Bite-Sized Bakery Cozy Mysteries Box Set 2

by Rosie A. Point

  But I had to agree with Bee here. It didn’t seem like enough motivation for the innkeeper to commit murder.

  “If she’d wanted someone dead,” I said, “why wouldn’t she have killed Lucy?”

  “True.” Bee ate another spoonful of cake. “But it’s probably far worse for Lucy now. Not only has she lost someone she cares about, but she’s in jail and she’s going to be charged with murder. Probably first degree. Now, she has to live with that forever.”

  “So, you think Mrs. Rickleston had motivation?”

  “Maybe.” Bee tapped her lip with her spoon. “But we don’t have her at the concert or any proof that she has a gun.”

  Then who could it be? I’d already told Bee about the man I’d seen on the stage, holding something in his hand, but we couldn’t follow up the lead without finding out who he was first. And that would be a challenge. He wasn’t familiar to us—and Muffin was a small town. If we didn’t know everyone’s names, we at least knew most of their faces.

  “So, there are two theories,” I said. “First, that whoever did this, did it to get to Lucy. Or they did it because they wanted to get rid of Drake.”

  “Right. But we need more than that to go on. More suspects.”

  “Mrs. Rickleston,” I said, ticking her off on my finger. “Lucy. The strange man at the—” I gasped.

  “What is it?”

  Speak of the devil.

  Mrs. Rickleston had just rounded the corner, walking alongside a man who was all too familiar. Balding, wearing square-frame glasses and a pair of jogging shorts and trainers, he walked with his hands on his hips, squinting up at the sky and sucking in breaths occasionally.

  The pair paused, and Mrs. Rickleston gave the man a pat on the shoulder, saying something I couldn’t make out. She turned and headed back around the duck pond.

  How odd.

  “That’s him,” I breathed. “That’s the guy I saw on stage yesterday.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Bee asked. “Absolutely positive?”

  “Yes.” It was the strangest coincidence, but it was definitely him. I’d run over what had happened last night so many times that his face was burned into my memory.

  What on earth had he been doing with Mrs. Rickleston?

  I stood up as he approached. “Good morning,” I called out. “Excuse me!”

  He did a double-take like he hadn’t realized I’d been speaking to him. “Oh, hello. Need something?”

  “Hi, my name is Ruby Holmes.” I handed Bee my rainbow cake in a cup and walked over, my hand out for a shake.

  “Nathan Bratte.” He didn’t take my hand, opting to nod instead. That was probably a good thing—he looked kind of sweaty. “What do you want?”

  “Just saying hello. I recognized you from the concert last night.”

  Nathan paled. “Yeah.”

  “I thought I saw you on stage.”

  He checked his chunky, plastic wristwatch. “Look, I’ve got places to be. Is there a point to this?”

  “Uh… well,” I said, searching for a reason I’d stepped into his path. “Well. Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. See, I’m the owner of the Bite-sized Bakery truck over there and we create delicious—”

  “Not hungry and not interested.” He tried moving past me, but I side-stepped and blocked him again.

  “Excuse me,” he grunted. “I’m on a run.”

  “I understand that. I just wanted to ask you a few questions about last night.”

  “Questions?” He spat on the ground next to my foot, and I recoiled. What on earth? How disgusting. “What kind of questions? You with the police or something?” He had a New York accent like Drake’s.

  “Not with the police, no, but I did notice you were on the stage last night. Were you with the band? A singer?”

  “No,” he snapped. “I’m Drake’s manager. I was his manager. Whatever. Look, I’ve got a meeting to get to. Don’t have time for small town gossip and women who can’t keep their noses out of other people’s business.” He jogged off, nearly knocking me over in the process.

  “How rude.” Bee marched over.

  “I did cut him off several times, to be fair.” I accepted my cake from Bee. “Interesting. He was Drake’s manager.”

  “And the day after the murder he’s out jogging in the park. And taking meetings. Chatting with Mrs. Rickleston. And going pale at the mention of Drake’s death.”

