gotten into the habit. We couldn’t risk exposing our true identities. Gamma had a lot of enemies from her past.
“Then what are you going to do, Charlotte?” Gamma asked. “What avenues will you investigate?”
My grandmother would be with me every step of the way. While she coped with the molasses trickle of life in Gossip by investing in side projects—the inn, the kitten foster center—she still enjoyed dabbling in mysteries with me.
“This bakery thing interests me. So Tina owned a bakery, yes?”
“Correct.”
“An
d so did Josie.” I grimaced. I wasn’t a fan of Josie Carlson, though I kept our relationship civil for Lauren, the inn’s chef's sake. “And Tina was accused of breaking into said bakery and… what? Why? Did she steal something?”
“According to my grapevine,” Gamma said, referring to her many friends and gossip buddies in town, “Josie’s bakery was vandalized.”
“Who told you that?” I asked.
“A lady never rats out her informants, Charlotte.” Gamma fluttered long eyelashes at me. “But it was Lauren. Obviously.”
“Right, OK. Vandalism. Locked up for vandalism? There’s got to be more to it than that.”
“Things went missing too,” Gamma said. “Theft and vandalism. I don’t have all the details.”
“I’ll have to get them from Josie.” Perish the thought. “She’ll know what’s going on, and, as of now, she’s my prime suspect.” I ticked off points on my fingers. “Her bakery was allegedly vandalized by Tina, who claimed that she wasn’t the one whodunit, and Tina was murdered by a poisoned brownie.”
“You’re assuming that,” Gamma replied. “It’s not as if you’ve received a toxicology report. How much of the body did you see?”
“I got a brief glimpse of the brownie, her hand, and her face. Officer Miller was blocking everything else from view.”
“Then you don’t know for certain that it was poisoning, do you?”
“You’re right,” I said.
That complicated things. If Tina hadn’t been poisoned, my suspect pool opened up, but I was curious about who had visited her. And how she had died.
“But who could’ve done this without Officer Miller overhearing?” I asked. “If it wasn’t poisoning by crumbly brownie then it had to have been a violent death. And violence begets noise. Wouldn’t Miller have heard or checked on Tina after the last visitor?”
“That I can’t say,” Gamma replied. “He’ll have the answer to that.”
The Case of the Waffling Warrants Page 2
