The Case of the Waffling Warrants

by Rosie A. Point

  “Everything I’ve done has been for the good of the business,” Josie said. “For The Little Cake Shop. You have no idea what it’s like to run a bakery. To be in debt. To have external pressures from every direction, just closing in and—”

  “That’s what you spoke to her about when you visited her, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about Brick, it was about how you planned on bringing her down. And when she told you she wouldn’t back off, you shot her.”

  “No!” Josie yelled.

  “Miss Carlson?” the barista called through the door. “Are you OK in there?”

  I turned the lock so she couldn’t get in. If Josie was the murderer, she’d have the perfect opportunity to get rid of me too. Or she would have if I hadn’t been a retired spy with training in hand-to-hand combat.

  “I didn’t kill Tina,” Josie said. “I wouldn’t throw away my life like that.”

  “The evidence points to you, Josie. And if you want to keep everything you have, I suggest you start talking.” It wasn’t a rational request, and I didn’t have any accompanying power, but I had to trust my gut and go with it. Hopefully, Josie would be unnerved enough to respond.

  “Look,” Josie said, putting up her palms, almost backed into the corner, “this isn’t what you think. I would never have hurt Tina. I was angry at her, but I would never have hurt her.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I… Tina wanted to buy me out, OK? She approached me with an offer. Apparently, this mentor person of hers had encouraged her to try and combine our businesses or something? It made me mad, so mad like… you wouldn’t believe. And before you say anything, no I wasn’t angry enough to murder her. But I was angry enough to say no. We had an argument about it.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “Tina threatened to shut me down. She had no leg to stand on, but yeah. This was her idea of a grand joint venture. Buying me out. There’s nothing joint about that!” Josie huffed. “If she’d never met that idiot Bridget this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Where does the flour come into it?”

  “I said I was angry, OK? I’m not great with my emotions. So, I tried to come up with a way to get back at her. I knew she was using stoneground flour for her bread, and that she thought it was the best possible type of flour around.”

  “So you went to the mill and bought it all?”

  Josie nodded. “Just for the week. I wanted to teach her a lesson. I wanted her to realize that she couldn’t just throw her weight around. The way she spoke to me made it seem like she was on top of the world with The Bread Factory, but now I hear she was on the brink of going out of business when… it happened. The murder.” Josie took a breath. “And then the vandalism and the break-in happened. A lot of my equipment was stolen. And money. My bakery was trashed, and it cost a lot of money to fix it up. And, what with the glove and everything, I figured it had to be Tina who did it, right? So I reported her to the police.”

  “And she was arrested.”

  “Yeah. But I swear, I didn’t hurt her. I swear. I would never risk my life and business like that. I-It would just be dumb.”

  “And the story you fed me about Brick?” I asked.

  “That was true,” Josie said, grimacing. “I like the guy. He’s not smart or fancy or I dunno. He doesn’t even have a great job, but I like him. And Tina didn’t treat him right, and I did.”

  “What did you actually talk to Tina about on the morning of her murder?” I asked.

  “Brick. Truthfully, I spoke to her about Brick. I was trying to clear the air, but she was not interested. Not at all. She told me to get lost. She threw a brownie at me.”

  “So it was you who brought her the brownies,” I said.

  “Yeah. I wanted to make peace.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I was afraid all of this would get out. And that Tina might have been poisoned or something,” she said. “That would make me look like the one who’d done it. And I didn’t. I really didn’t.”

  “OK,” I said, at last. “OK.”

  Josie sank into her office chair and planted her head in her hands. “This is such a mess. I can’t believe she’s gone. Even after what happened, I just—Tina was a friend. Even if we were frenemies, we were still close. It’s weird not having her around. It’s weird seeing The Bread Factory closed. And it’s my fault, isn’t it? I drove the final nail into the coffin.” Josie sniffed, a single tear dropping onto her desktop.

  “Josie, is there anything else you can tell me that would be relevant? Anything you were too afraid to tell me before?”

