Mint Murder (A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 5)

by Rosie A. Point

  I did a double-take at the sight of a short, brunette woman seated at the kitchen table, one hand on a paperback, the other holding the front of a stroller, rocking it back and forth.

  Lauren stood behind the stove, stirring a pot of sauce for the pasta dish she planned on serving for lunch.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Oh! Charlie.” Lauren jumped, her red pigtails bobbing. She splatted some sauce on her apron and grabbed a napkin to wipe it off. “I didn’t see you there.” Lauren, usually bubbly and full of enthusiasm about a day of cooking ahead, had dark half-moons under her eyes.

  I didn’t blame her. Having a three-month-old baby would do that to a girl.

  “How are you?” I asked.

  “I’m—exhausted, but good. How rude of me! Allow me to introduce you to my sister,” she said. “This is Josie. Jo, I told you about Charlotte, didn’t I?”

  “About a million times,” Josie replied, her voice higher pitched than her sister’s. She set down her paperback, marking her place with her thumb. “Nice to meet you. Don’t mind me, I’m just here to help with the baby while Lauren works.”

  “Pleasure to finally meet you too,” I said. “Lauren speaks so highly of you.”

  And, though I wouldn’t admit it out loud, it was a pleasure to have little Tyson in the kitchen. Babies were loud, messy, sometimes smelly, but whenever Tyson was here, my inhibitions about children—and having them—faded. He had the cutest little fingers and toes, the sweetest gummy smile.

  “I wouldn’t have to be here if my sister’s worthless husband did what he was supposed to do and played the part of a responsible father, but—”

  “Jo, stop it,” Lauren said, sounding more tired than exasperated. “I can’t have this conversation with you again. Jason is doing his best, all right? We both are.”

  “Then why doesn’t he take Tyson with him to work?” Josie asked. “Or come here and babysit for you? I don’t mean to sound harsh, but I have a bakery to run too, and as much as I love spending time with you and little Tyke, things would be easier if Jason took an interest in his child.”

  “He does!” Lauren snapped. “He does take an interest in his child.”

  I cleared my throat, and an awkward silent rested between the women.

  “Josie,” Lauren breathed, “I have so much to deal with. An entire week’s worth of party food to prepare. Just… be nice.”

  “Fine.” Josie lifted her paperback and returned to her reading, occasionally rocking the stroller.

  I narrowed my eyes at her. Objectionable woman.

  But I couldn’t interfere in their relationship or argument. Siblings were complicated. And Lauren had already returned to her sauce, her gaze focused.

  What a strange start to another week in the Gossip Inn.

  3

  Later that evening…

  After a long afternoon spent serving snobby Hollywood elites and their friends, followed by cleaning up after them, it was wonderful to take a breather. Especially when that break entailed heading into the kitten foster center attached to the inn, planting my butt on the wooden boards, and playing with the older kittens now up for adoption.

  Sunlight, my favorite ginger cat, had grown past the age of adoption, and he now lived in the foster center, often looking after the younger kittens, licking them clean or playing with them. I’d convinced Gamma to let Sunlight stay on in the center.

  I sat with Sunlight in my lap, stroking his furry ears while he purred and kneaded my thighs.

  A year ago, if someone had told me I’d connect with not one, but two cats, I’d have laughed so hard I’d have snorted.

  I wasn’t a people person, nor a pet person. Or I hadn’t been until I’d set aside the busy life of a spy, always on the move.

  Now, I couldn’t picture my life without Sunlight.

  You should adopt him.

  But how could I do that, knowing that someday, hopefully soon, my ex-husband would be caught, and I would return to my old life?

  And have to leave everyone here at the Gossip Inn. That shouldn’t have made me sad, but it did.

  I wanted to go back to my old life, didn’t I? To the action and tension of taking people down. People who deserved to be put behind bars or swiftly—

  The door separating the main portion of the inn from the kitten foster center opened, and Smulder entered.

