“You’re too nice, Millie.”
“I’m always willing to help a woman out,” she said. “Especially one who’s running their own business. Heaven knows we need all the help we can get.”
The whoop of a police siren cut across the last of her sentence. The satisfaction that had come with serving customers evaporated instantly. It was Detective Jones. Again.
“If he’s coming to shut down the truck, he’s about to get more than just the keys,” Bee said, rolling up her sleeves. “I took a jujutsu class last spring, and I’d be happy to give the man a lesson. And a black eye.”
And I had a black belt in karate—not that it ever helped me with my panicky ‘beaning’ moments. That was an obstacle I had to over overcome. “Bee, I don’t think knocking out a police officer is going to curry much favor with, well, anyone in town.”
“You’d be surprised,” Millie whispered, lifting her cup to cover her mouth. “Most folks in town aren’t exactly Jones’ best friend.”
“That seems to be a trend around here.” Bee sniffed. “He’s lucky he hasn’t been murdered yet.” She’d said it a little too loudly, and Detective Jones stopped a few steps from the truck, glaring at her.
“That you threatening a police officer, Miss Pine?”
“Take it how you want it,” Bee replied. “Hobbit man.”
The detective next to Jones, Martin, if I wasn’t mistaken, snorted but passed it off as a sneeze. Hints of mirth danced at the corners of his lips.
He has a nice smile. Oof, I had to get it together. Detective Martin was probably my age, maybe a little younger, even, and I was not interested in dating, particularly not a detective who may or may not think I was a murderer.
Jones sauntered up to the truck, his thick thumbs tucked into his belt loops. “I see you’re back in business. Folks around here usually got their heads on straight. I wonder what changed.” He cast a beady-eyed glare around. The diners ignored him.
Detective Martin tapped a display case. “Those look good. The vanilla-caramel cupcakes. Can I get one, please?”
Polite too. And he’s got dark hair. I liked men with dark hair. I also liked not having my heart broken. “Yes,” I said, stiffly, and went to get one for him.
“What are you doing, Martin? You can’t buy food from a person of interest.”
“It’s just a cupcake.”
“And murder is just a felony.”
“Good heavens, don’t be so melodramatic, detective,” Millie put in. “I mean, really, it’s just some baked goods. And from what my sources have told me, you don’t have anything solid on either of these ladies.”
“Your sources are wrong,” Jones snapped.
“That explains why you’ve arrested them.”
“Listen,” Jones said, glaring as I handed over a boxed up cupcake to Martin and received his money in return, “I came out here to warn you old bats to stay out of trouble.”
“Bats?” Bee asked, and started removing her earrings. “You’d better get him out of here, Ruby, if you want to keep me out of jail.”
“Word on the street is you two have been following people around,” Jones said. “That’s suspicious behavior. I hear one more thing like that, and your butts will be locked up faster than you can put extra weight on ‘em from your cakes.” He marched off back to the cruiser.
“Let me at ‘em,” Bee said, trying to sidestep to get to the truck’s side door.
I blocked her path. “It’s not worth it, Bee. Let him go.” I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help dismiss the rage now bubbling in my belly. My hands shook as I rang up the cupcake order for Detective Martin. I held out his change.
“Keep it,” he said, in a deep rumble. “Sorry about Jones.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to add something, but the moment passed and he hurried off to join his partner instead.
We watched them leave, Bee with her fists clenched, Millie shaking her head, and me wiping down the counter to keep my hands busy.
It was more important than ever we got to the bottom of what had happened. If only to prove Jones wrong.
16
The mood on the truck had picked up significantly after the run-in with the mean detective. Millie’s friends and colleagues had, indeed, passed on the word about the truck’s delicious treats, sweets, and coffees, and we’d been swamped with customers for the first time in over a week.
We arrived back at the guesthouse just after 4 pm, starving, satisfied, and tired in the way only a hard day’s work could bring.
“My feet are killing me,” Bee said.
“Mine too.” I dropped my handbag on the dressing table in my room. “But isn’t it nice?”
“Definitely. A good change from all the vacation time we’ve been having. I only wish you hadn’t stopped me from attacking that detective. As unwise as it is, he really does deserve a good beating.” Bee’s lips had gone thin.
“Let’s not worry about him, now. Can you smell that?” The tempting scents of dinner being prepared drifted up the stairs and through my open bedroom door.
“I could eat a horse,” Bee said.
I shut the door behind us, not even bothering to change out of the clothes I’d been wearing all day, and hurried downstairs with Bee. We took our usual spot next to the fireplace, relishing the warmth from the logs crackling in the grate.
The others hadn’t come down to the tables now separated and scattered throughout the living room. Their loss. Though, it would have been nice to catch up with Jessie, if just to ask her whether it was true that she and Gina were jogging buddies.
Samantha exited through the kitchen doors and spotted us at our table. “Good evening. Did you have a good day on your truck?”
“It was fantastic,” I said.
“Apart from a brief incursion from the Lord of the Rings.”
“That was Sauron not Frodo.”
“Fine, an incursion from the short, chunk, hairy and mean guy.”
“Detective Jones?” Sam asked.
