Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1

by Karen Sullivan

“No, I’m not. The woman was a cancer. I’m glad to be rid of her.”

  Cat bit her lip. Anger rushed through her again, but she had to control it this time. She couldn’t afford an inquisition from the Walters family. They’d have her thrown in jail if they caught her in their bushes.

  “I’m going to bed,” Tara said, then pushed past her husband and disappeared.

  Joseph stood under the arch and looked at the pearls on the floor. He shook his head once, then turned and walked away.

  “Time to go,” Cat whispered. She stumbled out of the bushes and hit a brick wall. Strange, there hadn’t been a brick wall when she’d arrived.

  Wait, a second, that wasn’t a wall, that was –

  “Miss Kelley. What a surprise.” Detective Bradshaw said. He grasped her under the elbow and helped her stand straight. His tone reflected the exact opposite of surprise.

  “I was just –”

  “You were just coming with me, ma’am. We’ve got a lot to discuss,” he said, and his brow puckered up. The 'you’re in trouble, young lady’. Except she wasn’t particularly young and she should’ve thought about that before she’d gallivanted in a suspect’s bushes.

  “I – uh, where are we going?”

  Detective Bradshaw walked her to the sidewalk. “The station, of course.”

  Chapter 10

  “Are you comfortable?” Jack asked, and placed a cup of coffee in front of her.

  She lifted it and examined the contents. Insipid, low quality, just the stuff served to suspects in the interrogation room.

  “I’m as comfortable as I can be, given the circumstances,” Cat replied. She sipped the coffee – waste not, want not – and then swallowed.

  “Good. Because we might be here a while,” Jack replied. He’s tone didn’t change, but his posture eased a little. He cared that she was comfortable.

  That didn’t mean a thing, of course. Only that he was a good cop.

  “I know I shouldn’t have been in those bushes, but I think you’ll be interested in what I overheard,” Cat said. Perhaps, the information she’d gleaned could save her from charges.

  She’d really gone too far this time. Typical Catherine behavior. Her mother would’ve scolded her for hours. At least, Beth would’ve laughed.

  “This isn’t about the trespassing,” Detective Bradshaw replied. “We can discuss that a little later. Though I’ll be interested to hear your excuse for creeping around the family of a murder victim.”

  “I was investigating,” Cat said, immediately. “I ran into Kevin Walters at the farmer’s market today, and he said –”

  Jack Bradshaw raised his large palm and stalled her story. “Please, Miss Kelley, calm yourself.”

  “I’m Cat,” she said. She lifted the coffee cup to her mouth and pressed the Styrofoam to her bottom lip. The white table between them shone dully beneath the fluorescent lights.

  A tiny room, a camera humming in the upper right-hand corner of the white wall. Catherine put the coffee down, then stroked her forearms. “What is this about, then detective?”

  “You lied to me,” he said and sat back in the uncomfortable chair. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Miss Kelley.”

  “What are you talking about?” Cat’s cheeks colored. Had he discovered the journal she’d hidden under the sofa cushion or…? No, it couldn’t be that.

  “I think you know what I’m talking about,” he replied.

  “I really don’t.”

  Jack Bradshaw stared at her and narrowed his eyes. He opened the brown dossier in front of him and drew out a single piece of paper. He slid it across the desk. “You are the sole benefactor of Beth Walter’s will.”

  “What?” Catherine asked. She grabbed the sheet of paper and turned it on the spot. “How is this possible?”

  “It appears that Beth Walters changed her will a month before her death. She’d originally left the money to the Walters’ family, but something changed her mind,” the detective replied. “Would you care to explain that?”

  “I can’t,” Cat replied. “I had no idea.” She dropped the page and pressed her fingers to her forehead. A headache brewed in the center, right between her eyes. This was impossible.

  She’d loved Beth, but she’d never expected this.

  “You didn’t know about the will? You’re maintaining that you didn’t know about this?” Bradshaw asked.