  My boyfriend wore his dark hair neatly cut but had swapped out his neat suits for plaid shirts and jeans—his cover was being the gardener at the inn.

  “There you are,” he said, offering me a warm smile.

  My stomach did a little flip, and I returned the grin. Brian put me in a good mood. I’d seen so many sides to him—he’d gone from always doing the right thing, no matter the cost, to helping Gamma and I hide her secret. A weapons stash that would definitely land her in trouble with NSIB.

  “Here I am,” I said. “Lunch service is over. Did you get something to eat?”

  “Sure did. Georgina made sure I got some leftover lasagna.”

  “Great.” I gave Sunlight a few more strokes then set him aside and got up.

  “You’re covered in cat fur,” Brian laughed. “That seems to be your natural state nowadays.” He drew me into a hug and kissed my forehead.

  “Complaining?”

  “No,” Brian said. “Just an observation. The Charlotte I know doesn’t have time for pretty dresses or cat fur.”

  I glanced down at my wintery woolen dress matched with thick black tights. Another thing that had changed about me over the year. I’d gone from sweats and T-shirts to dresses and pretty blouses.

  Brian gave me another squeeze, lowering his mouth to my ear. “It’s time.”

  A burst of adrenaline fired through my veins. What would we find out today?

  “Where?”

  “Your room,” Brian said. “Let’s go.”

  “Not the library?” We usually took calls with Special Agent in Charge Grant in a public area—though everyone knew we were dating, we wouldn’t start rumors by spending time in my room with the door closed.

  “There are people in there,” Brian replied. “And we have a set time.”

  “Right.” I peeked through to the incubator room. Jordan, our live-in kitten attendant, was asleep in his chair. He’d be woken by an alarm at feeding times and spent a lot of his day napping to make up for lost sleep in the middle of the night. “Well, let’s go, I guess.”

  Brian and I made our way upstairs to my room. Hastily, Brian extracted his phone from his pocket along with the two pairs of Bluetooth earphones we wore for the call with our boss.

  We had these meetings every two weeks now, with an update on the search for Kyle Turner, always the highlight of the call.

  My nerves bubbled in the pit of my stomach, but I kept my face impassive.

  Brian sat down at my dressing table and placed the phone atop it. I perched on the edge of the bed, my hands on my knees. I forced myself to relax them.

  “Seven,” Brian said.

  I checked the clock on my bedside table. It was two minutes to seven, and Special Agent in Charge Grant was as punctual as the taxman.

  Relax. You never know, it might be good news. They might have a lead.

  But was that good news? If they had a lead, then I’d be leaving Gossip sooner rather than later.

  We waited in silence, Smulder staring at the phone, me occasionally glancing out my bedroom window at the fading light.

  Five minutes later, Smulder shifted in his seat. “I guess he’s not calling,” he said, his brow creased. “That’s… weird.”

  “He’s never late,” I replied. “Never. Something must be wrong.”

  “Charlie.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We wait,” Smulder said. “We don’t know if anything’s wrong. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll defer back to you when I have information about why he missed the call. Don’t stress. OK?”

  I hesitated. “OK.”

&
nbsp; But my gut said the missed call was ominous. Dangerous, even.

  4

  Brian left me to stew in my own stress soup a couple minutes later. He knew me by now—I needed my space to think and work through things, or I’d wind up growing bad tempered. Not my best trait, but what was a woman to do?

  I’d been in the shadow of Kyle’s impending attempt on my life for nearly a year now.

  “Cupcakes,” I muttered.

  That would help me get over this. When in doubt or stressed, comfort eat. And with Darling’s birthday party on the horizon, we had plenty of cupcakes to go around. Specifically, a delicious mint-chocolate flavor Lauren had prepared.

  I hopped off my bed and let myself out into the hall.

  A distant murmur of chatter drifted from the floor below mine but soon quieted as doors closed. The party attendees had either gone out for the evening to experience what Gossip had to offer or retired to their rooms or other areas of the inn.

