Murder Over Easy (A Sunny Side Up Cozy Mystery Book 1)

by Rosie A. Point

  “Well, so much for that idea. I’m beginning to think I have cooties.” My gaze wandered from Aunt Rita’s cottage to my next-door neighbor’s, guilt building in my chest.

  I ought to apologize to Nick in person. It might not mend the bridge, but it would be a start. Hopefully, I could convince him he should still work at the Sunny Side Up for Rita if not for me. I wouldn’t be running things forever. My aunt would come back and take over again.

  You’ve got this. Don’t be shy.

  I pushed my shoulders back, lifted my chin, and walked over to Nick’s place. His cottage was nearly identical to my aunt’s in appearance, except he had a sea green door and a stylized knocker attached to it.

  A knock later, and the door opened.

  But it wasn’t Nick’s blue eyes and calm smile that greeted me.

  Jasmine stood on the threshold, her knuckles white as she gripped the door. “What do you want?”

  Good heavens, the woman hated me, didn’t she? I hadn’t done anything specific to irritate her, except for the makeup incident, but surely she could understand why I’d said no to that?

  “Hello, Jasmine,” I said, as pleasantly as I could muster. “How are you today?”

  “Cut it out,” she replied. “I know you’re not here to make small talk, so what is it?”

  “We are neighbors, you know. I might be here for small talk.”

  Jasmine’s lips drew into a thin line. “I will slam the door in your face.”

  “There’s no need to be rude,” I said.

  “Me, rude? That’s hilarious coming from you.”

  “Is this about the other day?” I asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you, I just had to do what was right for the café. Can you understand that?”

  “I can understand you’re a wretched, controlling witch.”

  “I need to speak to Nick,” I said curtly, because this wasn’t going anywhere except some place bad, and I didn’t want to have an all-out argument with the woman. I wasn’t a person who particularly enjoyed confrontation, but I’d stand up for myself if I had to.

  “You can’t speak to him.”

  “Jasmine, you can’t dictate who Nick speaks to.”

  “I can, and I will, but that’s not why you can’t speak to him,” she said. “He’s not here. And he won’t be for a while. Despite your best efforts to sink our family, you haven’t succeeded. Nick is starting his own business as a chef and social media influencer. He’s got things to do that you would never understand.”

  “Can you just tell him I came by, please?”

  “Ha!”

  She tried closing the door, and I caught it with my palm. “Jasmine, please. Let’s be rational about this. I’m here because I want to apologize and offer Nick his job back.”

  “It’s not yours to offer. You didn’t fire him, he quit. That’s a pretty clear signal that he wants nothing to do with you or that stupid café.”

  “Hey, the café is not stupid. Nick enjoyed working there.”

  “Did he? You act like you know him so well, but you’ve barely spent more than a few hours with him. He’s not your friend. He’s not your employee. So why don’t you just mind your own business and stay out of ours?”

  “Because I—”

  She shut the door on me, and I stood there, staring at the knocker, half-inclined to bang it against the door and demand an apology.

  But I wouldn’t get one, and it would only make things worse. Jasmine was rude, but she was right. I didn’t know Nick that well, and I had no idea whether he’d loved working at the café or not before I’d been there. But if he hadn’t why would my aunt have trusted him?

  And what was this about being an influencer? Did he want to be a celebrity chef?

  Nick is starting a career as an influencer, so soon after Trisha’s death?

  He didn’t seem the type. Sure, he had the face for it, but he’d avoided the limelight in the café. Or was that because of the murder and him hiding from those who suspected him? I couldn’t be sure.

  I hovered on the step for another couple minutes before traipsing down the garden path and back over to my aunt’s cottage.

  Nick was responsible for his own actions, even if Jasmine was a terrible influence, and I couldn’t help but believe that financial issues would make a man do things he’d later regret. But was it enough for Nick to want to get rid of the competition?

  Something still didn’t add up. If only I could place my finger on what it was.

