Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries)

by Heather Justesen

  “By that, you mean ugly. I’m glad you were fishing for information on the pattern and not really serious about having curtains made out of it. It was fine to use small pieces in a quilt block, but a big piece would be something else entirely.”

  “Yeah, but the fact that it was used for two guild projects makes it harder to cut down the number of people who might have killed Francine. If she did a dozen or more kits with it last winter, it could have come from anywhere—and that’s assuming it was a table runner that was used to kill her and not something else.” I was discouraged. Everywhere I turned I was finding dead ends—unless Cole was the killer. It was looking more and more likely everyday. I wondered who made the murder weapon. Had it been Francine’s?

  “But Mary Ellen didn’t show us her table runner,” Kat said. “Maybe hers was the murder weapon.”

  I considered that. “Or maybe she didn’t make one. I wonder when the controversy about the quilt patterns started. If it was before Thanksgiving, Mary Ellen might have avoided making the block because Francine put it together. Or maybe she was working on another project at the time, so she didn’t want to add something more.”

  Kat didn’t say anything while I opened the door to my Outlander. Once we were seated, she said, “You should ask the treasurer if she has records. When I bought the kit for today’s project, she was the one who tracked the money.”

  “You’re so smart.” I slid the key into the ignition. “I’m glad to have you on my team.”

  “I’m glad to be part of your team. I’ve never been part of a team before.” Kat beamed back at me. “I have a feeling Team Crawford will always come out ahead.”

  “You mean Team Tess.” I chuckled and set the vehicle in drive. It had been a good day’s investigating. Now to figure out where else to look. Cole’s alibi was fake and there had to be other angles I wasn’t considering.

  Tingey came into the shop a little before noon the next day, his brows low over his eyes, and his forehead furrowed in a grim line. The place was empty except for Esther Lawson, a sweet, almost deaf woman who had been friends with Grandma.

  “What can I do for you today?” I asked, hoping he had worthwhile news to share. They had to have learned something by now, didn’t they?

  “The usual. And three extra cinnamon rolls. I’ve been at Silver Lake since five this morning.”

  That grabbed my interest. “That’s way before you usually go on the clock, isn’t it? What’s going on?” He’d been working really long hours since the murder and I wondered if his wife had seen him at all.

  He frowned. “Someone found Cole this morning.”

  A shot of glee zoomed through me. “All right. That’s terrific. Have you been able to pump anything out of him?”

  “About three gallons of lake water.” He looked me straight in the eye. “Cole’s dead. Strangled with heavy duty fishing line and left to float in the water. He was caught up in the reeds. Looks like he’s been there a couple of days. It’s not a pretty sight.”

  The breath whooshed from my lungs as shock hit me. “He was strangled? Like Fran?”

  “Yep. There’s no way to know yet if it was the same killer or not—it could be a copycat—but it feels the same. You be careful—whoever did this has killed twice already. I don’t want to have to save you again.”

  “You got it. I’ve had my fill of danger. But it’s not like anything remotely threatening has happened to me this time.” I said, my logic impeccable. “Last time it wasn’t long before people started trying to hurt me. I’ll be fine.”

  He didn’t seem to agree. “Just because nothing has happened yet doesn’t mean it won’t. You’ve been looking the wrong direction, obviously. Maybe the killer doesn’t feel threatened. Just stay back and let’s keep it that way.”

  I couldn’t though. I liked Francine, and it was obvious that Tingey was no closer to finding the right answer than I was. “I’ve run through my suspects—you don’t think Mary Ellen did this, do you?”

  Tingey shook his head. “I haven’t erased her from the list of possibilities, but I don’t think she could have overwhelmed someone Cole’s size. Francine was just a tiny thing, but he was another matter. And as far as I could tell she didn’t have a reason to kill him.”

  I considered who would want Cole dead. “Well, his alibi didn’t check out, right? So maybe he got in the killer’s way. Maybe Cole knew something he shouldn’t. Did anyone else have a grudge against Francine? Anyone at all?”

