Cocoa Conviction (A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 3)

by Rosie A. Point

  I’d take it. It also got me away from Smulder, his strange stares and pink face.

  I gave Lauren a thumbs up and escaped into the hall.

  Once again, I removed the heavy bronze key from my apron and unlocked the door to the kitten center. I entered swiftly and locked up behind myself. The volley of meows and purring and the odd hiss came from every corner of the room.

  Two of the kittens, both midnight black, warred with a bright pink fluffy cat toy. Another had decided settling down in the cat litter box was a good idea. I walked over to the ginger kitten and extracted it, dusted it off then placed it on one of the fluffy tiers of a cat tree. It yawned at me, exposing sharp little teeth.

  “You can’t keep doing that, Colombo,” I said. “It’s not healthy.”

  “There you are, Charlotte.” My grandmother stepped over the divider that separated the tiny, newborn kittens and their room full of incubators and warm fluffy blankets from the main area. “I wondered when you’d deign to grace us with your presence.” My Gamma, Georgina Mission—cover name, Franklin—wore her hair in silver curls. She was tall and willowy, her frame hiding the muscle memory she had from years of work as the most decorated spy in the NSIB.

  A legacy I had failed to live up to.

  “I was making cupcakes for the Easter festival,” I said. “And I’m the one who should be asking you where you’ve been. You didn’t even come greet the guests this morning.”

  “Yes,” Gamma said, in her faint British accent—she had never lost it though she’d been a citizen of the United States since she’d been a young woman. “I’ve lost myself in the business of caring for kittens. Can you blame me? Anyway, I managed to get hold of Marietta and it turns out she’ll be able to take the second shift this evening from midnight to 5 am.”

  The newborn kittens had very specific feeding times that had to be adhered to.

  “So that means you can get some sleep and we can drop off the cocoa cupcakes at the festival together tomorrow?” I asked.

  Goodness, I was excited about that. In the past, festivals had seemed inane, something civvies spent their time on. Now, I had to pretend to be a civilian, an assistant, maid, and waitress at the inn and, day-by-day, it had become easier to wear that mantle.

  That was worrying. And oddly comforting.

  Was I losing my edge?

  Gamma waved a hand in front of my face. “Your face just went blank, Charlotte.”

  “Sorry, Georgina.” I had to call her by her full name so no one would know I was her granddaughter. “Anyway, so, you’re coming to the Easter Festival tomorrow.”

  “Of course, I am. If I don’t go, Jessie Belle-Blue will spread another rumor about the inn. Last time it was that I had been hiding dead bodies under the floorboards. Thankfully, that backfired. Everyone wanted to stay at the inn to find out if it was true.” Gamma sighed, as if the antics of her worst enemy, Jessie Belle-Blue, were as irritating as a wanton fly buzzing around her head. “The last thing I need is a rumor spreading about the kitten center.”

  “That reminds me,” I said. “Sherlock got out this morning and gave one of the guests an allergic reaction.”

  “That’s impossible.” Gamma wriggled her nose.

  “That’s what I said. But it did happen. I’m just not sure how.”

  “Everything is completely secure.” Gamma turned in a circle, scanning the room. “But I’ll ask Marietta to keep an extra careful eye on the kittens tonight. It must be a fluke.”

  Maybe it was my suspicious nature, but I didn’t think so. Escaping cats shouldn’t have been a big deal, but I was sure there was something fishy going on. Whatever it was, it wasn’t too serious.

  Hopefully.

  3

  The following day…

  I’d say one thing about Gossip—the town sure knew how to throw a celebration. A great banner had been strung over Main Street, the merry words scrawled across it read: The Gossip Annual Easter Celebration! Get Yer Easter Eggs Here! It had been festooned with brightly painted eggs and bunny rabbits.