  28

  “And you’ve had some experience working in a kitchen?” I asked, pen in hand as I studied the applicant for the chef’s position at the Sunny Side Up.

  He was young, with a shock of bright red hair and freckles across his nose. And by young, I meant he looked as if he’d only just graduated high school.

  “Well,” he squeaked, “I guess you could say that. I’ve cooked a few meals at the Barrel, but mostly I just, uh, bussed tables.”

  “You were a busboy?” I glanced down at his resume. He’d sent it through padded with loads of accomplishments, but very little work history. Still, chefs were thin on the ground, as I’d discovered, and I was desperate enough to hope that he’d reveal an extensive work history to me in person.

  My naivete had reached new heights. Or my desperation. Combination of the two?

  “Yes, ma’am,” Roger said. “I know that might not be what you’re looking for, but I promise you, if you let me try my hand at cooking, you won’t be disappointed. My mom says that I make the best spaghetti she’s ever tasted, and that’s high praise.”

  “Of course.” I nodded, pretending to consider it. “Thanks for coming down for the interview, Roger, I think I have the information I need for now.”

  “I’ll be waiting for your call!” He beamed and hopped out of the chair, somehow convinced that he’d nailed the interview. He exited the office and shut the door behind him.

  I closed my eyes and let out a long sigh. What had I expected? Parfait was a small town, and it was possible that I would wind up with no chef. It wasn’t as if they were lining up around the block to work at a place that was now the murder hotspot of the town.

  And why on earth had Bebe suggested Roger as a likely candidate? Was she just recommending her friends, or was she actively trying to get me in trouble?

  “Ugh, you’re being paranoid.”

  I slid my aunt’s desk drawer open and peeked inside. Michael’s lost phone sat atop a yellow legal pad inside. I hadn’t decided what I wanted to do with it.

  Give it to Detective Garcia? It was technically evidence, but if Bebe had done what she’d said, he already knew about Michael and Trisha’s relationship, and he knew that there was a stalker ex in the picture.

  You should give it to the police.

  I could easily say that I’d found it between the cushions and that it had been flat. No, but then they’d want to know how I’d figure it was Michael’s. Either way, I could say I’d turned it on this morning and…

  Maybe I was making too big of a deal out of this, but it felt like this phone could offer more than the information it already had.

  What if I took it over to Frances’ house?

  My eyes widened, my heart rate picking up a little.

  That was a great idea. Returning the phone to Frances would provide me more information on how it had gotten into the café in the first place, and I would avoid Detective Garcia’s scrutiny too.

  But was it dishonest to do that?

  You’re past that point now. You’ve got to do what you can to figure this out yourself.

  While everyone had said that Garcia was a big wig detective from Miami, he still hadn’t made an arrest, and his attention had made things worse at the café. It was a rationalization so I could do what I really wanted to do and poke my nose where it didn’t belong, but it was enough for me.

  “Are you really going to do this?” I whispered to myself, but I already had the answer prepared.

  I grabbed the cellphone
, tucked it into my pocket, and headed out.

  The long drive from the quiet café gave me plenty of time to go back on my course of action, but I didn’t. I parked outside Frances' house and hurried up the steps.

  “Hello, dear,” Frances said, lighting up at the sight of a visitor. “Oh my, what a lovely surprise.” She fluffed her curly plum-colored hair. “Please, come in. Come in. You didn’t bring your young friend today?”

  “Didi’s busy,” I replied because that was true. Didi had let me know that she’d started working part-time at the Barrel, to make ends meet until the café opened again. She currently had a shift but had offered to come over and hang out later on today.

  Was it bad that I was excited about spending time with a new friend who was so much younger than me? Age was just a number, right? And Didi was a refreshing personality.

  “Come in, come in,” Frances said. “Don’t just stand there. Baxxy will be happy for the company too.”

  I followed Frances into her sunny living room and sat down on the same sofa as the last time. It was strange, but it seemed as if no time had passed. Her dog was in the same position he’d been on the last visit.

