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

by Rosie A. Point

  OK, so maybe it was less Lauren’s temper and more my curiosity. I trudged down the front steps, checking that Brian wasn’t spying on me from somewhere close by—I didn’t need him to know Gamma and I were checking out the case—then headed for the bench.

  I plopped down next to Sherise, placing my feather duster across my lap.

  Sherise shifted her reading glasses down her nose, eyes on the page. “Do you usually collapse onto a seat like an elephant at the watering hole?”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Just wanted to catch a breath of fresh air.”

  “Yes, apparently.” Sherise turned the page and scribbled a note underneath one of the neatly typed sentences on it. Red marks and notes ran in the margins, many of them written as angry slashes.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  Sherise’s lips pruned up, and she finally looked over at me. “As tactful as an elephant as well. You have a remarkable gift for annoying me.”

  I gave a hapless, Charlotte-the-maid smile. Charlie the spy would’ve delivered a swift, scathing response. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I just noticed you were out here alone, and I wanted to check you were OK, what with the whole… investigation.”

  Sherise sighed and capped her pen. “I see you’re not going anywhere until I talk to you.”

  I offered another grin. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sure. Sure. But you don’t seem very happy.”

  “And why should I be happy?” Sherise asked. “My friend has passed and left me with nothing but problems. Her problems. Financial and otherwise.”

  Was Darling having money problems? That might be a motive. “Sorry for your loss,” I said. “And sorry you’ve got to deal with all of that.”

  Sherise grunted and scanned the page of her script.

  We fell into an uneasy silence, and I let it grow. Waited her out.

  “I know what you’re thinking, by the way, and it’s not true,” Sherise said, at last. “I didn’t hurt Darling. I would never have touched her, even if she was an insufferable critic who knew nothing about writing.”

  “Uh? Writing?” There was something to be said for playing dumb. People liked over-explaining things. It made them feel important.

  “We were working on this script together.” Sherise patted it. “And as you can see from all the red ink, Darling didn’t agree with many of my creative choices. She was wrong, of course, but… yes.” Sherise sighed. “I thought I wanted to call off the project, you know, but now that she’s gone, I miss her tantrums. I’m starting to think Darling just wanted what was best for the story, even if she didn’t go about expressing herself the right way. Pity she didn’t know anything about writing a good story.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. How should I play this? “Maybe she was upset because of her husband.”

  “Huh?”

  “You know, I heard Gerry was interested in another woman.”

  “You did?” Sherise asked, turning in her seat, eyes lighting up. Her reading glasses slipped down to the tip of her nose, and she pushed them back up with her index finger. “What exactly did you hear?”

  “Just that,” I replied, shrugging. “Nothing specific. Just that Gerry might’ve been having an affair or wanted to have one. I know it’s terrible to spread rumors, but that’s what I heard.” Liar, liar, annoyingly cute puppy-dog covered dress on fire.

  “Interesting,” Sherise said. “So the rumors are already spreading, eh? The people here are vultures. Darling should never have trusted them. Honestly, she should never have trusted Gerry either. Though, I don’t like gossip, I have to admit that it’s right in this instance.”

  “It is?”

  “Oh yes.” Sherise nodded. “Oh yes. Gerry and Darling were struggling in their relationship. They didn’t see eye-to-eye on most things married couples should agree on. Different values. It’s a red flag when you have completely different ideologies, you know. Darling was a free thinker, and Gerry was challenged by how intellectual she could be. I think he needs someone who’s impressionable and young. Someone he can shape into the person he wants them to be, rather than compromising even a little of himself.”

  “That doesn’t sound cool,” I said, once again, opting for the dumb-sounding route.

  “Not cool indeed. Darling told me how frustrating he could be. How he always wanted her limelight. He was threatened by her success, in my opinion, even if he’s a successful businessman in his own right.”

  Was that why Darling had left everything to Sherise? I itched to ask, but I might need more information from this woman in the future, and if I pushed now, she might shut down completely.