  The people milling around in the street below it were dressed in equally bright colors—shades of vibrant green, yellow, pink and orange. Children ran between food stalls, giggling, and adults queued for the delicious treats, sweet and savory. The scent of barbecue was on the air, and a town crier called out the impending Easter egg hunt that would take place in the town square in twenty-five minutes.

  Gamma and I carried a tray of cupcakes each, while Lauren brought two massive chocolate cakes. We placed them on a central table where free food had been put out, and watched as people flocked around them. Lauren excused herself to go see her husband at the barbecue stall, and Gamma and I? Well, there was nothing left to do but enjoy the festival.

  The last mass celebration had been for Valentine’s Day, and I was so not interested in that. But this was different, spring was in the air and there was plenty of food and fun to be had. It was also easy to blend into the crowd.

  Out of habit, I scanned for any signs of trouble.

  “You can relax, Charlotte,” Gamma said. “The big bad wolf isn’t going to jump out of a darkened alleyway now.”

  “How can you possibly know that?” I asked, under my breath.

  Gamma cast a weary look in my direction. “There’s been nothing but radio silence for months. If the wolf was around, we would know about it.”

  The wolf being code for Kyle, my ex-husband. She was right, of course. He would’ve been seen entering the United States. The last we knew, he was in Prague, but he had disappeared and each day he stayed away gave me a false sense of security and anxiety.

  What if he was never found? I would be trapped in this small town forever.

  Is that such a bad thing?

  We joined a line at one of the stalls and got unbelievably tasty pulled-pork tacos. They filled my belly and comforted me at the same time. That was what I loved about food.

  “You know,” Gamma said, as we wandered down the street, children occasionally dodging past us as they played and yelled that the Easter Bunny was on the way. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something serious, Charlotte.”

  “About what?” I finished off the last of my taco and resisting the urge to lick my fingers. I wiped them on my napkin instead.

  “Brian,” Gamma replied.

  I nearly stumbled over my feet. “Why about him? Wondering when he’ll finally leave? I have been too. I mean, it’s not like anything bad has happened. There’s no reason for him to still be here.”

  “People are starting to talk.”

  “People always talk.”

  “They’re talking about the two of you,” Gamma said. “Gossiping. People want to know what’s going on.”

  “Huh? Nothing’s going on.”

  “Yes, I know that, much to my chagrin, nothing’s going on, but that’s not a good thing,” Gamma said.

  “Why?” I was stubborn when it came to Smulder. He was a pain in my behind, nothing more and nothing less.

  “Because people are asking questions about you. What they don’t know, they wonder about, and the more they wonder, the more they talk. And talking about you is exactly what you don’t want.”

  I stopped. “Georgina…”

  “They’re convinced that the two of you are dating.”

  “That’s ridi—”

  “Some of the guests at the inn have noticed how much time you two have been spending alone together. In the library.”

  “You know why.” It was for our meetings with Grant.

  “But they don’t. You need a reason for it or the talking will continue and you’ll draw more attention to yourselves,” Gamma replied. “Trust me, you don’t want the Gossipers to take an interest in you more than they already have.”

  I repressed a shudder. What was it about gossiping men and women that gave me the chills? They were harmless people going about their business. It was that their gossip might reach the wrong ears.

  “If
you come out and say that you’re dating, people will forget about it like that.” Gamma clicked her fingers.

  “But I—”

  “Excuse me, out of the way!” Bob’s gruff tones came from behind us, and I turned, already in a bad mood from the potential ‘Smulder is my boyfriend’ cover. My anger was erased in an instant.

  Bob Bolton, the callus, grumpy man from the inn, wore a life-sized bunny suit with a wire mesh in its grinning mouth for him to see out of. He was bright pink and fluffy. He held a basket of foil-wrapped Easter eggs.

  “I—uh, I—Bob?”

  “Good heavens, Robert,” Gamma said, “I had no idea you were volunteering to be the Easter Bunny.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Bob asked, defiantly. “I’m a great person. You want an egg?”

  “I’ll pass, thanks,” I said.