  He groaned, opening one eye, and gave a quick wag of his tail.

  “See?” Frances gestured to him. “He’s overjoyed you’re here.”

  “Is he friendly? May I pet him?”

  “Of course. I’ll fix us some lemonade.”

  I crouched next to Baxter and stroked his furry head. He smelled of old dog, but he gave more appreciative wags of his tail, opening his eyes and looking up at me. He licked his lips once and released another satisfied groan.

  “Hello, boy,” I whispered. “How are you?”

  “He’s fine,” Frances said, placing a tray with a pitcher of lemonade on her coffee table. “Lazy as the day he was born, but still fine.”

  I returned to the sofa and helped myself to a glass of lemonade. “Thank you,” I said. “How have you been, Frances?”

  “Oh, you know, still alive, not dead yet.”

  What a depressing sentiment. Or alarming, depending on how you looked at it. “I’ve been meaning to ask where you got Baxter? Was it from the shelter in town? I want to get a dog for my aunt’s cottage, but I’m not sure whether it’s a good idea. What’s it like having Baxter around?”

  “He’s no trouble, if that’s what you’re asking,” Frances said, taking a sip of her lemonade. “Didn’t get him from the shelter, though. Wouldn’t touch that place with a ten-foot dog treat.”

  “Why?”

  “You haven’t heard?” Frances asked.

  “About?”

  “A few months ago there was a rabies outbreak in Parfait, and it stemmed from the shelter. A lot of the animals had to be put to sleep, and Mildred had to spend extra money ensuring it never happened again. But I wouldn’t trust her to have worked everything out.” Frances slurped more lemonade. “Not to be mean or anything, but she’s not exactly the most responsible woman around.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s terrible.” I’d had no idea. No one had mentioned it to me, not even Didi, when I’d talked about potentially adopting a companion for Bodger. Was it true? Why would Frances lie about something like this?

  “Yes, terrible for the animals. You’ve seen how Mildred dresses and behaves. She has no idea how to run that place. Like I said, I don’t want to speak ill of her but… the facts speak for themselves.”

  I shifted. “I like Mildred,” I said. “She’s always been nice to me.”

  “Hmm, well, she’s desperate, dear. She probably thinks you can give her money. She keeps talking about some nephew who’s going to come take over her business, but I’ve started thinking he doesn’t exist. And I’m not the only one.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to speak ill of Mildred. “Shoot, I nearly forgot,” I said, and fished Michael’s phone out of my pocket. “I found this in the café when I was cleaning this morning, and I meant to give it to you. It’s Michael’s phone.”

  “Michael’s phone?” Frances accepted it from me and turned it over in her hand. “Goodness, he’s been looking for this for over a month. Thank you for returning it. I must’ve taken his phone with me to the café accidentally and lost it there. How strange.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, smiling then taking a sip of lemonade. It was refreshing, but Didi’s warning came to mind, and I set the glass down on the coffee table. Could I trust Frances? For a woman who was mean to people she’d sure been nice to me, and that made me question her motives.

  We enjoyed a leisurely conversation, but I excused myself after a few minutes, citing a trip out to see the air-conditioning company in the town over. On my way out the door, I paid special attention to the entry hall. The dirty boots that had been there the last time were conspicuously missing.

  29

  “Are you sure you don’t mind coming with me?” I asked. “I could pay you for your time.”

  “Don’t be silly, Sunny,” Didi replied, as she put on her seatbelt in the passenger seat of my aunt’s VW Beetle. “I haven’t got a shift, and it will be nice to get out of town. I was hoping that we could stop for lunch in the town over too. I’m paying.”

  “I can’t let you do that.” I had little money to my name, but Didi had even less, and she was striving for more in her life than I was. A college education. A future. She had everything going for her.

  “But I want to,” Didi said. “You’ve been so nice to me.”

