And it did, if I did say so myself. Bee and I had spent the whole of yesterday baking treats to be polished and hung all around the guesthouse, and Sam had cored out the melons, painted them and created interesting decorations. The Oceanside had been transformed into an evil witch’s gingerbread house.
The guests were due any minute—a selection of the local townsfolk, the committee members, guests, as well as the mayor himself. And Sam had created a menu that would surely impress.
“I have to get back into the kitchen. Look after Trouble will you? Make sure he doesn’t do anything crazy?”
“We’re on it,” I said, sweeping the calico kitten into my arms. I stroked his head and he purred, bumping it into the palm of my hand. I was back in my Sherlock Holmes costume, and Bee was done up as a bee with a big fluffy yellow and black butt.
How she expected to sit in one of the chairs and eat was a mystery to me, but the fact was, we had done it. The place looked amazing. We’d even painted some of the lightbulbs in hues of red and orange to give more of a spooky ambience, and Millie had sacrificed some of her candles to help us create the witchy effect.
A half an hour passed, and the delicious scents of cooking drifted through the guesthouse. A few of the new guests, a couple named the Carlingtons and a young woman, Kayla Thatcher, drifted down wearing their costumes and talking among themselves.
The guesthouse’s front doors were open, and I hovered near the curtains in the living-room-cum-dining-room. Cars pulled up and parked either side of the food truck, and the guests started arriving. Franklin Smith emerged, tall and slightly overweight, his chest as puffed out as he’d been at his Halloween party, wearing the same clown costume as he had then.
Mayor Jacobsen, who was short and round and moved like a boat rocking on the water, shuffled out of a fancy black SUV. He wore a chef’s outfit, strangely, which didn’t seem like much of a costume to me.
The guests all arrived and music tinkled from a stereo in the corner. There were nameplates at each table, and Bee and I found ours.
We were seated with Franklin, the man who’d hosted the Halloween party the night before, and Gregory, who was out of costume, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes bloodshot. Of course, the poor man had lost his sister yesterday. He shouldn’t have even been here.
Then why was he?
The kitchen doors opened and Sam emerged. She gave a shy welcome to everyone, bobbing her head and blushing almost magenta. After, a group of waiters, most of whom had come from the Chowder Hut, emerged carrying the starters.
I licked my lips. It had been a hard two days of work to set up the amazing Halloween décor around the guesthouse—if I did say so myself—and I was more than ready for my reward.
A waiter placed a bowl brimming with delicious seafood chowder in front of me, and I had to restrain myself from tucking in right away.
“What’s this?” Franklin said, leaning in and sniffing his bowl.
Bee pursed her lips. She wasn’t good with anyone who offended her friends, however slight that offense might be. “It’s a delicious chowder,” she said, “and knowing Sam, it will be the best we’ve ever tasted.”
“I second that,” I said.
Gregory lifted his spoon, dipped it into his chowder and lifted it to his mouth, almost mechanically. He chewed, swallowed, and repeated.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Immediately, Gregory dropped his spoon with a clatter. He glared at me then scraped his chair, got up and marched off.
“That was tactful,” Franklin said, shaking his head. “You could have waited until he’d finished his meal.”
“Hey,” Bee snapped, “that’s not her fault. She was trying to be nice. Anyway, he shouldn’t be here if he’s not in the state to attend.”
Franklin slurped chowder off his spoon noisily. “I suppose you’re right, but I doubt that he’s that emotionally distraught that he couldn’t attend this… event.”
I didn’t like the way Franklin said it, nor the way in which his eyes roved over the interior of the guesthouse. He didn’t seem impressed by anything. Though, that might have just been who Franklin was as a person.
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Oh, come on, you must have heard the rumors,” he said. “No?” He ate another spoonful of chowder and chewed on a piece of crusty, buttered bread. “Everyone in town wants to know who would do it. You know, hurt Theresa. After all, Theresa was well-liked in Carmel Springs. Of course, not as well-liked as she should have been. Franny hated her for sure. So did a few others because Theresa was… how do I put this? Kind of a stickler for rules. And a neat freak.”
I kept my face impassive. If Theresa had been such a neat freak, why had her house been such a mess? Was that a clue in itself?
“What’s any of that got to do with Gregory?” Bee asked, impatiently.
I nudged her under the table. If she pushed too hard, Franklin might get suspicious and who knew who he was friends with. What if it was Jones? What if Jones heard we’d decided to check this out?
“Gregory’s relatively new to town. He only moved in a week ago or something. I saw him too. When he arrived he had a huge fight with Theresa right in the front garden. He wanted to put—” But Franklin broke off.
Gregory had returned, his eyes dry and his bald spot gleaming by the candlelight. He took his seat and started eating again, ignoring the rest of us completely.
Was he grieving?
Or does he have something to hide?
9
So far, our suspect list was relatively short.
There was Gregory Michaud, Theresa’s long lost brother—but we had little evidence to back up the claim that he might have murdered her.
And then, of course, there was Franny Clark, who had definitely gotten into an altercation with Theresa in the General Store and in front of our truck. Given that it was a Sunday, and just about everyone was done with Halloween and had retired to their homes, it felt to me like the right time to investigate.