  I handed over his usual latte and a box of cinnamon rolls.

  He looked pensive. “No one likely. And I won’t tell you about anyone who is a reasonable suspect—it could get you killed. Cole is a case in point.”

  I should have known better than to ask him. While he was here, I decided to try to save myself a phone call, even if he was keeping almost everything secret. “You don’t happen to know who made the original weapon, do you?” I tried to keep my voice low so I wouldn’t be overheard.

  “Francine. It had her maker’s seal on it.”

  That was useless, then. No need to call the guild treasurer. “So it could have been an in-the-moment thing instead of premeditated.”

  He shrugged. “In theory. It’s possible it was just handy, but it was Christmas themed, so why would she be carrying it in October?”

  “Good question. You have a good day.” I’d find a lead on my own. As soon as my mind stopped reeling over the fact that Cole was dead, I’d figure out who to ask.

  The next lead came from an unexpected location. Sandra Hogan breezed into my shop about an hour after Tingey left it. She was the widow of the man whose murderer I tracked down during the summer.

  “Hello, Tess. How are you doing? It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” She set her capacious purse on the counter and tossed back her hair. It had been a long time since I’d seen her smile, but she wore one when she looked up at me.

  “It is. How are you? I haven’t seen you for a couple of weeks. How’s Michael?” I had a soft spot for her teenaged son, despite, or maybe because of his attitude.

  “He’s doing great. In fact, I came in to order a birthday cake for him for next week. I meant to do it sooner, but haven’t had time. I’ve been so busy. I bet you’ve been busy too, with a recent murder. How’s that going? I sure liked Francine.”

  “It’s been a hard investigation. For Detective Tingey too. The leads keep melting away.” I didn’t know if they had gotten word to Cole’s family about his death and I didn’t want to say anything yet, just in case. “We could really use some ideas of where to go next, if you know anything, however small, it would be handy.” I pulled out the cake order form and slid it to her.

  “You know about that Cole guy, right? The way he was stalking Francine?” Sandra asked.

  “Yes, but he’s been cleared for her murder.” In the worst possible way.

  She frowned. “And about the issue with her and Mary Ellen.”

  “No way Mary Ellen pulled it off. There are extenuating circumstance. It’s got to be someone else.” But I was glad she was at least making suggestions. Maybe it would stimulate an idea.

  She looked disappointed. “Well, it’s not like she had a big fight on her porch—or even in her house. Not a loud one, anyway. If she had, I sure would have heard about it from Brenda.” She checked a couple of boxes on the form.

  “Who’s Brenda?” I hadn’t heard that name before in connection to the case.

  “Her next-door neighbor. She’s always complaining about Francine. They had this ridiculous argument about Brenda’s cats. I never understood why she was so worked up about it. The woman is obsessed.” Sandra signed the form with a flourish. “She always knows what’s going on with the neighbors, too. Nosy, that’s what she is. But she’s good for interesting gossip.”

  We went over her purchase, settling on the design, and she paid for her order before walking out. It was time for me to go have a chat with Francine’s neighbor.

  I hadn’t been to Francine’
s house before and was surprised to find it was a sweet little home surrounded by yard art, sun catchers and multiple bird feeders. The houses were jammed in as close together as city codes allowed, and the front yards were barely bigger than one of my chocolate chip cookies.

  Brenda Joseph’s house was similarly small, but it lacked most of the yard art and bling. Instead, there was a tole-painted sign from the eighties in the miniscule flowerbed out front that read Cats Are People Too, with a curled-up feline snuggled in one corner. As if to reaffirm her love of cats, a large gray tabby lay sunning on the sidewalk beside the sign. A Siamese mix basked in the front window of the house, looking like it had just flopped over and stayed there. For a moment, I worried that maybe it was dead, but then it flexed one paw and shifted its head.

  I rang the doorbell, still not sure how to approach Brenda with questions. The woman who opened the door was mid-fifties with salt and pepper hair, an owlish face, and a frown. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Hi, I’m Tess. I’m a friend of Francine’s.” Sort of.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what do you need to talk to me about? It’s not like we were close.”

