Candy Coated Murder

by Kate Bell

  She snorted. “Please. Like I’d tell you. You’d run downtown and tell the police.”

  This surprised me. “So, you did kill her?”

  “Did I say that?” she asked, picking up two crullers and putting them into a white paper bag.

  “No, but you didn’t deny it either.”

  “Whatever. That’s two dollars and fifty cents.”

  I pulled two dollars and two quarters out of my pocket and handed them to her. “Stella, Labor Day is less than a week away. Maybe you should get some cute Halloween themed paper bags. Customers love them.” I looked around the bakery. It was devoid of Halloween decorations.

  “Why? The mayor is going to do away with Halloween season. And good riddance to it, I say. I’m tired of this silliness.”

  “Why do you say that? You’ve lived here all your life. You have a bakery on Spooky Lane and you make your living off the Halloween season. I don't understand why you feel that way.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. This celebration has been a curse on the whole town. We need to change it up. People don’t come to my bakery during the off-season because it’s way over here near the edge of town and everyone thinks of this area as the Halloween area. They think we’re only open during the holidays. They don’t even think about coming here during the off-season.”

  “Why do you say that? We all get regular business during the off-season. I see customers in here all the time.”

  “The Halloween theme makes us separate. And if we weren’t separated over here, more people would come. I’m sure of it. You mark my words. When we get rid of Halloween, you’ll see more business at your candy store.”

  “What do you mean separated? We aren’t separated,” I said. Stella wasn’t making sense.

  “Sure we are. There are us, the Halloween freaks, and them. The regular business owners.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “People go to whichever business they need or want. There’s no separation.”

  Stella rolled her eyes. “It’s like an imaginary divide in people’s heads. Sure, some people shop here all year. But how many don’t even come over here unless it’s Halloween because they think we are seasonal businesses?”

  She handed me the white paper bag. I had never thought of it like that and I suddenly wasn’t sure she was completely wrong. On more than one occasion I had run into people that said they had forgotten about the candy store because they considered it a seasonal business. I had always assumed it was just a fluke and that other people didn’t think that way. Was I wrong? Would business be better for all of us if we dropped the Halloween season?

  “See?” Stella said. “I got you thinking, don’t I?”

  I shook my head. “No. No, you’re wrong. I’m sure of it. Here’s a flyer,” I said, laying one on the counter. “We’re going to work on saving the Halloween season and we would appreciate it if you would come out and support us. Thanks for the crullers.”

  “I hate the Halloween season. I won’t be there,” she said.

  I headed out the door, letting it slam shut behind me. Stella had to be wrong. I would bet anything she was. Only, there was this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that hadn’t been there before. I took a deep breath and headed back to the candy store.

  When I opened the door to the shop, there was a man in a black suit standing at the counter talking to my mother. He turned and smiled at me.

  “Mia, dear, this is Detective Johnson. He wanted to ask us about finding Hazel.”

  “Oh,” I said and went behind the counter to stand next to Mom.

  He offered me his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Can you tell me what happened when you found Hazel Martin?” he asked me.

  I glanced at my mother. “Sure. We had just gotten home from work and I looked over at Hazel’s house. There was a scarecrow on the bench on her porch and I went to check it out. It was Hazel.” My heart pounded in my chest and I hoped he couldn’t hear it. I was being silly, I told myself. The detective was just doing his job and there was no reason to feel anxious. But, I did.

  “When was the last time you spoke to Hazel before her death?”

  “That morning. She didn’t like that Stella Moretti down at the bakery wouldn't give her thirteen donuts.”

  “What?” he asked, confused.

  “A baker’s dozen. They disagreed on the number.” I glanced at my mother again.

  “I see,” he said. “And why is that important?”

  “It was important to Hazel. She insisted Stella give her thirteen donuts, but Stella only gave her twelve and it made her angry. Now that Hazel’s dead, Stella’s advertising that a baker’s dozen is thirteen.” I didn’t think it would mean anything to him, but I wanted him to know. I also wanted to tell him about the affair Hazel had had with Vince Moretti, but I wasn’t sure my mother would like it if I told him.

  “I see,” he repeated and made a note.

  “We already told the police what happened,” I pointed out.

  I didn’t know Pumpkin Hollow had a detective. I thought I would ask Ethan about it. If the city had money to pay for a detective when we rarely had murders or violent crime, then why did the mayor say we didn’t have money for the Halloween season?

  “I understand. I just want to go over everything,” he said without looking up from his notebook. “Can you tell me anything else about your relationship with Hazel Martin?”

  I shook my head when he looked up at me. “There’s nothing to tell. She was our neighbor all my life. Sometimes she would come in and buy candy.” I shrugged. If he had spoken to many people, he already knew she was difficult to get along with. I was beginning to wish I had never checked on Hazel. No one would be questioning me if I hadn’t gone to see about the scarecrow sitting on her bench.

  The detective asked a series of questions we had already answered with the police and then bought some fudge before leaving. When the door closed behind him, I looked at Mom.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. The police want to make sure they get the whole story. Investigating a murder can't be easy.”