“That’s the one,” Bee replied. “Although, he did have another detective with him too who was quite pleasing on the eye and the ear. Don’t you think, Ruby?”
I shrugged. “He was fine.”
“Fine like fiiiiiine.” Bee grinned at me.
“Oh, I know who you’re talking about,” Sam said. “That Detective Martin? He’s new to Carmel Springs, but he seems like such a sweet guy. And, between us, he’s the most eligible bachelor in town. Missi Lauren’s mom told me that they’re trying to get him to participate in the town’s Halloween kissing booth this year.”
“A Halloween kissing booth?” I asked. “Now, I’ve heard everything.”
“Interested, are you?” Bee nudged me. “He was giving you the eye.”
I cleared my throat. “So, Sam, what’s on the menu tonight? It smells amazing.”
“I’ve made lobster mac ‘n cheese,” Sam replied. “I hope you’re hungry. It’s just come out of the oven with a freshly baked cheesy garlic bread.”
“I have my suspicions that you’re trying to make me fat.” Bee leaned back and patted on her belly. “I’m happy to report that it’s been a resound success so far.”
“I’ll be right back with your food,” she said. “And some drinks? Milkshakes? Sodas?”
“A soda would be lovely.”
“For me too,” I said.
Sam hurried back into the kitchen and the doors swung, brushing their ends against each other then settling. Trouble darted into the living room from the reception hall with a drawn-out meoowww. He rubbed against my ankles. The scent of the lobster had likely drawn him in.
“What was that about?”
“What?” I asked.
“I mentioned that handsome detective and you avoided the topic completely. Did I make you uncomfortable, Ruby?” Bee’s hazel eyes had filled with concern.
“Oh. No. Not really. It’s just…” How did I word this? I hadn’t discussed this with anyone before, not even my work colleag
ues or my parents.
“It’s fine,” Bee said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Ruby.”
I fiddled with the silverware. “My ex-fiancé left me a few years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“He didn’t just leave me, though. He… well, he disappeared. I reported him missing and everything, but there were no leads, and from what I gathered from his parents, he’s actually alive and well. But gone. He didn’t even take his ring when he left. Daniel was supposed to be the love of my life.”
Bee shook her head. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s OK. It was tough at first. He worked at the paper with me, and when he disappeared, people who had been my friends started talking. They blamed me for his disappearance as if I had chased him away. He was a star journalist too. It was just so odd.”
“That must be so difficult for you. It sounds like you had no closure.”
I thought about that. “Well, I guess you could say that this is my closure. Traveling around in the food truck. I don’t want to settle down anywhere, I just want to keep moving and forget about all of that stuff.”
The kitchen doors opened and Sam emerged with a tray. On top of it, she’d positioned two steaming plates of lobster mac ‘n cheese, garlic bread in a basket, and two sodas, bubbling in their glasses.
“Wow,” I said, and the negativity that had come with mentioning Daniel’s name out loud disappeared. How could I possibly be sad about that when I had such great company and such amazing food to eat? “Thank you so much, Sam.”
“Absolutely. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Why don’t you join us?” Bee asked. “It would be lovely to have the company.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” we exclaimed, in unison. Trouble meowed his agreement.
17
“I’m going to roll into bed,” Bee said, struggling up the stairs after dinner and a sumptuous caramel cheesecake for dessert. “I wasn’t kidding about her plans to fatten me up, you know. I’ve gained at least 10 pounds today.”
I laughed. “There are worse fates.” My mirth was overwhelmed by a jaw-creaking yawn. I was exhausted, and the thought of curling up in my warm bed, perhaps even with little Trouble for company, was heaven.
The kitty cat chased up the stairs after us, batting at the shoelaces of my sneakers. We reached the landing and trooped down it. It took me a second to register that Trouble hadn’t followed. The kitten hopped back and forth on the top step, his fur standing on end and back arched.
“What’s wrong, Trubby?” I asked.
“Huh?”
“Look at the cat,” I said. “He doesn’t want to come up here.”
Bee’s mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. “I’ve heard about this. It’s a spirit.”
“What?”
“Cats can see ghosts. See? Look how she won’t come any further up the stairs? There’s a ghost blocking her path.”
“Bee, that’s…”
“Don’t say ridiculous, Ruby, don’t you dare. Anything’s possible, you know.” Bee shivered and rubbed her arms. “I wonder if it’s Honey’s spirit. I mean, they say that murder victims often don’t know they’ve passed on. And they can’t let go of their old lives. So they stick around and—”
A creaking noise drew my attention. Bee jumped on the spot.
I’d never have taken her for someone easily spooked. She usually ran toward danger. “Relax, Bee, it’s just a creaking door or something. Why are you so jumpy?”
“It’s just the thought of facing something I can’t see.”
“There’s nothing here.” But Trouble kept up the same odd behavior hissing and hopping around, his glowing yellow eyes fixed on a spot nearby.
I followed his line of sight and gasped.
“What? What is it?” Bee grabbed hold of my arm.
“My door,” I whispered. “It’s open.”
That was what the creaking had been. My bedroom door was ajar, the lights off inside the room.
“Oh,” Bee said, and let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh? Now you’re relaxed?”