  Before I could follow up with another question, my grandmother appeared on the porch. She raised a hand, beckoning me over.

  “I hope you feel better soon, Sherise,” I said and got up. “Thanks for chatting.”

  “It was surprisingly cathartic,” Sherise replied, returning to her script. “Even if it was like talking into an echo chamber.”

  12

  That evening…

  The interior of the Hungry Steer was as friendly as ever, with its bales of hay, comfy tables, and barn-style theme. Servers drifted from table-to-table, taking orders or bringing out drinks and food. Thankfully, Grayson Tombs, the annoying owner of the restaurant, wasn’t here tonight.

  Rumor had it, he’d left Gossip on business.

  A good thing too, because Gamma had planned this evening getaway from the Gossip Inn to help give Lauren some time off—being here with Grayson hovering near our table wouldn’t be very relaxing.

  Lauren perused the menu, tapping it occasionally or shaking her head, while Gamma scanned the interior of the Hungry Steer without seeming to. She was good at that—being constantly vigilant but appearing casual and relaxed.

  I sipped my soda from a paper straw, trying to piece together the clues we had regarding Darling’s murder.

  Sherise had argued with her friend, creatively, and had inherited her money and problems, apparently.

  While Gerry had been set on having an affair with Callie.

  But that wasn’t hard evidence. If only I could take a look at the crime scene itself…

  “Fried pickles with ranch.” Lauren sighed. “That’s Jason’s favorite food.”

  “Pity he couldn’t join us tonight,” Gamma said, her tone sharpening. “You say he’s out of town again?”

  “Yes. His work keeps him so—so—” Lauren yawned.

  “Busy?”

  “Yeah.” Lauren gave me a water-eyed smile. “Sorry, I’m just so tired.”

  Gamma patted the chef on her forearm. “That’s why we’re here. Enjoy the time off.”

  “Shoot, we can stay a little longer and you can nap at the inn, Lauren. We could call the sitter?”

  “Oh no, I can’t do that,” Lauren said. “Josie’s with the baby, and she wants me back home by ten o’clock sharp.”

  I kept my thoughts to myself regarding Lauren’s opinionated sister. It wouldn’t make Lauren feel any better anyway, and their relationship was none of my business. But I struggled not to worry that Lauren let Josie walk all over her. From what I’d seen, Josie was much more dominant and seriously opinionated.

  Not your business.

  Focus on the crime.

  Solving Darling’s murder had become my new obsession. And I liked that. Worrying about the suspects in the case and how Gamma was doing was much easier and more productive than stressing about why I still hadn’t heard anything from Special Agent in Charge Grant.

  Not a text nor a call. No indication as to why he’d skipped out on our weekly report.

  “—think it’s scandalous,” Lauren said.

  “I agree.”

  “What’s scandalous?” I asked.

  “Charlotte, are you even in this restaurant with us?” Gamma’s reply was shrewd, but the sparkle in her eye said she knew what I’d been thinking about. “Lauren was just talking about the mushrooms.”
r />   Ah. The case of the missing mushrooms.

  “I wonder who did it,” I said.

  “I wish I knew,” Lauren growled, losing her tired cheer. “I’d strangle ‘em with my bare hands.”

  “Probably not the best thing to say, given the circumstances.” Gamma’s words were soft, but there was a hint of pain in them.

  “Oh, Georgina, I’m sorry.” Lauren paled. “I didn’t think before I—I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’m merely suggesting talking in that way might lay suspicion on your doorstep. Speaking of which, perhaps it was one of the new guests at the inn who took a liking to your mushrooms.”

  “Oh no, surely not,” Lauren replied.

  “You don’t think the thief would’ve needed to know Lauren a little better than that? I mean, know her habits, how often she visits the Shroom Shed, that kind of thing?”

  Gamma considered it. “Maybe, but it happened shortly after they arrived, so it still seems plausible to me.”

  “That reminds me,” Lauren whispered, shifting her menu aside. “You’ll never guess what I heard.”

