The Case of the Waffling Warrants

by Rosie A. Point

  “She deserved it,” Mandy hissed, finally snapping. She reached under the counter and produced the handgun in question, a Glock 19, the suppressor screwed onto the end. “She deserved everything that was coming to her. I tried to tell Tina not to get involved with Bridget, but she didn’t listen and look where that got her.”

  “What’s Bridget got to do with it?”

  “Ah, so you don’t know everything. Bridget took my money years ago. Gave me the same business conference turd talk that she did Tina, and I nearly lost everything. I decided to leave town, start up on my own.”

  “But you came back,” I said. “Because you failed.”

  “Do you want to die too?” Mandy asked, aiming the gun at my chest. “That’s where this is going, you know. You don’t seem nearly afraid enough.”

  “Sorry about that,” I replied. “So, what, you killed Tina because she knew you had broken into Josie’s place? Why not kill Bridget? She’s the one you were mad at.”

  “Tina wasted her money, and she wasted more of my money. I wanted to invest in her business. That’s why I came back to Gossip. But when she told me what had happened, I saw red. I decided I’d open my own place. And I didn’t need Josie for competition, or Tina for that matter.”

  “So you broke in and planted the glove. Stole what you needed. That right?”

  “Correct,” Mandy replied.

  “And when Tina threatened to out you.”

  “I had enough,” Mandy said, shaking the gun at me. “I had enough of everybody walking all over me. Bridget, Tina, that evil piece of work, Josie. All of them. So, yeah, I killed Tina Rogers. I’m proud of it. And now, I’m going to kill you. I’ll say it was an accident. That I thought you were an intruder. That I shot you in self-defense.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, and charged toward her.

  Mandy’s eyes widened, her finger squeezed the trigger. A muted tap came next, followed by a punch to my chest. Breath rushed from my lungs, and I stumbled back a step. I was trained for this. Mandy had shot me and the bulletproof armor under my clothes had saved my life.

  That’s going to bruise in the morning.

  Mandy stared in horror as I ran her down. She let off two more shots, both going wide. I tackled her to the ground, swiftly, disarmed her with a twist of her wrist, then flipped her into a chokehold.

  She gasped and tapped on my arms, clearly unnerved by how I’d handled the situation.

  “Who-are-you?” she managed, before she lost consciousness.

  I released her immediately, checked her pulse was normal, her chest rising and falling. I fetched my cable ties from my purse and fastened her arms and legs, before rolling her onto her side and ensuring her air passage wasn’t restricted.

  Mandy’s phone was on the counter. I grabbed it, retreating to the table where I had set up the recording. Quickly, I edited and clipped the recording and played it back.

  “I had enough of everybody walking all over me. Bridget, Tina, that evil piece of work, Josie. All of them. So, yeah, I killed Tina Rogers. I’m proud of it.” Mandy’s voice. Loud and clear.

  I transferred that clip to her phone, then put it on the countertop and set it to play on a loop. I placed the glove next to it, then collected my things.

  A car screeched to a halt outside. A black SUV.

  I left Mandy on the floor and dipped out into the sunlight, checking no one had noticed my departure. Finally, I slipped into the interior of the SUV, greeting my grandmother with a grin.

  “Detective Goode is on his way,” Gamma said, tapping the radio attached to her dashboard. “They’re going to arrest her.”

  “Good. I trussed her up like a turkey in there.”

  “There’s sufficient evidence for her arrest?” Gamma asked, speeding off down the road, the windows tinted so dark that no one could see in.

  “I’ll say.”

  Sirens wailed, and a glimpse of the rearview mirror before we turned the corner showed me the cops pulling up in force in front of The Bread Factory.

  After what had felt like a year, I could finally relax. I settled back into the SUV’s comfy leather seat and closed my eyes.

  Case closed.

  30

  One week later…

  * * *

  “The world is right again,” Lauren sang, merrily, as she stirred the cupcake batter. “Y’all better be prepared for the best waffle cupcakes ever.”

  “I’ve been waiting all week,” my grandmother said, primly, sitting at the kitchen table, the local newspaper, The Gossip Rag, open in front of her. “Whatever you make will only improve my mood.”

  The headline of the newspaper had annoyed my grandmother.

  Local detective solves murder case! Detective Goode lauded as a hero.

  There was no mention of my name in the article, and that meant I’d done my job correctly. Everything had gone to plan, from Goode finding Mandy to me returning the money to Tina’s mother. And no one was the wiser about my involvement. The sign of a good spy.

  But Gamma, for once, didn’t see it that way. “Charlotte did nearly all the work, and this detective gets to sweep in and take all the credit?”

  “I don’t think it’s his fault,” Lauren said, setting her mixing bowl down on the countertop. “You know what that Jacinta at the paper is like. She takes a thread and runs with it.”

  “She can run into the end of a sharp pole,” Gamma grumbled.

  I patted her on the arm. “I don’t care, Georgina. I’m just happy it’s all over, you know? It’s better that nobody knows about my involvement. Easier this way.”

  “If you say so, Charlotte. Sometimes, it doesn’t hurt to stand out. Besides, everybody who’s anybody in Gossip knows that you’re the woman to talk to about fixing problems. Where’s the use in hiding that?”

  “They can know about it,” I said, “as long as they don’t have proof.”

  I sipped my coffee and let the atmosphere wash over me. The kitchen was cool this morning, though it promised to be a scorcher of a day, and Lauren chatted with us, telling us about the kicks from her baby last night, and how Tyson and Jason had gone walking in the park the night before and found a football.