  “Yeah. I had no idea. I never got a call. Or maybe I did and just didn’t answer. I’m terrible with my phone,” Cat said. “But this doesn’t make any sense. Why would Beth change her will? What could have happened to make her do that?”

  Jack took the paper and put it back in the file. “I was hoping you could answer that.”

  “Look, Detective, I’ll cooperate in whatever way I can, but I swear I had no idea that she’d done this,” Catherine said. She chewed the corner of her lip, then gasped. “Oh my gosh. Tara!”

  “What?”

  “Tara was on the phone with someone, talking about money. What if she wanted the money and murdered Beth for it?” Cat shook her head. “No, but that doesn’t make sense. Why would she get her to change her will?”

  Jack sat back and folded his arms again. His cup of coffee sat on the table, untouched. “You said you were friends with Beth?”

  “We were more than friends,” Catherine replied. She shifted the Styrofoam cup along the table. “She was family to me. When everyone else left me alone, Beth was there. Beth and Lacy.”

  “Lacy?” Jack asked, then leaned forward and picked up a pen from beside his clipboard. He scribbled Lacy’s name on it.

  “Yeah, she’s my assistant,” Cat said. “But she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “I have to investigate every avenue, Miss Kelley. The innocent will be proven innocent and the guilty,” he said, then let the end of the sentence dangle in the air between them.

  Cat pressed her lips into a thin line.

  “Is it true that you brought Beth bait the night before her death?” Jack asked.

  “That’s correct. I dropped it off at her place, and we have a cookie and a cup of coffee. Choc chip.” Catherine replied.

  “So, you knew she would be fishing down at the waterfront the next morning,” Jack replied.

  “Yeah, I knew. She went there almost every morning to fish,” Cat replied.

  “And where were you that morning?” The detective asked.

  Catherine glared at him. “What are you trying to say, here?”

  “Just answer the question, Miss Kelley.” Detective Bradshaw replied, in a long-suffering tone.

  Cat glared at him. “I was in bed, about to wake up and get started baking a batch of cookies for the day’s sales.”

  “Was there anyone with you? Anyone who can verify your alibi?” The detective asked.

  “No. Unless you count my cat, Oreo,” Catherine replied.

  Detective Bradshaw gave a small, tight smile. “I’m afraid not.”

  “Look, do you want to hear any of my theories? I mean, I heard Tara on the phone to some business associate, and she was worried about money. That’s got to mean something,” Cat said.

  The detective didn’t write anything on his clipboard this time. “I think we’re done for today,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

  “That’s it? You don’t want to hear what I have to say?” Cat asked, and rose from the table. She bumped it and coffee slopped over the side of her cup. At least, he didn’t want to arrest her for trespassing.

  “That will be all.” Jack replied, then gestured to the door. “Try to stay out of trouble, Miss Kelley.”

  Chapter 11

  Detective Bradshaw thought she’d killed Beth. Cat didn’t doubt that for a second.

  She pulled up in front of her bakery, then parked across the road. She couldn’t change his mind or force him to listen to what she had to say, but she could continue investigating and get to the bottom of this before it was too late.

  “But where to next? Who do
I speak to?” Cat whispered. She turned off the engine of her car, then got out. She bumped the car door closed, then locked it.

  Tara’s conversation had sparked curiosity in her mind, but she didn’t have anything other than a journal which might or might not be relevant to the case.

  Catherine sighed and strode across the road. She stopped beneath the wrought iron lamppost outside her store and jangled her keys around. She found the right one, then stepped up to the front door of Cat’s Cookies.

  “Hey,” a woman said.

  Catherine shrieked and threw the keys into the air. They dropped on top of her head, and she danced on the spot, then grabbed at her crown. “Ouch.”

  Rachel Walters moved into the circle of light beneath the lamppost. “Sorry,” she said, her pink hair glinting beneath the light. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Rachel,” Cat said, then drew in a breath. She bent and grabbed her keys off the bricks lining the sidewalk, then straightened. “I’m not going to lie and say you didn’t scare the choc chips out of my cookie dough, there.”