  “You don’t have to buy me lunch because I was nice to you,” I said, starting the ever-noisy engine of the car. It popped and sputtered.

  “I don’t have many friends,” Didi said. “I—People think I’m kinda weird because of the K-Pop thing, and all the people my age have already left Parfait or they’re popular and don’t have time for a girl like me.”

  “A girl like you?”

  “You know, a nerd.”

  “Don’t talk negatively about yourself,” I said. “If my aunt taught me one thing, it’s that what you believe about yourself matters more than what others think of you. You’re the one in control of that.” If only it was as easily said as it was done. I was plenty guilty of negative self-talk.

  We fell into a peaceful quiet as we started our trip out of town. Didi rolled down her window, the breeze whipping her hair away from her face, the pink streaks in the black masses colorful streamers that made her appear younger and freer. She hit the button for the radio, and it blared to life, playing a jivey pop song I didn’t recognize.

  “Say, Didi?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking about people your age, and I wondered if you knew a guy called Eddie Martinez,” I said.

  “Uh… rings a bell, why do you ask?”

  “I’ve been talking to a couple people around town about Trisha, you know, seeing if I can find anything out about what happened to her, and his name came up.”

  “Oh wait, yeah, that’s Trisha’s ex-boyfriend. He’s not from Parfait, but he lives somewhere close by, I think. I remember seeing her change her relationship status on social media. Everyone sent her messages and congratulated her like she’d announced an engagement rather than a boyfriend.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “What does he look like?”

  “Dark hair and eyes, kind of a hooked nose, stocky and muscular. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, but I didn’t know him so I couldn’t tell you what type of person he was.” Didi hesitated, tilting her head to one side. “Wait a second, do you think he might’ve had something to do with what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied, honestly. “I’m intrigued, that’s all. Got a lot of time to think now that the Sunny Side Up isn’t open.”

  “Right,” Didi said, sadness in her tone.

  We arrived at the air-conditioning company—Florida Air-conditioning and HVAC Contractors—in Trenton and parked in the paved lot out front. The side of the building was occupied by fork-lifts, with
an opening to admit them, but a gated entrance to the right looked as if it led to a reception area.

  “This is the place,” I said. “Boy, I hope they don’t fight with me today.”

  “Fight with you?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “First, they told me I’d missed my appointment and someone had been out to see us at the café, then they told me they had no record of us asking them to come out, and then, well, I screamed at them. I’m not proud of it, but I was frustrated.”

  “I hate that kind of stuff. Makes me feel so awkward.”

  “Same. And just so you know, I rarely yell at people. I normally let them do whatever they need to do, but I’m trying to grow a darn back bone.”

  “Let’s find out what they—” Didi broke off, her brow wrinkling. “Whoa. That’s so weird.”

  “What is?”

  “We were just talking about Eddie, right? Trisha’s ex?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I don’t want to weird you out or anything, but that’s him. That’s Eddie Martinez right there.” She gestured to a guy standing next to a forklift. He wore a set of blue overalls with the company’s name emblazoned on the breast pocket. He was as she’d described him, stocky and handsome, with dark hair and eyes.

  Wait a minute, didn’t Nick say he noticed a guy hanging around the café who matched Eddie’s description?

  I clunked the car door open and got out, then strode toward the guy. “Eddie Martinez?” I called out. “Can I speak to you for a second?”

  Eddie turned and laid eyes on me. Eyes that had pupils narrowed to pinpricks and went round as eggs over easy.

  “Hi,” I said. “I wanted to ask you about—”

  Eddie took off running. He vaulted over the forks of a forklift and sprinted for the street. His colleague, who’d been mid-conversation with him, cried out in surprise, but Eddie didn’t stop. He ran for it, swerving out of the paths of cars, ignoring the honking of horns and the yells. He launched himself over a hedge and disappeared.

  “What was that about?” Didi asked, stopping next to me.

  “I have no idea,” I said. “But I’ve got to report it. There’s no way he runs like that if he’s innocent.”