  I nodded in understanding. “I heard that, but as you’re her neighbor, I thought you might have seen something, heard something.” Movement inside caught my eye and a third cat came into view. This one was black with stunning golden eyes and peeked around the doorway from the kitchen. I started to wonder how many Brenda had in there.

  “The murder happened at the school,” Brenda reminded me. “Do I look like someone with elementary school kids still living at home?”

  “Well, no. But someone had it in for Francine, and being a good neighbor, I’m sure you see what goes on around here.” I decided to play on her vanity. So Sandra called her nosy, someone else might call her the neighborhood watch. “If there was anyone hanging around or if Fran had an argument with someone recently at home, you might have heard.”

  Brenda harrumphed, then nodded. “And why should I talk to you?”

  This was where it got sticky. I couldn’t tell her I was there to find out if she might be the murderer—that never seemed to go over well for television investigators—but I wasn’t sure how to entice her to give me a few minutes, either. I turned away slightly and wiped at my eyes, as if I were tearing up. “The police have no leads and I just—I have to know what happened to her.” I made my voice hitch a little to play on her sympathies. It wasn’t entirely an act—I really did need to find out the truth. Now I’d gone this far, I knew I wouldn’t be able to let it go until I understood.

  Miraculously, that seemed to work. She pushed open the screen door and waved me inside. “Come have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink. You poor thing.” She patted my shoulder as I walked past. “I didn’t like Francine—she hates cats, you know—but no one deserves to die the way she did.” She led me to a chair in her living room and disappeared into the kitchen. I noticed two more cats in the living room, shedding on an easy chair in the corner.

  I was in; now came the hard part.

  When Brenda returned, she had two glasses with ice and something that looked like lemonade. “I thought we could both use a drink. The weather’s been unusually warm for November.”

  I accepted the glass and took a sip. It tasted like it came from fresh lemons—not a mix. “This is excellent. Do you have a lemon tree?” So maybe I was nosy too.

  “Mrs. Wood down the block has one. She’s not much for cooking, bless her heart, so she shares them with everyone else. There’s just nothing as refreshing as a glass of lemonade.”

  I agreed. “Did Francine get along with the rest of the neighbors, or was it her hatred of cats that was the problem between you two?” I asked after a moment.

  “She seemed to get along with everyone fine enough, I guess. If she would have left my babies alone, I wouldn’t have had a problem with her.” She seemed to reconsider. “Well, that and all the birds.”

  I lifted a brow, curious about where this was going. “I noticed all the bird feeders at her house.”

  “And there are half a dozen more out back.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not enough that she had those big trees the birds like to nest in. Oh no—she had to add a bunch of feeders and birdbaths to lure them into the yard. Then they leave droppings on my sidewalk and patio furniture. They chirp at five in the morning right outside my window, waking me up much earlier than I like. And they tease my cats.” This last was said with such venom, it was clear it was the worst of the birds’ sins.

  I’d never heard of a bird taunting a cat before—besides Tweety Bird—but I supposed it was possible. Dogs could play keep-away, after all. “And she didn’t like cats?”

  “No, she always complained that one of my toms would chase the birds and sometimes kill them, stalking her big feeder. But I ask you, what’s a cat to do with all those birds flying around? They’re cats. Of course they’re going to try to catch a few. It’s not like the birds have names or that there aren’t plenty more where these came from.”

  I nodded. “And your cats are obviously your babies.” She had about four too many “babies” in my opinion, and I had the sneaking suspicion there were more lurking about the house.

  “Exactly.” Her voice lowered. “I think she killed a couple of my sweethearts. The ones that went for her big feeder a lot would suddenly disappear one day, and she went on like normal with that butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile, as if nothing had happened. But I know better. She probably buried them in her yard. If you went back there now and dug up those flower beds, they’d be full of cat skeletons.” She sniffled despite the indignation in her brows. “I’ve told the police about it, but they won’t even check to see what’s going on. They’re useless, I tell you.”