  Rachel giggled, then pressed her fist to her black lips. “I need to talk to you if that’s okay.” Her dark eye makeup transformed the young adult into a raccoon in this lighting.

  Catherine bit her lip and fiddled the right key out of the bunch. Any of the Walters could’ve killed Beth. Or the mystery bald man on the pier could have. But, Rachel might have a lead in the case.

  “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Great!” Rachel shuffled forward and ran her fingers through her bright pink do.

  Cat unlocked the front door, then walked inside and held it open for Rachel. The young lady strode into the store and sniffed.

  “Wow, it smells amazing in here. Sweet and delicious.”

  “Yeah, that’s the cookies,” Cat replied. “I’ll get us a few. Then we can go upstairs and have a chat.” She hurried to the counter and bagged up a few Cheeky Choc Chips, then walked to the stairs in the corner. “This way.”

  Rachel shut the front door and locked it, then followed Catherine to the corner.

  They strode up the stairs, and Cat unlocked the gate, then the front door.

  “You sure have a lot of security,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah, someone tried to break-in the other day. I’m planning on having a proper security system installed,” she replied. “Granted, I might end up in jail if I don’t figure out who murdered Beth, soon.”

  Rachel stared at her, eyes as wide as, well, as cookies.

  Whoops, she hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud.

  “Come on in,” Cat said, then led the way. Oreo appeared in the kitchen doorway, immediately. He meowed at her, then bustled across the hall, the bell on his collar tinkling.

  “What an adorable kitty!” Rachel said. She dropped to her knees and Oreo – the same Oreo who never liked anyone but Catherine – purred and rubbed against her outstretched hand.

  That could only be a good sign.

  Catherine locked the gate, and the front door to her tiny apartment then walked through to the living room. “This way,” she said.

  Rachel rose from her spot on the floor and hurried through to the living room. She glanced around and grinned. Black lipstick smudged her two front teeth. “You’ve sure got a nice place.”

  “Thank you,” Cat replied, then gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat, please. I’ll get us a couple cups of coffee.”

  “Thanks,” Rachel said, then gave another nervous grin. She lowered herself to the sofa, then grimaced and shifted.

  “What’s wrong?” Cat asked.

  “Nothing, I just. This couch is lumpy,” Rachel replied, then wiggled around. She reached underneath the cushion and brought out the leather bound journal. “What’s this –?” She trailed off.

  “It’s, uh, don’t open that, it’s just something I found,” Cat said. Shoot, she’d meant to move that ages ago, but she’d been so caught up in investigating she’d forgotten.

  “This is mine,” Rachel said and hugged the journal to her chest. “Did you read it?” Her gaze darkened, but not with anger. Tears swam in her bright blue eyes.

  “Yeah, I did,” Catherine replied. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I found it in your house, and I took it. I know that’s wrong, but I thought it was a clue.” She’d jumped to conclusions. Shameful.

  “This is ancient,” Rachel replied, and flipped it open. Her gaze traced across the word ‘death’ written hundreds of times over. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.”

  Cat crossed to the armchair and sat down in it. “What do I think?”

  “That I killed Beth. I didn’t. I loved Beth,” Rachel replied. “She was the only one in my entire family who believed in me. She told me that I didn’t have to study what my mom wanted me to. And that I could be anything. Anything at all. Gosh, I sound like a kid.”

  Cat didn’t point out that she was barely out of college. She was still a kid, technically. At least, to most of the world. “May I ask why you wrote those things?” Catherine gestured to the journal.

  “Sure,” Rachel said. “I did it to freak my parents out. It’s the reason I wear all this makeup too. When I’m at college, I don’t. I just want to show them that they can’t tell me what to do anymore.”

  “And the pink hair too?”

  “No, that’s just good fashion sense,” Rachel replied, and tossed her pink locks back.

  “I see,” Cat replied, borrowing from handsome Jack Bradshaw’s repertoire. Not handsome. Just Jack. She blinked the weird train of thought away. “And how did your mother react.”