After all, we didn’t have any treats to sell on the truck today.
Bee and I strolled down the street, effecting a casual attitude, even as we approached the ‘perp’s’ house. Bee called it Franny that, even though we didn’t have any solid evidence that she’d actually committed the crime.
Yet.
The wind brushed against my coat, and I tucked it tight against my body as we approached Franny Clark’s home. The real shock had come this morning when I’d asked Sam for Franny’s address and discovered she lived right next door to Franklin on the other side. Her home was the one with the pumpkin-shaped knocker.
How bizarre.
Or was it serendipitous?
“Are you ready, Rubes?” Bee asked, as we trudged up the front steps and halted on a welcome mat with swirling writing.
My stomach did a swirl, but I forced the nerves back and nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Bee lifted the knocked and brought it down three times.
Nothing happened. No footsteps or calls from within.
I pressed a finger to the doorbell and it chimed merrily inside the house.
“Just a second,” a woman called inside. “One second.” And then a whisper. “You shouldn’t have come here today. This is ridiculous. You know how bad this makes me look, Shawn.”
My eyes widened. Shawn? The very same Shawn Clark who had been arrested the night before Theresa’s murder? That was what Millie had said. And he was here. Of course, they were family. Did they live together?
The door cracked open and Franny Clark appeared, her dark hair tied back, her eyes hawkish and the tip of her nose sharp. Then again, that had been hidden underneath a clown’s nose the other night. “Yes?”
“Hi,” I said. “We just wanted to come offer our condolences for losing, um… Theresa. Your neighbor.” It was a weak excuse and even I knew that.
Franny raised a penciled eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“We’re here to offer our con
dolences,” I repeated.
“No you’re not,” she replied, nasally. “You can’t be. Everyone in Carmel Springs knows that Theresa and I hated each other. Which means that you’re here for another reason.” She lifted a finger and jabbed it in my direction. “To interfere! To get the next scoop of gossip to spread among your friends.”
“We’re not from here,” Bee said.
“Yeah, sure. I saw you two on that food truck. You wouldn’t give me a cookie. And if you think I’m going to talk to you about—”
A dark figure materialized behind her, and I gasped—a man in a cloak and hood and… no, it was just that same dark-haired, dark-eyed teenager we’d seen at the Halloween Festival. His hair hung in front of his face, and his lips were colored dark black. He pushed past Franny and then past me.
“Excuse me,” Bee said.
“You’re excused.” Shawn marched off down the stepping stone path and out onto the sidewalk, the gate clattering closed behind him. He reminded me of a giant bird of prey—the same skulking walk.
“How rude.” Bee pulled her coat straight. “How absolutely rude.”
Franny’s ire seemed to have faded, or rather, been redirected. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” she said. “He is rude. My sister’s child who came to stay with me. He can’t get a job, anywhere. Not that’s trying very hard, but the point is, he’s been nothing but a nuisance to me since he arrived. Apparently, he got in trouble over in Boston and he had to leave.”
“What type of trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t know and I don’t ask,” Franny said. “Honestly, he’s not even living with me. He’s got an apartment somewhere in town. He comes to visit once a week to check in, just so that when his mother calls, he can say he’s been visiting me. Not that I want him to.” She shook her head. “Back when I was nineteen, I was motivated and hard-working. Shawn is a good for nothing nobody. He doesn’t help out around my house, he doesn’t work, he doesn’t pay bills. I don’t know how he’s survived for so long.”
It was a diatribe I hadn’t been prepared for, but it was still information.
Shawn was clearly poor. Did that mean he’d have wanted to kill Theresa for money? Perhaps, frame his aunt for the murder since there was no love lost there?
But… did Theresa even have money to steal? Had her house been broken into before her death? There were too many missing elements here.
“Anyway,” Franny said, and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Is there anything else you wanted? Other than to spread useless rumors about me?”
“No,” Bee said.
“We didn’t want to spread rumors about you.”
“I’ll believe that when… well, never. I’ll believe that never. Now, good day to you and get off my property.” She slapped the door shut in our faces.
Bee and I stood in silence for a moment.
“Do you think she’s still mad because we didn’t give her the last cookie the other day?” I asked.
Bee sniffed. “Frankly, my dear Ruby, I don’t give a flying raccoon.”
“I suppose you’re right,” I said. “Come on, let’s go back to the guesthouse and have some coffee and treats.” We set off down the stone, taking the same path that Shawn had.
Shawn who had definitely stolen a decoration from the festival, the other day. Who had been arrested, supposedly, after Theresa’s murder. Did Jones know something we didn’t?
10
The Oceanside Guesthouse looked just as fabulous in the morning light as it had the night before. It was a Sunday, and the last day of the awesome Halloween celebrations, but that hadn’t stopped folks from dressing up in their costumes and walking down to the pier for the grand reopening of the Lobster Shack.
I definitely wouldn’t be going to the restaurant any time soon—my last experience with the place hadn’t been great.
Together, Bee and I entered the guesthouse to the welcoming scent of fresh-brewed coffee and baking cookies. Chocolate-chip by my nose.