  “I noticed that too,” I said. “Nathan Bratte. I guess we’ll have to add him to our suspect list.”

  “And find out if he had any motivation to murder Drake.”

  Bee and I finished our cakes and headed for the truck, tossing our empty paper cups in a park trash receptacle.

  “Bee,” I said, as we washed our hands. “I think I know what we need to do next.”

  “What?”

  “Visit Lucy.” In jail. “She might know something that could help us clear her name.” Or prove that she’d done it. “I’d like to find out where she was last night when she was meant to be sitting with us.”

  Bee’s brow wrinkled, but she agreed. It was a solid lead, and if we were going to leave Muffin with peace of mind, we’d need to do everything in our power to ensure our friend didn’t take the fall for a crime she hadn’t committed.

  Let’s hope she really didn’t do it.

  8

  I had never visited anyone in jail before, and sitting in the little room reserved for visitors, with fluorescent lights and gray blue walls, on a plastic chair with a phone clasped to my ear, I wasn’t sure I’d be coming back any time soon. A little screen had been attached to the console connected to the telephone.

  Lucy shuffled into view and took a seat, wearing an orange jumpsuit. She waved at me then picked the phone on her side.

  “Lucy,” I said.

  Bee waved over my shoulder.

  We had fifteen minutes to talk to her, so we’d decided one of us would do the talking and questioning and the other would hang around for moral support.

  “Ruby! I can’t tell you how friggin’ happy I am to see you,” Lucy said, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t believe this is happening. Say hello to Bee for me.”

  “She says hello.” I covered the receiver.

  “Poor woman. Tell her we’re going to help her out. She just has to give us some information,” Bee said.

  “Lucy, we’re going to do whatever we can to help.” I chose my words carefully. The cops had full control over which conversations they recorded and listened to—it wasn’t like we were Lucy’s legal counsel.

  “I knew you’d say that.” Lucy sighed. “I knew you’d believe it wasn’t me who’d done it.”

  “Of course,” I replied.

  “It’s been so, so bad in here, Ruby, and it’s even worse because I lost Drake.” She lifted her hand and touched her ring finger. “He gave me a ring, you know. They took it off me and put it in evidence, but he gave me… It’s gorgeous. Yellow gold with a big diamond.” She trailed off and her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe he’s gone. Like, I know I was frustrated with him because of how he acted with other women, but it was still special. We were special.”

  “Lucy,” I said. “Tell us everything you can. What have the police told you?”

  “They’ve tried to get me to confess, but I won’t because I didn’t do it.”

  “Yes, but why. What do they have on you?”

  “I had gunpowder on my hands,” Lucy said. “And I did have gunpowder on my hands, they’re right, but it wasn’t because I shot Drake. It was because I’d gone out to the range to do some shooting earlier in the day. Get my frustrations out.”

  “Right.”

  “But I did notice at the time that one of my guns was missing from the safe in my closet,” she continued. “I was going to report it stolen, but I got so busy with Drake and the concert and organizing tickets for everyone that it completely slipped my mind.”

  “So, you think someone stole the gun?”<
br />
  “Yeah, duh, I do. And they probably used it to m-m-murder Drake and they’re pinning it on me!” Lucy ended the sentence in a wail. “It’s not fair. I wouldn’t—I didn’t—”

  Bee signaled for Lucy to calm down.

  “It’s going to be OK,” I said. “But you need to tell us who you think would want to do something like this.”

  “I have no idea. Drake and I didn’t discuss anyone who might’ve hated him. He always talked about how everyone adored him instead. Everyone was his fan.”

  That didn’t help much. Though, it could’ve been a crazy fan who’d done it.

  “All right,” I said. “OK.” I was out of ideas, and I looked up at Bee for guidance.

  She leaned in and spoke into the receiver. “Who was hanging around Drake in the days before the murder?”

  Lucy dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. “Me, obviously. We spent a lot of time together.”

  “Right. Anyone else?” I asked.