  “Not really, no.” Josie looked up. “That Officer Miller is a slacker, though. He didn’t fetch me to end the visitation. He took a smoke break and let me walk out by myself. I didn’t even see him after I’d signed in.”

  More evidence that anybody could’ve gotten past the man.

  “Do you know anyone who has a gun?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “The killer shot Tina.”

  “I’m sorry, no.”

  “Are you sure that glove belonged to Tina? The one you found in your store?” I asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Look. I’ve got the other one right here. I gave one to the police and kept one just in case.” She opened her desk and produced a glove with a daisy on the front.

  My eyes widened.

  “What?”

  “May I have that, please?”

  “I guess. I don’t have any use for it.” Josie placed it on her desk.

  I lifted the glove, my heart galloped in my chest. If Tina’s mother had given me her glove, and the police had, supposedly, the other glove. Then whose glove was this?

  28

  Back at the inn, thirty minutes later…

  * * *

  I wrenched my bedroom door open and charged inside. Cocoa Puff followed me in and leaped onto my white comforter, settling in and purring away.

  “I think I’m onto something,” I said. “I’m onto something, Cocoa.”

  He meowed encouragement.

  I opened the top drawer of my bedside table and wormed my fingers under the false bottom I’d installed recently. It popped free, and I removed the glove Tina’s mother had given me from underneath and placed it on the bed.

  Cocoa ignored my fevered movements, choosing to lick his unmentionables instead.

  Beside Tina’s glove with its white daisy embroidered on the front, I placed the glove Josie had given me. They were largely identical, but for one small detail. The center of the daisy on Tina’s glove was orange, and the center on the mystery glove, found at the scene, was yellow.

  These were two different sets of gloves. Belonging to different people.

  Tina hadn’t broken into Josie’s bakery after all, and here was the proof.

  I whipped my phone out and took a picture of both gloves then sent that to my grandmother with a follow-up text.

  “Going to call Bridget Willows for contact details of Mary the glove maker. That’s the key. Where are you?”

  My grandmother’s reply came through a minute later. “At the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter. Will be back in a few hours. Take whatever you need from downstairs.”

  Downstairs was the armory. She knew I was on a roll.

  I opened my contacts list and dialed Bridget Willows’ number.

  “This is Bridget Willows, businesswoman and mentor, how may I help you?” Bridget’s voice was haughty, as if that would help draw people into her scheme. I’d become increasingly convinced that was what it was. Her business was a scheme, designed to draw in unsuspecting young people and get them to pay her vast sums of money. Though, I couldn’t figure out what she was using that money for, given the state of her house.

  “Mrs. Willows,” I said. “It’s Charlotte Smith.” It was easier to say my fake name now, but I missed my true last name. Mission.

  “Oh, hello, Charlotte, dear. How are you?”

  “I’m calling about Tin
a’s gloves,” I said. “I wanted to know if you’d heard from Mary yet?”

  “Actually, yes. Mary’s with me right now. She’s been back from her vacation since late last night, isn’t that right, Mary, dear?”

  “May I talk to her please?”

  “Now? We’re in the middle of a conversation.”

  And I was in the middle of losing my patience. “Yes, please, now.”

  “I don’t think that’s appropriate, Charlotte.”

  “Give her the phone, please, Bridget.”

  “Charlotte, are you trying to tell me what to do?” Mrs. Willows was utterly shocked by the mere suggestion.

  “Sorry, perhaps I wasn’t clear enough,” I said, my patience vanished, my goal in sight. “Hand Mary the phone or I will go down to the Gossip Police Station and tell them that you tried to extort over two thousand dollars from Tina for a bogus conference that didn’t exist. Whether that’s true or not won’t matter because the police will look into the report. And they will, undoubtedly, find incriminating correspondence between you and Tina, and all the other women you’ve been taking advantage of. I’m sure there’s an electronic trail. Or a paper one. Either way, the damage will be done once the news gets out in Gossip. You know how rumors spread in this town. Now hand over the phone.”