  “Suit yourselves. They’re really good. Cream-filled.” And he stomped off down the street.

  Gamma and I stared after him, shaking our heads. The kids hadn’t noticed him yet, probably because they were too busy feasting on other chocolate items or waiting for the Easter egg hunt announcement, but when they did it would be chaos.

  “There’s something you don’t see every day,” I said, as Bob started practicing his hops.

  He hopped around a corner.

  “None of the other—”

  A sharp pop rang out from the spot where Bob had just disappeared, and ice flooded my veins.

  Gunfire. I’d heard it enough times to know what was going on.

  Gamma and I took off running.

  4

  We sprinted around the corner and stopped dead in our tracks.

  The pink fluffy man-sized Easter Bunny lay on his back in the street. A bullet hole had entered the chest of the costume, and there was blood in the street.

  “Shoot,” I said. “Shoot, there are kids around.”

  “I’ll call the cops and keep the kids away, you find the perpetrator,” Gamma said, and marched off, bringing out her phone. She was used to crisis, as was I, and I walked over to Bob, poor grumpy, old Bob, and carefully removed the head of his bunny costume.

  Yep. He was definitely dead.

  I left the bunny head next to him and walked off a short way, checking alleyways and buildings. Most of the stores were closed for the festival, and there was no one in the breezeways between them. The noise from the festival seemed to have blocked the sound of the gunshot from most folks, except those closest to the corner—they had gathered and stared in horror at the dead Easter Bunny.

  I returned to the sidewalk, kept my distance from the body, and joined the gathering crowd.

  Gamma returned a few moments later. “The police are on their way, and the kids have all gone off to the town square to do the Easter egg hunt.”

  “What’s going on?” A voice cried, shrill and sharp and all too recognizable. Trinity Malone and her husband, Jerry, pushed through to the front of the crowd. “What is—oh!” Trinity drew in a shuddering gasp. She stumbled into her husband who nearly crumpled underneath her. Jerry barely managed to hold her upright.

  I kept my expression impassive, but suspicion had already unfolded in my mind. That was quite the reaction. No doubt, everyone was pale and queasy, but to stumble and shout, and to almost pass out?

  Maybe it was the blood.

  Or maybe she wanted people to think that she was affected by Bob’s death. They had been fighting yesterday morning over cats, for Pete’s sake.

  The wails of sirens approached, and Gamma and I stepped onto the sidewalk and backed up. The police cars streamed into view, along with an ambulance, and everyone cleared out of the way. I kept my gaze on Trinity. She’d overcome her apparent weak spell and straightened now, talking urgently under her breath to her husband.

  “You’re seriously not going to interview everyone here?” I asked, my arms folded.

  Detective Crowley, tall, good-looking and with two slashes for eyebrows above tired eyes, let out a sigh. “Miss Smith, you don’t understand the process by which we investigate and I wouldn’t expect you to. Of course, every contact number has recorded and witnesses will be contacted and spoken to after the fact.”

  My shoulders lowered, but I didn’t like the way things were being handled. They should’ve shut down the entire festival, but the detective was allowing it to stay open. All he’d done was cordon off an area of the street and the folks from the coroner’s office had shielded it from view with sheets.

  What was worse, people didn’t seem too worried about what had happened. The scent of barbecue was still on the air and it was, frankly, off-putting in light of what had just happened.

  “You should close this place down,” I said. “It’s got to be some type of health code violation.”

  “As long as nobody crosses that line,” Crowley replied, handing me his card, “I don’t give a rat’s behind what they do.” He loped off without further ado, heading toward the screens.

  If only we’d been allowed to follow him.

  The last murder that had happened in Gossip had been months ago, and that had been in an enclosed space. It had been easy for Gamma and me to go back to the scene of the crime and snoop around. This one was in a street, for heaven’s sake.

  By tomorrow, the crime scene would be gone, the evidence scattered or taken in by the cops.