  “She threw the book at me,” Rachel said, but she chuckled. “It’s okay. I wrote this what, last year? I wanted that kind of reaction out of her.”

  “When last did you open that journal?” Catherine asked. “Every other book in the study was covered in dust, except for that.”

  Rachel jerked back in surprise. “Really? That’s strange because this is the first time I’ve touched it since I first wrote it.”

  Cat raised her eyebrows. That didn’t make any sense. Who would’ve played around with Rachel’s diary?

  The young girl leaned forward and balanced her elbows on the knees of her jeans. She met Cat’s gaze head on. “Beth was the best friend I’ve ever had, including the girls at college. If there’s anything I can do to help you get to the bottom of this, tell me.”

  Oreo hopped onto the sofa, sniffed the book in Rachel’s hands, then rubbed his chin on her knuckles.

  “Thank you, Rachel,” Cat said. “You can keep your ears and eyes out, especially when you’re at home.”

  “You don’t think that someone in my family could have, um, done that, do you?” Rach asked.

  “It’s too early to say, but I don’t want to disregard anything right now,” Cat replied. “Now, how about that coffee?”

  “Yes, please,” Rachel replied, then grabbed a cookie from the paper bag on the table. Oreo meowed at her, and she fed him a tiny piece.

  Catherine left the two of them in the living room, and her mood dropped through the floor. She’d officially run out of legitimate leads. This investigating thing wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

  Chapter 12

  Catherine sat on Beth’s favorite bench at the waterfront. Waves crashed against the side of the pier, and a brisk breeze rustled the leaves in the trees lining the walkway. Spray spattered against Cat’s cheeks, but she didn’t wipe it away. Oreo meowed at her from the end of his kitty leash.

  “I’m stuck,” she said, out loud.

  Her cat tilted his head to one side and stared at her, but his gaze darted to the seagulls swirling overhead, right away.

  The sun sparkled on the horizon, poking its orange head above the waves. Sunday morning. Tomorrow, she’d be back in the bakery, making and serving delicious treats to all of Charleston.

  Granted, they might not come in if they believed the Walters and thought she was the murderer.

  She had t
o find another lead.

  Cat adjusted her legs, then tugged at her jeans to straighten them. Memories of Beth on this bench flooded her mind. Her purple hair, her sweet smile, and the time she’d tried – and failed – to teach Catherine to fish.

  “What do we know, Oreo? Beth was hit and pushed into the water. Rachel’s journal meant nothing, and Tara’s having financial troubles but it doesn’t fit in with what happened to Beth because she made the will out to me.” Cat hadn’t called the lawyer to find out more about that.

  She didn’t care about the money.

  “That leaves the –” Cat cut off and stared at the lone figure pacing along the pier. A man. A short, bald man. “Him.”

  Catherine leaped off the bench, then swept Oreo into her arms. “Hold on tight, kitty cat. We’re going for a jog.”

  He meowed at her and peered out at the seagulls. Oreo was the adaptable kind. Running? Sure, as long as he could still see his gulls.

  Cat jogged down the walkway and turned onto the pier. The man at the end brought his cellphone out of his pocket and fiddled with it.

  “Hey, you!” Cat yelled.

  He jumped and spun on the spot. “What?” His voice squeaked.

  Oreo shifted his gaze from the gulls to the stranger, then back again.

  “You there,” Catherine repeated. She jogged to a halt in front of the strange, short guy, then held up a hand. She sucked in great gasps. All those cookies had deprived her of the will to exercise.

  Jogging wasn’t her M.O.

  “What do you want?” The guy asked, his light eyebrows folding in on themselves. “I’m busy.”

  “Who are you and what are you doing on this pier?” Cat asked. That’d come out confrontational.

  “This is a free country,” he said.

  “A woman was murdered on this pier a few days ago. I want to know why you’re here. I’m an, an investigator,” she said. A little white lie. Impulsive, crazy. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t run around saying and doing whatever to find the truth.

  “I’m Jarred,” the little guy squeaked, then stuck out a hand to shake.

  Oreo hissed at him, and he snatched it back.