  Good for me. I could sneak into the kitchen and snatch a few cupcakes.

  It wasn’t technically stealing—I had both Gamma’s and Lauren’s permission to take a few if I was hungry.

  I found the cupcakes neatly stored in the kitchen’s attached pantry and popped the lid on the box. I extracted two and stood over the kitchen sink to unwrap them one at a time.

  They were utterly moist and delicious. The cupcakes were chocolate flavored, injected with a pocket of chocolate-mint ganache and topped with a light mint butter cream frosting.

  “Oh, my heavens,” I whispered, allowing the sugar rush to banish my fears.

  After I’d devoured them, I disposed of the cupcake wrappers and headed back out into the inn’s well-lit main hall. The antique tables holding artifacts were dust-free—dusting was my favorite pastime—but I itched to grab the feather duster from the supply cupboard.

  “—not going to bow to your will,” a woman said, waspishly.

  The muffled anger had come from the closed library door, across from the dining area. A sliver of light escaped from under the door.

  “—ridiculous. You know I’m right.”

  “I know no such thing, Darling.”

  My curiosity got the better of me—any port in a storm or distraction in a… well, storm—and I crept closer.

  “I’m not going to let you ruin the integrity of these characters!” The second woman’s voice was heated. “Just because you’ve been acting for years doesn’t mean you know the first thing about writing! You’re a doer. Not an artiste.”

  “How dare you!” A sharp smack followed.

  “You horrible wretch! Don’t you ever lay a hand on me.”

  If I was right about this, the second voice belonged to uppity Sherise. I’d helped her settle into her room earlier—older, shorter, with a sharp nose and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. The battle-ax.

  “I’ll do what I want. This is my party. My week. My script idea.”

  “Your idea! I was the one who suggested the change in genre. Do you really think anyone would’ve bought an idea for a blockbuster movie without action?” Sherise countered.

  “They’ll do as I say.”

  “You’re so full of yourself!” Sherise snapped, and a second smack rang out.

  Uh-oh. Things are about to go full-on catfight.

  I was torn between being entertained, feeling voyeuristic, and the urge to protect the inn from scandal. Shoot, I ought to fetch a couple of those mint cupcakes and make these women eat ‘em. Nothing calmed a raging woman like a cupcake.

  That and being told anything but “calm down.”

  “Calm down, Sherise,” Darling said. “You’re becoming hysterical.”

  I pulled a face.

  “Calm down? Calm down! I’ll show you how to calm down.” A scuffle of feet followed and then a thump.

  “Unhand me you, swine!” Darling yelled.

  “You’re the swine. You can dress yourself in silk and pretend you’re better than the rest of us, but you aren’t. And you aren’t a creative genius.”

  “I have more creative talent in my little finger than you have in your entire body!”

  “Cow!”

  “Pig!”

  Ah, we’d reached the level of barnyard-animal insults.

  I considered opening the door and separating them, but was it my business? Interfering with these women would only leave a nasty taste in their mouths—my grandmother’s inn would suffer if they took their business elsewhere because of my actions.

  “Idiot!” Darling hissed.

  And then there was quiet.

  I frowned, my hand itching toward the ornate doorknob.

  Footsteps rushed toward the library’s door, and I backed up and into the dining area. I hid behind the wall, pressing my back to it, my senses heightened.

  The library door snapped shut, and those footsteps marched up the staircase.

  I peeked around the corner and spotted Sherise, her back stiff and her fists balled up at her sides.

  Well, that was interesting.

  A second thump rang out from the library, and I frowned. Was Darling throwing a tantrum after her argument? It certainly sounded like it.

  Either way, I ought to check on her. Just in case she needed something. That would leave a good impression on Gamma’s inn and the staff now that the fight had ended.

  I waited until Sherise was gone then strode over to the library door and opened it.

  “Miss Gould?” I called. “Are you in here? I heard a commotion and wondered if you—”

  I stopped, my eyes widening.