  “That must be very distressing for you.” And I understood why she disliked Fran so much, if she really thought Fran had killed her cats. Personally, I found it unlikely. I finished off the lemonade I’d been sipping and set the glass on a nearby coaster. “One of our other friends said Fran seemed to be nervous, afraid of someone, but Fran never said who she was afraid of. Have you seen anyone, anything that might hint at who it might have been?”

  Brenda tipped her head as if searching through her memory. “Well, there’s that Cole guy. He’s been really persistent in trying to get her to go out with him, even when she told him to go away. I’m surprised she never got a restraining order on him, even though he’s such a nice boy. And I remember when he took the school football team to the state championship. We never would have done that without him, you know. My Mikey played with him the year before and I still go to the games.”

  That didn’t surprise me, as the whole town practically shut down when the football team played. It was a pity the other sports didn’t garner as much attention. “I know Cole was a little obsessed,” I admitted, knowing it was an understatement.

  “A little? The man used to drive by the house really slow in the evenings—sometimes every half an hour or so. I think he was checking to see if she had another man in there. She never did, though. She kept to herself, as far as dating was concerned. She would have been much happier if she’d found a man.”

  I considered what Tingey would say if I told Brenda about Cole. I decided I better keep my mouth shut. “As much as I’d like to blame Cole, if only to put an end to this whole situation, I don’t think he did it.”

  “Me either. He is such a nice boy. He’s helped me bring in groceries from the car several times, you know. So thoughtful. And he likes cats.”

  “I hear you notice things that go on around here. Surely you’ve seen something that might help the cops find Francine’s killer?” I wasn’t holding out hope that Brenda would have anything else useful to share, but getting her attention off Cole might net something.

  She pressed her hand to her chest now, as if to calm her over-exerted heart. “I don’t know. Like I told the police, Francine and I didn’t really talk, and I haven
’t seen anyone out of place in the past month or so. I mean, this is a quiet neighborhood. There’s a dead end about five more houses down—it made it so obvious that Cole was checking on her. I never saw anyone else at her house, or pay her much mind, really. I wish I could help.”

  Disappointment filled me and I nodded. “Thanks so much for taking a few minutes to talk to me.” I pulled out one of my business cards. “If you think of anything else, I’d really appreciate it if you’d give me a call or stop in to the bakery. Or call Detective Tingey,” I added as an afterthought.

  She studied my card. “You own Sweet Bites. Well, that explains why you look so familiar. I was at the fitness center opening. That was an amazing cake. I was thinking about doing a cake for Xander’s birthday. He’s turning twenty next month, you know.”

  “Is Xander your son?” There was no indication that a man lived here, but at twenty he could be in college.

  “No, he’s the cat sunning on the sidewalk. It’s a big birthday for a cat, you know. They hardly ever make it to twenty.”

  I forced a smile. “I’ll certainly be happy to decorate something for Xander if you choose to go that way. Come by my shop and we’ll find something that works for you.” I wasn’t counting on it. I wasn’t even sure I wanted her business. What would we make the cake out of—chopped liver? I stood and she saw me to the door.

  “Thanks again, and for the lemonade. It was terrific,” I said.

  She beamed at me—a total turnaround from her original scowl. As I glanced back over my shoulder at her, two more cats—white this time—chased from the hall to the living room. I tried to block out thoughts of scooping litter boxes, but wasn’t totally successful.

  Dead end city. Now what?

  I was still mulling over the non-information I’d gotten from Brenda when the mailman arrived. I was happy to see him—and even happier that it looked like I’d have a minute to pick his brain so I wouldn’t have to make a run to the post office to ask my questions. I had a store full of customers sipping their lattés and savoring sweet treats, and the hum of talk filled the air. I hoped that would help cover our conversation. I added another squeeze of clear liquid dish soap to the sanitizer bucket, hoping I got a break to wipe down the counters soon and set them both aside. “Hey, how are things going today? Running behind, aren’t you?” I asked him.