  “Well, there was his manager, Nathan. And then… um, girls. Lots of girls and women who asked for autographs. And then… well, Mrs. Rickleston kicked him out of the Runaway Inn, but you were there for that. That’s all I can remember.”

  I had one last question, and it was an awkward one. Hopefully, our friend didn’t take offense to this, but there was no option but to ask. If we were going to be thorough in our investigation, we had to ensure that we covered our bases, otherwise we’d never catch the person who’d committed the crime.

  Whether I liked to admit it or not, Lucy could still be that person. The odds were stacked against her, especially since the police believed they had exactly what they needed to get a conviction.

  “Lucy,” I said, trying not to sound too nervous. “Lucy, where were you when he was shot?”

  “I was in the bathroom,” she replied, instantly. “I didn’t even know anything had happened. I had a bit of a problem—my stomach has been weird—and I was in there for ages. I didn’t want to disturb anyone, so I just slipped out when no one was looking.”

  “You see how it looks though,” I said. “To everyone. To the cops.”

  “Yeah, I know, but you have to believe me.” Lucy’s brow furrowed. “Look, go to my place and let yourself in. There’s a key under the welcome mat. Go in and look around—see if you can find anything that might… I don’t know.”

  A guard appeared behind Lucy, and the little timer next to the screen flashed. “Stay safe, Luce. It’s going to be OK. We’re going to—”

  The screen cut off and I hung up the phone.

  “That’s that.” I got up.

  Bee squeezed my shoulder. “It’s going to be OK.”

  “We’ll have to make it OK.”

  We headed out to the parking area, both quiet and frowning. We’d brought cupcakes with us for Lucy but hadn’t been allowed to hand them over. Bee lifted them off the passenger seat and set them on her lap.

  “What do you think?” I asked, putting on my seatbelt. “Should we do it?”

  “I think we’ve already made our decision, haven’t we?” Bee popped open the cupcake box and took one out.

  I started the engine just as Bee took a massive bite of her cupcake. “Then we’d better get over to Lucy’s house and take a look around.”

  “Gloves!” Bee said. “We’ll need to stop by the inn first and get my gloves. I bought some latex pairs, you know, just in case something like this happened again.”

  “Good heavens.”

  But there was no backing out now. If we wanted to help our friend, we’d have to put our sleuthing hats on and get to work.

  9

  By the time we got to Lucy’s house in Muffin, the sun had just dipped below the horizon and a lavender haze dusted the evening sky. It was warm, and I rolled down my window, peering out at the lovely night that approached.

  Funny how cute Muffin seemed, even though there was a murderer out there. Prowling. Good heavens, now I was giving myself the shivers.

  “Nice place,” Bee said, pointing to Lucy’s house.

  It was a clapboard double story home with a wraparound porch and two hanging bubble vases from the eaves, filled with blossoming flowers. The porch lights were off.

  “I’ve got the gloves.” Bee patted her handbag then slipped out of the car.

  And I had the determination to figure out what was going on. Besides, it was a nice distraction from worrying about leaving Muffin. That included leaving Jamie behind.

  I’ve only dated him twice. This is silly.

  I buried the thoughts and followed Bee up the front steps. We’d never visited Lucy here before and guilt tickled the back of my mind—we were supposed to be her friends. Once we’d helped her out of this sticky situation, we’d have to pay her a visit.

  Bee lifted the welcome mat and retrieved Lucy’s front door key. We let ourselves into the darkened front hall, and I fumbled for the light switch.

  Something thumped deeper in the house. Or was it upstairs? I couldn’t be sure.

  Bee grabbed hold of my arm and stopped me from clicking on the lights. We stood still as ice sculptures, listening.

  The house was eerily silent and then… thump, thump, thump.

  The noises had come from down the passage. Light flashed from a doorway, illuminating the carpet and a square of tiling from the kitchen.

  Bee squeezed my arm once then set off. I brought a can of pepper spray out of my purse and held it at the ready, tracing her footsteps.

  The thumping and banging continued, followed by muttering, and Bee and I entered the kitchen together. A shadowy figure stood in the center of it, dragging what looked like a big duffel bag. I couldn’t be sure since the only light came from the windows and the crescent moon outside.