  I opened the paper bag and took a cruller out and handed the bag to her.

  “I don’t like being asked the same questions over and over. I feel like they have their eye on us,” I said and took a bite of my cruller.

  “I don’t think that’s it. I think they don’t have enough information to solve the murder. I’m sure they want to solve it since we rarely have murders here.”

  “I think it had to be someone that knew Hazel really well. The problem is, no one liked her and it could be anyone.”

  “I bet someone liked her,” Mom said and took a bite of her cruller. “These are always so fresh.”

  “Did you like her, mom?” My mother was a look-on-the-bright-side kind of person. I admired that in her, but I had a more suspicious nature. People usually had a reason for doing the things they did and sometimes it wasn’t for a good reason.

  Mom studied her cruller before answering. “I have to admit, she was difficult. We all knew that. But I can’t say I disliked her, either. She just had her issues.”

  I sighed. “Issues, indeed.”

  I took another bite of my cruller and made a decision to figure out who murdered Hazel so the police would leave my mother and me alone.

  --10--

  By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was worn out from worrying about the detective stopping by the shop as well as whether the Halloween season was hurting our business. I was torn. I had all these wonderful childhood memories of all the Halloween events. I could pull out any photo album in my parent’s house and flip through countless pictures of my younger sister and I dressed as princesses, witches, and mermaids enjoying the season as it was meant to be. Would we lose all that? Should we lose all that? The taxes for the business district where the candy shop was located were high.
They had to be. They supported much of the Halloween activities. But other businesses in the community supported the Halloween season, too. I sighed. I needed a hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

  I got out of my car and looked over at Hazel’s house. No one had stopped by yet to check that everything was in order. I knew she had to have relatives. Where were they? I hoped at least one person in her life grieved for her. It would mean they had loved her. As my eyes traveled over the white bench on the porch, a picture of Hazel’s slumped-over body flashed across my mind. I shook my head to clear it. I didn’t want to see anything like that ever again.

  I turned to head to the house when I heard someone swear. I turned back toward Hazel’s house. Mr. Gott lived on the other side and he was working on a lawnmower, pulling on the starter over and over. He pulled it and released it. Pulled it and released it. He straightened up a moment and looked at the mower, hands on his hips.

  Mr. Gott was elderly, and I expected it took a lot out of him to get the lawn mower started. I headed over to see if I could help out.

  “Hi, Mr. Gott,” I said as I approached.

  He turned and looked at me, his white hair falling across his forehead. He pushed it back and smiled at me. His grass had grown far past the legal length the homeowners association allowed and I was sure he was worried he would get a letter.

  “Hello, Mia, how are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Having trouble with the lawnmower?”

  He nodded. “The stupid thing doesn’t want to work. Not that I blame it. I don't like working, either,” he said with a chuckle. Mr. Gott was usually good humored, except for when he had a run in with Hazel. It seemed his long, overgrown grass had been an issue for her. One that she had never allowed to slide past her.

  “Can I try?” I asked.

  He nodded and motioned for me to go ahead.

  I set my purse down on the sidewalk, then went to the mower, took hold of the starter handle and pulled. The engine sputtered, then went silent. I tried again, pulling and releasing quickly like my father had taught me years ago. It sputtered and stopped several times, then caught.

  I looked up at Mr. Gott and he was smiling. “Thank you, Mia!” he said over the roar of the engine.

  “I’ll do it for you,” I said, taking hold of the handle. The day had turned out warm and Mr. Gott was already sweating. His front yard was nice and flat and not very large. I was tired, but I figured I could do it in less than fifteen minutes.

  He nodded and shouted, “thank you!”

  I picked up my purse and set it on his porch, then got to work pushing the mower around the yard. The mower rolled easily and the physical exercise felt surprisingly good.

  When I finished Mr. Gott handed me a glass of ice water. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this.”

  “It’s no problem,” I said between gulps of water. It felt good and tasted clean, washing down my parched throat.

  “I need to get an electric mower. I’m tired of fighting with this one,” he commented.

  I nodded. “The gas ones are hard to start,” I said. “Mr. Gott, did the police question you about Hazel’s death?”

  He snorted. “Of course they did. Like I would know anything. I told them I wasn’t a bit sorry she was dead.”

  “You did? Aren’t you afraid to tell the police something like that?” I asked.

  “What for? It’s the truth and I find you should always tell the police the truth. She was always reporting me, plus she let her cat out to do its business beneath my rose bushes.” Mr. Gott's mouth pressed together in a straight line.

  ”Oh,” I said. I didn’t tell him Hazel didn’t have a cat and it must have been someone else’s. “Well, I feel kind of bad she died the way she did. And then dressing her as a scarecrow just added insult to injury.”

  “She had it coming. I’d say someone was trying to send a message. That woman should have kept her mouth shut and her nose out of people’s business.”

  I was taken aback by his anger. I nodded. “She was a busy body.”

  “I won’t miss her a bit. I couldn’t stand the woman.”

  I nodded. I had underestimated the anger people had toward Hazel.

  “Did you happen to see or hear anything unusual that day?”