  Darling Gould, the superstar who had come for her birthday party at the Gossip Inn, lay supine on the library floor, her eyes staring at nothing.

  Shoot!

  I jogged to her side and pressed two fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse, then bent over her mouth, listening for breath. Nothing.

  Quickly, I pressed my hands over her chest, on the sternum, and performed CPR.

  Darling didn’t draw breath.

  I whipped my phone out and dialed 911.

  Darling Gould was dead in the Gossip Inn, and it could only bring more trouble on our heads.

  5

  Brian slipped an arm around my waist out in the front hall. The cops had arrived shortly after my 9-1-1 call, but not in time to stop Mr. Gould from finding the body. I’d left the library for only a moment, and he’d walked in and screamed at the top of his lungs.

  Despite the tension earlier, it appeared he had truly cared about Darling.

  “This is terrible,” Gamma said and sniffed, dabbing under either eye with her handkerchief.

  My grandmother was unshakable. The most decorated spy in the history of the NSIB. For her to cry, she had to be really upset. Darling had been a good friend, so I could understand it, and it made me hot with anger that this had happened.

  This wasn’t just trouble.

  This was personal.

  “I’m sorry, Georgina,” I whispered.

  I called her by her first name to avoid suspicion. I had colored my hair from its usual blonde to brunette for the same reason. People couldn’t know I was her granddaughter.

  “I’ll pull myself together,” Gamma said briskly. She tucked away her handkerchief and brushed off her palms on her tailored slacks. “There will be a lot to organize. A memorial service. I’ll speak to Gerry about it.”

  Gerry, the husband, stood nearby, his head bowed and his eyes red—was that from crying? He didn’t look happy his wife had passed, even though there’d been tension between them earlier in the day.

  Murder? No, now I was being too suspicious. I had overheard Sherise fighting with the birthday starlet, but there had been noises in the library after she’d left. Could it be that Darling had simply had a heart attack or a stroke?

  It was a horrible thought—less horrible than murder, though—but plausible. Darling looked wonderful for an older woman, and she had been spry, but there were, unfortunately, a few underlying health conditions th
at could hide behind the guise of beauty and vitality.

  Detective Crowley strolled through the inn’s open doors and cast his keen dark-eyed gaze over the gathered guests and the police officers who had already cordoned off the entrance to the library.

  Well, there’s my question answered.

  If the preliminary medical report had shown that old age had taken Darling, then Crowley wouldn’t have come out to the inn.

  “Shoot,” I murmured.

  “Oh dear,” Gamma added.

  Smulder tightened his grip on my waist, his eyebrows forming two dark slashes. He glared at Crowley.

  What’s that about?

  Detective Crowley strode up to us, his expression dour as ever, one hand on the lanyard holding his identification.

  “Good evening, Georgina,” he said. “Charlotte. Mr. Marble.”

  Marble was Brian’s ridiculous cover name, and it was telling that the detective had called him by his assumed last name. What was going on between them? No love lost?

  “Crowley,” Brian said, stiffly.

  “I need to have a chat with you, Charlotte.” Detective Crowley offered me the briefest smile. “I believe you were the one who found Mrs. Gould?”

  “Yeah. I seem to have a knack for finding things I shouldn’t,” I said.

  Gamma pursed her lips at me.

  It was true. How many times had we either seen a crime or stumbled upon the aftermath? I worked the possibilities over in my mind, considering the events that had led up to this evening.

  “Miss Smith?” Detective Crowley prompted.

  “Right. Sure.” I followed him into the dining area, quiet now that it was late, and sat down at a table near the kitchen doors.

  “How are you?” Crowley asked.

  I wriggled my nose.

  What’s with this guy? He never used to be this nice. “I’m good. I mean, I did just perform CPR on a woman who later died.” Maybe that had come out too crass. I had to keep my cover intact.

  Crowley didn’t appear freaked out by what I’d said though. He nodded, his dark-eyed gaze flickering to the archway leading out into the hall. Smulder hovered near it, occasionally peeking in.