  “What?” Gamma and I asked, in unison, both leaning in.

  “Apparently, there’s not going to be a memorial service for poor Darling. Not here at least.”

  “What? Why?” Gamma stiffened. “That’s preposterous. If Gerry and Darling’s friends don’t want to host one, I will.”

  “I don’t know why,” Lauren said. “But Patty told Laura-Lee Williams over at the grocery store that she heard Brixton talking to Janet about the memorial service and how it wouldn’t happen in Gossip. That they’d all leave before they had a service.”

  “Leave?” I raised an eyebrow. “They can’t leave. Detective Crowley wouldn’t let them leave.”

  “That’s just what I heard.” Lauren shrugged. “Don’t know how true it is.”

  Gamma and I shared a glance. The unspoken sentiment: we needed to get to the bottom of this sooner rather than later.

  Maybe taking a closer look at the crime scene wasn’t such a crazy idea, after all. It was sealed up, but Gamma and I had our ways of gaining access without disturbing anything in there.

  Before we could pick over what Lauren had overheard any further, the server arrived to take our orders.

  “I’ll take a T-bone steak, please,” I said. “And a side of cheesy fries. With some pepper sauce.”

  “Pickles and ranch!” Lauren announced. “And a burger. Oh, and maybe some ice cream. Should I get ice cream? Chocolate ice cream!”

  “I’ll have a club sandwich,” Gamma said, slightly muted.

  This had to be difficult for her—she wanted to solve the case, but it was Darling. An old friend.

  Maybe it’s time for me to take the lead. Judging by my past actions, that might not be the best idea, but I would be there for my grandmother when she needed me the most.

  That time was now.

  I signaled to Gamma when Lauren wasn’t looking that we needed to talk later. She raised an eyebrow then nodded.

  Tonight was the night.

  13

  Later that evening…

  Gamma and I met around the back of the Gossip Inn at midnight. We wore our PJs, simply because being caught out here dressed in all black would only raise suspicion. The more natural we appeared, the better.

  We stuck to the shadow of the inn, casting our gazes up at the windows, most with their lights off at this time of the night, and at the surrounding shrubbery. The luminous mushrooms and butterflies Lauren had painted on the outside of the basement doors stood out by the light of the moon. The ornate lock attached to the latch was firmly locked.

  “Better to do it this way,” Gamma breathed then gestured for me to follow.

  I happened to agree with her. Of course I did. This wasn’t my grandmother’s first mission. She likely hoped it would be her last, but Gossip was… tricky like that. Just when everything seemed to be going great, chaos exploded onto the scene.

  Gamma walked down the garden path, her steps whisper-quiet.

  We circled the inn, until we reached the side that held the library.

  Tonight’s quest was to get inside without breaking any of the seals on the library windows or door. That was why we couldn’t enter from the hallway.

  Thankfully, Gamma and I had a trick up our flannel sleeves.

  Another entrance Detective Crowley knew nothing about.

  We stopped outside the library window, and Gamma removed her phone from the pocket of her pajama shirt. She switched on the flashlight, covering the beam slightly with her finger, and directed it at the flowerbed underneath the library window.

  There were only two ways in and out of the library that the police, and a potential killer, would be able to access. First, through the door—Sherise had used that entrance, so either she was the murderer, or the killer hadn’t gotten through that way. And the second? Well, through this window right here.

  I scanned the underbrush and soil for signs of disturbance.

  Nothing.

  No footprints or snapped twigs and branches.

  Gamma switched off her flashlight after a brief sweep of the underbrush, and we backed up a few paces.

  “I’ll go first,” she said, lifting the bottom of her PJ top to reveal a utility belt she’s strapped on around her waist, with a Kevlar vest underneath.

  “Are you sure?” I whispered. “I mean… I’m the youngest and—”

  “Spare me the ageism, Charlotte,” Gamma whispered, removing a tool from her belt. “If I recall correctly, the last time you used the grappling hook, you sustained enough bruises to raise eyebrows. Remember the lie we had to make up?”