  Part of me wanted to believe it was the same ball that had beaned me in the head. I smiled and nodded, occasionally glancing toward the kitchen door, where Sunlight and Cocoa Puff lay side-by-side, free of flour and drifting in and out of kitty cat dozes.

  “We’ve got a lot to take care of this month,” Gamma said. “The ghost tours. The cat hotel. Mr. Grote promised to recommend us now that he’s won his cat show and the flour issue has been resolved.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Lauren put in.

  “There’s also the Tri-State Baking Competition next month. We’ll have people coming from all over to stay in Gossip.”

  “Wait, why? We’re hosting it?” I asked.

  “The mayor applied last year, and we won the majority vote,” Gamma said. “Palms were greased. So sayeth the grapevine. It’s going to see a boom in tourism. A lot of new people to entertain and cook for.”

  “A lot of potential for chaos,” I said.

  “But of course. We would expect nothing less at the Gossip Inn, would we?” my grandmother asked.

  “Ahem.” The noise had come from the kitchen doorway, and all three of us turned.

  Detective Goode, wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, gave us a half-cocked smile. “Hi,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “As you should be,” my grandmother said. “What is it you want, Detective? I believe you’ve done enough already.”

  “She means, congratulations on solving the case.” I got up, brushing my hands off on my apron. “What do you need, Detective Goode?”

  “Can I talk to you for a second, Miss Smith?”

  “Do I have a choice?” I waved a hand. “Don’t answer that. I’m coming.” I followed him out into the hall, my grandmother’s eyes tracking us both, narrowed to slits.

  “Is
Mrs. Franklin OK?” he asked.

  Franklin was my grandmother’s fake last name. “She’s, uh, fine. Just having a rough morning.”

  Detective Goode walked all the way out onto the porch, into the rising heat of the morning, and sat down on the porch swing. I didn’t join him. The porch swing reminded me of another time, another man, and another heartbreak.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?” I asked.

  “First off, when I’m not on the job, call me Aaron.”

  “Better to keep things professional,” I said, slamming a barrier between us. “Is there a problem, Detective? Have you come to arrest me?”

  “No. I wanted to thank you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know you had a hand in what happened yesterday,” he said.

  I kept my mouth firmly shut.

  “I can’t prove it, of course, but I know that you did.” He offered me another of his half-smiles, and my heart did a strange twiddly dance of betrayal. “Thanks for doing what you did. I’ll admit I’m curious about how you pulled it off.”

  Still wasn’t going to say anything.

  “You don’t give much away.”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Detective Goode. There’s nothing to give away.”

  He rose from the porch swing and came closer, so close that he was mere inches from me, and the scent of his cologne nearly overwhelmed my senses. “Your hair looks nice, Charlotte,” he whispered.

  I stared up at him, wide-eyed. Words traveled through my mind, pinging and disappearing again.

  Detective Goode reached up and brushed a strand of hair from my cheek. “Anyone ever told you, you’ve got a cute nose? Like a button.” He pressed a finger to the end of my nose. “Be sure you keep it out of my cases from now on. Capeesh?”

  I opened my mouth to snap at him, but he stunned me with a wink before tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans and walking off.

  My pulse hammered against the inside of my throat, and a slow blush spread up my neck and onto my face.

  That man!

  I spun to shout at him, but he was already too far down the pathway, and it would only make me look even more pathetic.

  “I forbid it.” My grandmother had appeared on the inn’s threshold. “Charlotte, I forbid it. You are not to date that man.”

  “First,” I said, raising a finger, my blush slowly receding, “as if you could stop me from doing anything.” A lie. My grandmother could stop a moving train if she put her mind to it, I was sure of that. “And second, are you trying to make me throw up? That guy? Please. I’ve never met a more arrogant, a more assuming…”

  Gamma gave me a knowing look. “He’s one of those types.”

  “Which types?”

  “The type who takes control of situations, who does what they shouldn’t to get the right results, and who usually gets his way.”

  “You’ve just described us,” I said. “We’re like that.”

  “Exactly.” My grandmother came over and slipped an arm around my shoulders. She squeezed me to her side, hugging me tightly. “That’s why he’s dangerous, Charlotte. He’s too much like you.”

  I was so happy about the affection from my grandmother—she had never been the “touchy-feely” type—that I let the semi-insult slide. I hugged her in return.

  “I’m proud of you, Charlie,” she whispered, patting my back. “You’ve done yourself proud. You can truly call Gossip your home now.”

  The warmth of her words settled in my chest, expanding until I was sure I’d pop from contentment. She was right.

  Gossip was my home. I finally had my place.

  And I wouldn’t let anyone threaten my town again.

  * * *

  Charlie and Gamma’s adventures continue in the second book in The Gossip Cozy Mystery Series, The Case of the Key Lime Crimes, available from these retailers. Click to get it!

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  Acknowledgments

  This book was a delight to write, but it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as fun without the help and support of the people around me.

  First, to my readers, my amazing “Curly Fries Lovers”, and in particular to Lauren Dottin-Radel, Debi Paglia, Molly Hamblin, Dwayne Keller, Stephanie Walsh, Stephanie Keller, and Beverlee Smith for your continued support. You go above and beyond every time you read my books, and I’m not sure you even know how much that means to me.

  A big thank you to Natasha White for her advice regarding milling and logistics, for putting up with my strange questions, and for the invaluable emotional support.

  And, of course, my dear family, my husband who endures my late night typing, constant book babble, and the occasional breakdown. And my son, who will forever be the reason I started writing in the first place.

  Thank you.