“Of course. Ghosts don’t open doors.”
“But murderers might,” I whispered.
Was that what had spooked Trouble? A stranger in the guesthouse?
“We should call the police.”
Bee nodded. “But our phones are in there.”
“Right.” I took a step forward and then another one back. “Right. So. Um. Maybe?”
“Come on, let’s go in. It’s two against one.” Bee tucked her arm into mine and walked forward, guiding me along with her. Trouble hissed and gave a terrific kitty meow, but there was no stopping us now.
Bee opened the door. I reached in, feeling along the wall for the light.
“Aha!” Bee yelled, leaping into the room as the yellow light filled it to the corners. She lifted her hands and positioned them like a Kung-Fu master. “Come out, right now. We’re armed, dangerous, and not afraid to take you down.”
But only silence greeted her. A gentle rush of wind parted the curtains.
“The window’s open,” I whispered, scanning the rest of the room. Everything looked in order, except for… “My purse.” It had been tipped over, the insides spilling out across the side table and the wooden floor.
Bee hurried from the window. “Was anything taken?”
“I don’t know. Let me check.” I bent and sifted through my things.
“Careful not to touch any of it. There might be fingerprints the police could use. It might have been the murderer.”
“I find that a far more chilling thought that the ghosts,” I said.
“Forget ghosts. Ghosts don’t need to open doors.” Bee was so matter-of-fact that it would’ve been funny if not for the burglary. Or break-in. “I don’t understand it,” she continued, “why come in through the door and leave through the window? Or did they come through the window and sneak out through the door. Hmmm.” She strode back to the window and peered out and down. “There’s nothing out here.”
“Oh no,” I said, my pulse rate lifting.
“What is it?”
“The keys to the food truck.” The blood drained from my face and fingertips. “They’re gone.”
It had taken about an hour for Jones to get his butt from the police station and down to the Oceanside Guesthouse, even though the guesthouse was probably a five-minute drive for the man.
He emerged from his cruiser and met us in front of the food truck, stomping his feet and shouting over his shoulder at Detective Martin. The handsome partner followed, settling his hat on his head.
“Good evening, ladies,” he said.
“I don’t handle break-ins.” Jones glared at them. “You’re wasting my time calling me out here. I’m in the middle of a murder investigation.”
Bee growled under her breath.
I inhaled, trying to be the calm one in this situation. If we let Jones get to us too much, we’d end up getting in trouble for arguing with him. Unfortunately, he had the power in this scenario. There wasn’t much we could do but what he wanted.
“Well?” Jones prompted. He folded his arms, and the light from the lampposts outside the guesthouse caught the half-circles of sweat under his arms.
It wasn’t late yet, but exhaustion only heightened my irritability. “We have reason to believe that it might’ve been the murderer who broke in.”
“This ought to be good,” Jones muttered.
“You see,” I said, cutting over the insult Bee had been about to lodge at the detective, “we witnessed someone in a mask and hood peering through the windows of the guesthouse. They dropped Honey’s engagement ring, remember?”
“That’s classified information.”
“If the murderer believed we had the engagement ring, maybe they broke in to find it,” I said.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Detective Martin said, tipping his hat toward me, “but on the
call, you mentioned that your truck’s keys had been stolen.”
“Correct.” At least he was polite. And handsome. Oh, I had to stop with that. It was pointless.
“Why would the murderer have wanted the truck’s keys, ma’am? If they were after the engagement ring.”
I stalled, searching for the answer. But there wasn’t one that made sense. He was right. Why on earth would the killer have taken the truck keys?
“Maybe, they thought we’d hidden the ring in the truck. They might not have known we handed it over to the police,” Bee said, raising a finger.
“Or maybe,” Jones said, “this is a waste of my time.”
“It’s not. Listen, detective, I know we haven’t gotten off to the best start, but you have to take this seriously. The murderer—”
“Is my business and not yours, little lady,” he said. “Now, we’re leaving. Another unit, one that’s not actively investigating a murder, will come over to take your statements and help you out.” He charged off again. The cruiser door slammed.
“Sorry,” Detective Martin said, “I—uh. I’d better go.” And he hurried off as well.
“That’s just great.” Bee tried the front door of the truck. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Wait for the other cops, I guess. And call a locksmith to come out tomorrow and help us get the truck open.”
“You don’t have a spare set of keys?” Bee asked.
I blushed. “No, they were both on the key ring that was taken. Oops.”
“Oops, indeed.”
We waited on the steps of the Oceanside for the police to come over, and I contemplated what had happened, turning it this way and that, trying to make sense of it in my mind. If it hadn’t been the killer, but someone who wanted to steal the truck then why hadn’t they taken the keys, started the truck and made off with it? They’d had their chance while we’d been at dinner.
If only I could figure out why they’d snatched the keys. And who they were.
18
Sunlight slanting across my pillow woke me. I sat up, scrubbed the sleep from my eyes and yawned. I lifted my watch from the bedside table and checked the time. “What!” I bolted out of bed, upsetting Trouble, who had been napping near my feet. “What on earth? It’s 9 am? Why didn’t anyone wake me?”
Marzipan and Murder Page 7