  “That I got into a fight with a goat at the petting zoo.” I bowed my head.

  My grandmother had come up with the line, and I was sure it was punishment for having partially damaged her equipment on our first adventure together. I didn’t blame her. It was funny, in retrospect.

  “Right,” Gamma said and withdrew another shimmering silver tool from her belt—it resembled a silver ruler, but it was designed to get into the thinnest of cracks and wedge them open. Gamma inserted the tool between her teeth then attached the end of the thin cord trailing from the grappling hook to her belt. “Here you are,” she said, around the tool between her teeth.

  I accepted a second grappling gun from her and followed her lead, attaching the cord to my belt.

  “I’ll open the window,” Gamma said. “You try not to wake up the inn when you grapple up after me.”

  “There’s no need to be mean.”

  My grandmother gave me an affectionate pat on the cheek. “Just looking out for you.”

  I warmed inside. Gamma was all business most of the time, but when she showed affection, it meant she truly cared. There were no empty gestures with my grandmother.

  “See you in a few. Don’t break anything.” My grandmother lifted the grappling gun and aimed it at a window ledge high along the wall. She fired the gun, and the hook—a steel spear attached to an incredibly strong and flexible cord—whipped free and struck the wood above. The shot was right on target.

  Gamma gave me a final thumbs-up then hit the button the side of the gun. The cord retracted, and she sprinted gracefully across the lawn and up the side of the wall, controlling the speed of the retraction with ease. Once up there, she hung by the belt and slipped the tool from her mouth.

  I couldn’t make out what she was up to, but a second later, the attic window was propped open enough for her to worm her fingers underneath. She wedged it open, climbed inside, and unhooked the grappling gun from the window ledge with practiced ease.

  Man, she’s cool.

  Just watching Gamma in action made my heart race. Now that was how a spy operated.

  Stop it. You’re not a bad spy. Don’t worry about what Smulder said.

  Brian had mentioned that maybe being a spy wasn’t my calling. I shrugged off the errant doubts, squared my shoulders, and lifted the grappling
gun.

  I fired it, and the hook struck the window ledge above.

  “Here goes nothing,” I breathed then pressed the button on the side of the gun.

  I took off running, emulating my grandmother’s strides, my gait nowhere near as smooth. My foot connected with the wall, and I sprinted up it, somewhat ungainly, but way better than I’d been the last time.

  I reached the window ledge and clambered into the attic, out of breath.

  “Much better,” Gamma said, rewarding me with a bright smile. “But you might want to unhook the grappling gun, Charlotte.”

  “Right.” I unhooked it then handed the gun back.

  Gamma stowed both tools on her belt.

  We’re in.

  The attic room we’d entered—through a dusty window that hadn’t been used in years, perhaps even decades—was a secret area attached to a long, winding staircase. At the base of that staircase was a bookcase leading into the library.

  “Important,” Gamma said, her tone hushed. “We must keep evidence of our presence here to a minimum. In fact, contaminating the scene will only lead to us being incriminated in the murder. So, once we get downstairs…”

  “Nothing touched. No DNA.”

  “Correct. But let’s have a look around here first, just in case our killer knew about this secret room.”

  The inn had many secret rooms, some of which we’d yet to discover.

  Gamma and I separated, moving to opposite ends of the cramped attic space together—there was plenty of old furniture and museum artifacts, covered with sheets or left out in the open. But there was nothing up here that wasn’t covered in dust. It was untouched.

  Gamma and I rendezvoused at the top of the rickety staircase that descended into the library.

  “Right,” she said. “Suit up.”

  Once again, my grandmother lifted her PJ top and fiddled around on her utility belt. She handed me a pair of gloves, a pair of plastic booties to go over my shoes, and a hair net. We put them on carefully, ensuring everything was tucked away.

  “Zero contamination,” she said, warning in her tone.