  A rustling followed my monologue and for a second I was sure that Bridget had hung up.

  “Hello?” A soft voice like spun sugar. The woman on the other end sounded liable to melt in the rain.

  “Is that Mary Moosmin?” I asked.

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “I’m Charlotte Smith,” I said. “And I had a question about the gloves you embroidered for Tina.”

  “Oh, yes, of course. Beautiful, aren’t they?” Mary’s smile was audible. “Poor Tina was so distraught when she lost one.”

  “Lost one?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, about a month ago, she misplaced one of her gloves. I was going to knit her another, but we didn’t get around to it before my vacation.”

  So, that was why Tina’s mother had only one of Tina’s gloves. Ursula had likely believed that the other had been found at the crime scene. Not the case. “Tina’s gloves,” I said, “when did you make them?”

  “Oh, years ago,” Mary said. “Years. Just after she had graduated high school. Her and her best friend came to me because they wanted to get matching pairs of gloves. I convinced them they would need some differentiation between them or they'd be confused. Tina chose to have her daisy’s floral disc colored orange, and her best friend chose yellow.”

  “Who was her best friend?” I asked.

  “Mandy,” she replied. “Mandy Gilmore, of course. The two were inseparable back then, but I believe they drifted apart. How sad. You know, Mandy always was a driven young woman, and I think she left Gossip to start her own bakery?”

  “Bakery.” The word dropped from my lips.

  I had gone cold. To the tips of my fingers and toes.

  “Bakery.”

  “Are you all right?” Mary asked. “Hello?” She tapped on the phone. “Hello?”

  “Thank you,” I managed, then hung up on her.

  The clues in the case crashed together.

  Mandy had bought the bakery from Ursula when she was at her lowest. Mandy had mentioned Mr. Tindell, and hadn’t Lauren told me that Mr. Tindell liked hunting. And guns? Mandy and Tina had been friends, and Mandy had left town to start a bakery.

  The gloves belonged to her.

  “Cocoa,” I croaked. “I’ve figured it out.”

  He purred in return.

  “I have to catch her before it’s too late.” If Mandy would kill Tina in a police station to get what she wanted, there was no telling what else she might do.

  29

  The Rose Room was empty. Mandy Gilmore had already checked out. Either that was because she’d bought a home or moved in with a family member, but it didn’t matter. She was gone.

  Adrenaline raced through my veins, the certainty that she was the one who had killed Tina growing by the second. With her gone from the Gossip Inn, I had but one option. I would have to head to The Bread Factory and case the place out until she appeared.

  I darted down the stairs in the Gossip Inn, heading for the armory, and bringing my cell phone out of my pocket.

  As much as I despised what I was about to do, Detective Goode deserved to know what I’d discovered. I prepared a text that I’d send off after I was fully prepared for the confrontation with Mandy. It was for my grandmother, asking that she give him the tip he’d need to arrest Mandy, anonymously.

  My goal was clear.

  Get to Mandy, question her, leave the recording of that questioning for the police, and ensure she was sufficiently detained. Thereafter, I’d return to Ursula with my results, and I’d give her back the money she’d paid me at the start of this.

  She needed it more than I did.

  I entered my grandmother’s armory and picked out the relevant options for my mission.

  Armor that went under my usual clothing—it was afternoon and a black get-up would make me stand out—as well as cable ties, a tranquilizer gun, a Taser, and pepper spray for good measure. All less lethal weapons than an actual firearm. But I strapped my Sig Sauer P365 to my side underneath my jacket.

  It was time.

  I walked into town, using the time to calm my breathing, my senses heightening the closer I drew to The Bread Factory. It was a summer afternoon, and hot, but I couldn’t take off my jacket without exposing that I had a gun strapped to my side. The rest of my “tools” were secreted in my purse. I wore gloves. Odd for this heat, but I didn’t want my fingerprints muddying what I was about to do.