  Not that I was supposed to get involved. Thankfully, it didn’t seem that Crowley had any suspicions about me or Gamma this time around.

  “I think he likes you,” Gamma said, with a sneaky grin. “He gets so upset whenever you suggest something to him.”

  “That’s because he has ego issues,” I replied. “Not everyone likes me, Georgina. And even if they did, too bad.” It would take more than ‘liking’ for me to show an interest. My ex-husband had spent years lying to me and now wanted me dead—I definitely wasn’t interested in love.

  But the topic did bring me right back to Smulder and what Gamma had mentioned. People paying attention. People wondering what we were up too. And now a murder.

  “Maybe this will distract from the whole ‘Brian-date’ issue,” I said, as we glared at the screens. All movement was blocked from view. That was super frustrating. “This is big news.”

  “People can gossip about more than one thing, Charlotte.”

  “That’s comforting,” I grumbled.

  Gamma and I turned away from the crime scene and meandered back through the crowds of festival-goers. Some of them were intrigued by the sheets, others ignored them completely, and still others pursed their lips at the sight of me.

  “What’s that about?”

  “A lot of the people in Gossip have old-fashioned values. They don’t think it’s appropriate that you and Brian are canoodling in the library.”

  “We’re not—” I cut off and glowered at one of the elderly women nearby who’d caught my gaze with another disapproving look. “We are not canoodling,” I hissed at Gamma.

  “What do we think?” she asked.

  “Huh?”

  “About the murder. Did you see the manner in which Trinity conducted herself?” This was Gamma’s way of changing the subject. And she had me, I’d give her that.

  “I saw.” I broke down exactly what had happened yesterday—how Trinity had freaked out about poor Sherlock the kitten and had accused Bob of trying to kill her. “It seems small, but…”

  “People have murdered others for less.”

  Gamma’s sage words rang in my ears all the way back to the inn.

  5

  The library was my favorite room in the inn. The shelves stretched high on the walls and were stacked with books of every type and genre, from mysteries to romance, science-fiction to self-help. There were classics too, and I’d taken and returned quite a few since I’d first started staying at the inn.

  I sat in one of the comfy armchairs, plucking at the fabric of my ridiculous dress. Since I’d been Gossip, I’d managed to go shopping for items of clothing that were less pink
and covered in emojis or puppy dog faces, but it was laundry day today. I’d forced myself to wear the only dress that was clean—an eye-watering fuchsia number covered in joyous cupcakes holding up hearts in their sticky frosting fingers.

  Perhaps, on some level, I’d chosen my ugliest dress so that Smulder would see me in it and hate it.

  I checked my watch.

  It was 10 pm. Smulder would be here any minute—he was as reliable as the passing of time itself.

  Right on cue, the library door opened and he entered. He wore a plaid shirt and a pair of jeans. He stopped and blinked. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s a new dress.”

  “Gorgeous, isn’t it?” I was deadpan.

  “A new addition?”

  “I hope you’re not suggesting that I would actually buy something like this,” I replied.

  He shrugged and turned the key in the library’s door then came over and sat down in a chair across from mine. Smulder’s expression was unreadable—but then, that was what he’d practiced for years as an agent. Giving away as little information as possible. What he didn’t seem to get was that doing that just made him seem like a Fed. He put on a better act as the inn’s gardener. People just assumed he was the antisocial type.

  “He’ll call us any minute,” Smulder said, removing his phone from his pocket and placing it on the polished walnut coffee table. He took out two pairs of Bluetooth headphones and handed me one.

  I inserted them into my ears.

  This was the first portion of our meeting. The call from Special Agent in Charge Grant where we wouldn’t speak and would only listen, just in case there were prying ears somewhere in the inn. It wasn’t likely, but better to be safe than regret it.

  The call came through and the phone buzzed on the coffee table. Smulder leaned in and tapped the screen to answer.

  “Good evening,” Special Agent in Charge Grant’s gruff barked down the line. “I trust both of you are well.”