  “Not a thing,” he said, shaking his head. He had white bushy eyebrows that came together when he was angry.

  “Well, I had better get going,” I said, handing him the glass back. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Gott.”

  “Okay,” he said. “Thanks again for mowing my lawn. I wish all neighbors were as kind as you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said over my shoulder and retrieved my purse.

  As I stepped over onto Hazel’s property, a police cruiser pulled up to the curb of Mr. Gott’s house. I stopped and squinted my eyes at the car. Ethan waved from behind the steering wheel. I waited for him to get out of the car.

  “Hi Mia, how are you?” he called.

  I nodded. “I’m fine,” I said and headed back toward Mr. Gott’s house. “What are you doing in this neck of the woods?”

  “I just need to speak to Mr. Gott. How are you Mr. Gott?” he asked him.

  “I’m fine. What do you want?” he asked, sounding curt.

  “I just need to go over what we discussed the other day,” Ethan said.

  “Well, it hasn’t changed any. Did you expect it to?”

  Ethan smiled. “I did not expect it to change, no sir. But you know how we police are. We like to get all the facts and then make sure they’re accurate.”

  Mr. Gott snorted. “You all waste your time and the tax payer’s money.”

  I smiled at Ethan. “I better get home and help my mother with dinner. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “I’ll see you later,” Ethan said.

  "Good bye, Mr. Gott," I called over my shoulder.

  It seemed odd that Ethan was questioning Mr. Gott again, and I wondered if the detective had also stopped by to talk to him. I wished I had asked Mr. Gott that question. Mr. Gott was a nice neighbor, but sometimes he could be a little cantankerous. If Ethan weren’t careful, he would get an earful.

  It was a little crazy that Mr. Gott would admit to being glad Hazel was dead, and I wondered if that was why the police kept stopping by to question him.

  I sighed and opened my front door. The invigorating feeling I had gotten from mowing had worn off and I was tired again.

  --11--

  “We’re getting a shipment of supplies tomorrow,” Mom said as she stood at the stove, stirring a bubbling pot of spaghetti sauce.

  “Halloween supplies?” I asked, mixing some minced garlic into softened butter. Spaghetti night was one of my favorites.

  “Yes, along with the sugar and regular supplies. I hope they don't take the Halloween season away from us. It would be a shame.”

  “I don’t think they will. Or at least, I hope not. But if they do, candy still sells. The business will be fine.” I knew we would be okay. I just didn’t want to lose our heritage of Halloween themed candy making.

  “I hate that all this is going on so close to the start of the season,” she said.

  “It will be fine, Ann,” my dad said. He was leaning on the kitchen doorframe, watching us cook. “Things have a way of working out. Otherwise, there are all the other holidays to make candy for.”

  “I know, I know,” she said with a frown. "It just seems a shame. Oh, and I’ve decided on the two part-time employees. Andrea Stone and Lisa Anderson."

  “I think those are great choices. And I think it will really help us out,” I said. I liked both girls and it made me happy Mom had chosen them.

  The doorbell rang, and we all looked toward the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” Dad said and went into the living room.

  I cut the loaves of French bread in half and spread the garlic butter on them. I made it nice and thick so it would soak down into the bread as it baked. Garlic was a favorite ingredient of mine. I
t came right behind chocolate.

  “There’s someone here to see the two of you,” Dad said.

  I looked up and Ethan stood in the doorway.

  “Hey,” he said, smiling at my mom and then me. “Sorry to intrude. But I needed to ask you both some questions.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Hadn’t we already been over what we had seen and done?

  “Oh, sure, Ethan,” Mom said. “Would you like to stay for dinner? We’re having spaghetti and meatballs.”

  I looked at my mother and gave her a warning look. I did not want to spend dinner being quizzed about Hazel’s death. Besides that, my sister Christy and her husband John were coming for dinner.

  “No, thank you,” Ethan said. “I still have to finish up my shift.”

  “Mia, get Ethan a bottle of water. He’s probably thirsty,” Mom said.

  I sighed under my breath and stood up, wiping my hands on a dishtowel. I got a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to Ethan.

  “Thank you, Mia. Now, can you tell me, did any of you see anything suspicious at Mrs. Marten’s house in the days leading up to the murder?”

  “I never noticed anything,” my dad said.

  “Me either,” I said. “Everything seemed normal.”

  “You know," Mom said thoughtfully. "She did seem to get a lot of packages that last week. I saw the UPS man there almost every afternoon.”

  “But nothing unusual? Besides getting a lot of packages?” Ethan asked.

  “No, not really. She made the rounds of the neighborhood quite often. Perhaps one of the other neighbors saw something unusual, or maybe she talked to them about something,” Mom said.

  “We’ve already been over this,” I pointed out. “We really didn’t see anything.”

  “Mr. Gott said there was a noise late the night before she died. He thought it was coming from Mrs. Martin’s house on the side closest to your house. Did any of you hear anything?”

  I shook my head and turned the oven on to preheat.

  Wait a minute. Mr. Gott said he didn’t hear anything.

  “I didn’t hear a thing,” Mom said.