“Smells like we’re in time for brunch!” I rubbed my palms together, both to warm them after the fall chill, and to prepare for the deliciousness that would surely follow.
Trouble padded out of the living room and meowed at me. He wound between my legs, purring and rubbing against me in greeting. I loved this little greeting from him. He seemed to have taken a liking to me.
That was lovely, as I’d always wanted a cat, but my ex, Daniel, would never have allowed it. Now, I couldn’t stay in one town long enough to have a pet, or rather to let a cat own me. But having Trouble around was still lovely.
We entered the living room and waved to the Carlingtons in the corner where they sat sipping from mugs and nibbling on muffins.
Sam appeared in the kitchen doorways, bearing a smile. “Good morning,” she sang. “Would you like some choc-chip muffins?”
“And two coffees if it’s not too much trouble,” Bee said.
“Sure thing!”
Sam returned with our muffins and coffees a second later—I’d been wrong about the cookies, but the muffins were just as good, with gooey chocolate pieces inside, still warm from the oven. Sam left us to eat, while Trouble curled in front of the fire.
Bee snagged a newspaper from a table over and set to reading while she ate, picking at the muffin with her fingertips and nibbling away. “Of course,” she said, “they’re already making grand deductions about who it might be and what actually happened. Listen to this… strangulation before drowning.”
“Eugh.” I pushed my plate away. “That’s off-putting.”
“Yes, it is. But it does give us more information.”
“How so?”
“Well, don’t you think it’s interesting that Franny had that fight with Theresa in the General Store? That looked pretty intense.”
I nodded, my thoughts whirring away again. There were suspects galore again. Could it be that Theresa’s long lost brother had had something to do with it? The way he’d run out of the room the other day could very well have been grief, or it could have been for another reason.
And then there was Franny, who definitely appeared to have a motive: rage. And what about Shawn Clark? Could there have been a reason for him to have done it?
“I wonder if Theresa was rich,” I said, sipping my coffee. “After all, if she was, there might have been a motivation. Could someone have robbed her? Perhaps, things got out of hand?”
“I don’t know,” Bee replied, turning the page, “but I do know that strangulation is quite personal. I mean, it’s not like a gunshot or something.”
“I guess.” I pulled a face.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just that, apparently, there’s an award ceremony tomorrow. For the Halloween decoration competition! Oh, that’s exciting for Sam. I hope she wins.” Bee looked around the living room, smiling. “We’ll have to go.”
“Yes, we will,” I said, and finished off the last of my coffee.
Halloween was on its way out. No doubt, the Christmas decorations would be up in the stores within minutes. I could almost hear the Michael Buble songs. It had always been strange to me that the stores seemed to forget all about Thanksgiving and move right onto Christmas.
I chewed on my bottom lip, peering around at the decorations. “I wonder if there’s any other evidence we can find,” I said. “There must be something we can discover. Perhaps, we should talk to Millie again.”
Bee nodded. “We’re not going to have much more time to think about this anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ll be leaving town soon. Unless…” Bee leaned in, pressing her empty muffin plate aside.
“What?” I asked.
“Do you want to stay in Maine for Christmas? Or would you prefer to go back to see family and the like.”
“Wow,” I murmured. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Honestly, I don’t have any family to go back to at the moment. My mom and I haven’t spoken in q
uite some time. But what about you? Don’t you have someone you want to see over the holiday season?”
Bee shook her silver-haired head. “Not a one. I haven’t had the best track record at making friends.”
“Until now,” I replied, smiling.
“Until now,” Bee agreed.
Trouble meowed and darted into the dining area. He took a leap onto my lap and settled in it, purring and massaging with his furry paws.
The Carlingtons got up from their table and headed out with the intent of taking a walk down the pier, and Bee stifled a yawn behind her coffee cup. We’d had a late night last night, celebrating the Halloween festivities.
“I think I should stretch my legs,” I said. “It will give me time to mull things over. Do you want to come along for a walk, Bee?”
“No, thank you. I think I’ll curl up in an armchair by the fire and read, um, the paper.”
“Bee, I’d better not catch you with another of those scary stories. You know they’ve been tiring you out.”
“You won’t catch me,” she replied, with a wink.
I laughed, rose from the table and thanked Sam in the kitchen for the delicious brunch. I gave Trouble one last kiss on the head then started out for my walk.
Hopefully, the sea-kissed air would wake me up and give me some fresh ideas about the case.
11
I strolled along the road, away from the guesthouse and the pier and toward the Chowder Hut. It would be closed on a Sunday, but it wasn’t like I planned on visiting and chomping down on a couple breadsticks.
Come on, Ruby, think. Whodunit?
I broke down the suspect list in my mind again, but there were no answers forthcoming. Whether I liked it or not, I didn’t have any other leads or evidence. The only hint that anything had been wrong was that Shawn Clark, guy, the dark-haired and makeup wearing young man who’d stolen the décor at Halloween.
But stealing and murder were too different crimes and not necessarily links.
Oof, maybe I’m in too deep. Good heavens, I don’t need to solve this crime. It’s not threatening the truck or anything.
Creepy Cake Murder Page 4