  “Don’t move,” Bee cried, searching for the light switch.

  I aimed the pepper spray, adrenaline pulsing through my veins.

  The figure—a tall, slender silhouette—didn’t make a sound, but darted toward the back of the kitchen. A door opened, affording a sliver of light, showing us that the person was dressed in all black, wearing a hoodie. They sprinted out into the yard.

  “Hey!” Bee yelled and chased after them. “Get back here! Hey!”

  I didn’t bother running after the intruder but searched for the light switch instead. “Got you,” I murmured, and Lucy’s kitchenette was bathed in buttery yellow light. The bag that the thief had been fiddling with was stuffed full of personal effects—Lucy’s clothing and jewelry—and all the drawers in the kitchen had been wrenched open, as well.

  Bee huffed into the kitchen, her eyes wild. “They got away.”

  “But they left their booty.”

  “Huh?”

  “Their haul.” I pointed to the duffel bag. “We’ll have to call the police about this. A thief breaking into her house so soon after she was arrested…”

  “Suspicious,” Bee agreed. “They might’ve had this planned out in advance. Maybe… no, it’s too outrageous.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe whoever that was wanted Lucy out of the way so they could do this.”

  “But why? They could easily have broken in while Lucy was at work. It doesn’t make sense that they’d need to frame her for murder to get what they wanted. Unless they were just an unscrupulous person taking advantage of a terrible situation.”

  “Also possible.”

  I plopped my pepper spray back into my purse then moved to take out my phone.

  “Wait!” Bee said. “Let’s not do anything too hasty. We wanted to check the place out first, right? The last thing we need is cops crawling all over the house.” Bee removed her box of latex gloves and offered me a pair. “No prints.” She winked. “Let’s find out exactly what this thief was after.”

  “Lucy did mention that her gun had gone missing?” I accepted a pair of gloves and snapped them on.

  Bee did the same and moved to the back door. She closed it and locked it, careful not to touch the door handle. “Right,” sh
e said. “I’ll look around downstairs. You handle the bedroom and the gun safe. Let’s hope there’s something that gives us a clue as to who might have wanted to break in here.”

  “And frame her for murder.”

  Bee stayed downstairs, and I headed up to the second floor, turning on the landing light when I reached it. The house was relatively small, straight up and down, but Lucy had put up pictures of people getting their hair done at the salon, and a few images of her with family members. She’d styled the master bedroom in hues of silver and purple, fabrics of taffeta and satin. The effect was quite jarring, but it was so Lucy.

  My throat closed. She was in jail and it couldn’t be helped. My job now was to keep my wits about me.

  I scanned the room.

  The closet door was open. The bedding was rumpled. A few of the drawers in Lucy’s grand dressing table—the type that had a mirror with lightbulbs encircling it—had been pulled open and make up and nail polish bottles had fallen out of it onto the floor.

  I headed for the closet and found the gun safe was, indeed, open. And all the guns were missing.

  “Bee!” I called. “I think I’ve found something.”

  “So have I.” My friend spoke from the doorway, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “How did you get up here so fast?”

  “I was already on my way upstairs. Look what I found wedged between the sofa cushions.” She came over and handed me several crumpled pieces of paper. A few had been torn up.

  I flattened out one of the whole pieces of paper and started reading.

  You’re messing with the wrong guy. You need to think before you make your next move because I am going to make you pay for what you’ve done, you disgusting piece of trash.

  You’re a good-for-nothing harlot. I think if you had one brain cell left in that ugly purple-streaked head of yours you would know that I was going to come after you.

  I didn’t need to read the rest. It was a letter filled with hate and vitriol. “Good-for-nothing,” I said, handing it back to Bee. “Isn’t that exactly what Mrs. Rickleston said about Lucy? That she was good-for-nothing?”

  Bee pursed her lips. “There’s more. It looks like whoever wrote these has been sending them to Lucy for quite some time. Months, maybe.”