  Folks smiled and greeted as they walked by, and I returned each of those greetings with similar enthusiasm.

  This is it.

  It was silly to be this nervous about a small-town murderer. Even if she had a handgun. I’d dealt with higher profile targets than this before, but this felt like the most important thing I’d ever done.

  If I caught her, if I helped, it was like… the pieces of the puzzle would fall into place. My life in Gossip would have meaning beyond my duties at the inn. I would no longer be, Charlotte Smith, maid or even Charlotte Mission, failed spy.

  I approached The Bread Factory, my eyes peeled, and sat down on the bench opposite it, bringing my phone out of my purse and shooting off my prepared text to Gamma. I put my phone on silent right after then focused my attention on the bakery.

  Down the road, Josie’s cake shop was doing a roaring trade. The Bread Factory’s doors were still closed, the red and brown awning drooping in the afternoon heat.

  Movement inside drew my gaze.

  She was in there.

  Mandy walked back and forth in the store, talking on her phone and gesturing. She looked happy. She looked like a woman who thought she’d gotten away with murder.

  I pushed up from the bench, checked the street both ways, then crossed at a leisurely pace. I knocked on the glass front door and smiled when Mandy caught sight of me.

  “Are you open?” I called. “I could use a croissant.”

  “Just a sec.” Mandy hung up the phone then unlocked the door and opened it a bit.

  I pushed past her. “Oh thank goodness,” I said. “I’m in desperate need of something to eat. Bread. Lauren at the inn can’t make any. Flour shortage or something.”

  “Uh…” Mandy shut the door, the bell above it tinkling. “I’m sorry, uh, what was your name again? Charlotte?”

  “That’s right,” I said, turning toward her with a smile, clutching my purse to my side.

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not open. I’ve just bought the place so there’s a lot to prepare.”

  “Oh. Oh, that’s too bad. I was hoping to grab a bite.”

  “Sorry.” Mandy shrugged then gestured to the door. “Thanks for stopping by, though. I’ll be open next week, and you can come on down for a free croissant. How about that?”

/>   “You’re too kind.” I walked toward her, smiling, and removed my phone from my pocket. “I guess I’ll just look up another place where I can get bread. Seriously, I’m craving something doughy and delicious. Craft bread.”

  Mandy walked past me, offering nothing but an apologetic smile. I set my phone on one of the tables in The Bread Factory and hit the button to record. Then, I drew a second item out of my purse. The glove. Mandy’s glove.

  “Oh, by the way, I was talking to Josie earlier, and she gave me this to give to you.” I held it out.

  Mandy turned again, still with that vapid, nowhere smile on her face, and her gaze fell to the glove in my palm.

  “It’s yours, right?” I asked, tilting my head. “The glove?”

  Her expression froze. “Where did you get that?”

  “Josie gave it to me.”

  “Josie.”

  “You know, Josie from the bakery down the road? I think she found it in her store.” Now was where it got real, and I kept my muscles relaxed, ready to act on instinct at a moment’s notice. “I think you must have dropped it there when you were breaking in.”

  Mandy stared at me. “You. How?”

  “You know, when you broke into her bakery and vandalized it because you wanted to open one of your own. Is any of this ringing a bell?”

  Her fingers twitched at her sides.

  “And when that didn’t work, and Tina took the fall for the crime, you went to see her to stop her from outing you, correct?”

  “How do you know any of this? Who are you?”

  “You killed Tina, didn’t you?”

  Mandy backed away, shaking her head. She hit the counter and circled it, putting it between us, trembling. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “No?” I dropped the glove next to my phone, carefully. “You’re sure about that? You sure you didn’t borrow Mr. Tindell’s handgun and suppressor?” That was a guess on my part. I had no idea where she’d gotten the gun from. “Didn’t walk into the police station when Officer Miller was on one of his smoke breaks? Didn’t take the gun and shoot Tina through the bars of her holding cell? Horrible way to go, don’t you think? Her taking the fall for your crime and then being killed for it. Alone.”