Before I could issue my defense, Grace had slipped out the door and sped away like she was running from a voodoo spell. Frustrated, I walked tensely to the kitchen and resolved to take my aggression out on a huge mound of dough. As I opened the cabinet and grabbed a bag of premium King Arthur’s flour, another series of knocks echoed from the front door.
Slamming the bag of flour down on the counter, I steeled myself for a second confrontation with Grace. But the woman at the door was another familiar face. She smiled tentatively at me from behind the glass and gave a sheepish little wave.
“Should I come back later?” Katrina inquired politely.
Opening the door, I gestured for the woman to come inside. “We’re not officially open yet, but I can fix you a cup of coffee if you want.”
“That would be blissful. Thank you. Or actually, could you make it a hot chocolate?” She asked genially.
“Coming right up. I just need to get some whipped cream from the fridge. You do want whip, right?”
“Yes please!” She beamed as I nodded and hurried to the kitchen.
I swiftly returned to the storefront, shaking up the can of whipped cream and stirring two spoonfuls of pure cocoa into a mug. “Smells divine. I’m glad to see a little place like this doing well,” Katrina praised, inhaling the rich aroma of authentic chocolate.
“Thank you,” I said appreciatively, some of my tension melting away from the simple compliment.
“Was that old lady in here the other day your grandmother?” Katrina asked, removing her soft white gloves to grasp the mug of hot chocolate.
“No, she’s a friend of mine. But it would be great to have a grandmother like her!”
“Yeah, that lady is a pip!” Katrina giggled as she took an indulgent sip of the hot chocolate. “Mmmm. I think you’re going to be seeing a lot more of me!”
“Anytime,” I smiled hospitably. “Glad you’re enjoying it.”
In a few eager mouthfuls, Katrina had drained the cup. “Delicious. Thank you so much. I need to get to the office now, but I’ll definitely be back!”
“Office? Wow, your day starts really early,” I commented with mild surprise.
“Sure does,” she sighed wearily. “But that’s the life of an executive! See you around!”
I wanted to ask Katrina more about her job, but she was gone before I could even part my lips on a question. Pleased by the friendly exchange, I returned to the kitchen with a little less anger pumping through my veins. As I prepared the dough, I contemplated tipping the police off about Grace. They needed to know about this ex-girlfriend of Ramiro’s and investigate her thoroughly. But I quickly nixed that idea; I didn’t want to give Captain Davis any more reason to harass me. I needed to stay as far away from that police station as I could. Yes, I needed to think of myself as the sun and the police station as Neptune!
Still, I had my reservations about Grace. What was her alibi anyway? If she had come to Espresso Magic just a little while before I went to Ramiro’s apartment, wouldn’t there have been a window of opportunity for her to commit the murder? Maybe her strange behavior that day wasn’t so much a personality quirk but a guilty conscience. But no, she had still been acting oddly this morning when she patently refused to divulge information about her job.
The hours passed quickly as I baked and ruminated and theorized. Before I knew it, the sun was in full force at a few minutes before 7 am. Last night, I had vowed to return to Dahlia’s early in the morning before she had a chance to sneak off to work---wherever that may be. Penelope and Mrs. Dollner would be cross with me for interrogating the Venus flytrap without them, but I couldn’t wait around.
Wiping flour-covered hands on my apron, I quickly locked up the shop and zipped away in my car. My heart raced nervously as I tried to open the windows a crack for some fresh air, but everything was frozen solid. Wildly, I flipped on the air conditioner for a blast of cool air. I grinned to myself, hearing my mother’s voice inside my head: “Marisa, turn that off! Do you want to catch pneumonia and die?!”
Distressed, I wonder if news of Ramiro’s death had traveled all the way to Minneapolis. I hoped not. My parents were just starting to get back into a normal groove after the debacle of my aunt’s murder investigation. I grimaced as I recalled the hell Captain Davis had put my mother through by having her arrested for the homicide. Thankfully, Mrs. Dollner and I had nailed down the truth soon after my mother’s arrest and the real murderer became transparent.
Pulling up to the curb on Mill Valley Road, I was struck by how different the house appeared in daylight. The colonial style home was bright and beckoning with Christmas decorations still plastered to the front windows. Dahlia couldn’t possibly live there alone, could she? The house gave the distinct impression of being occupied by a family. But if Dahlia was a wife and mother, then what on earth had she been doing in a bachelor’s apartment? Cheating on her husband, perhaps? Or maybe Dahlia was successful enough in her career to be able to afford such a sprawling home on her own.
Gathering my composure, I got out of the car, satisfied to see a Toyota Camry parked in the driveway. Someone was home. And I was going to corner and question that someone. Ringing the doorbell, I waited with suspended breath as footsteps pounded towards the door.
Chapter 8
Slowly, the door peeled open as my eyes met the sky blue gaze of a handsome 30-something man. With a thicket of wavy hair the color of rust and broad linebacker shoulders, the man was an impressive portrait of masculinity. He narrowed his eyes at me and simply uttered, “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Dahlia Marion. Does she live here?” I inquired with business-like precision.
“Uh, yeah she does. I’m Hunter, Dahlia’s husband. Have we met before?” He surveyed my face inquisitively as though trying to remember my name.
“No, we haven’t met before,” I quickly assured him.
“Are you a friend of Dahlia’s?” Hunter asked, clearly at a loss as to why I was standing at his doorstep.
“Not exactly,” I hedged. “My name is Marisa Locke. I own the Espresso Magic shop in Candlewick Falls. Dahlia and I….um, ran into each other the other day.” I chose my words cautiously. “And I was just wondering if I could speak with her?”
Hunter was like an immovable boulder in the doorway, openly and proudly protecting his domain. I couldn’t blame him. My reason for wanting to see Dahlia hardly sounded compelling. To his ears, it might have sounded downright creepy.
“I’m still not understanding why you want to speak to my wife. Are you trying to sell her something from your shop? Because if so, this is a really bad time…”
“Oh, I’m sorry. When would be a better time to come back? This afternoon?” I slyly played along with his idea that I was a door to door peddler.
“No, my wife can’t have any visitors right now. She’s very distraught. There’s been a death in the family, unfortunately,” Hunter conveyed sadly.
“A death in the family?” I echoed as my heart skipped a beat.
“Yes, unfortunately, she lost her brother.”
“Ramiro LasMontes is her brother?!” I squeaked in astonishment.
“How did you know I was talking about Ramiro?” Hunter asked suspiciously. Great. Me and my big mouth had just scooped up another enemy without even trying. Brilliant.
Sensing that honesty would be my best recourse, I explained, “Listen, I ran into Dahlia at Ramiro’s apartment the morning he was murdered. That’s how I know you were talking about him. I had assumed that she was his girlfriend, so…”
“Girlfriend? No, my wife isn’t anyone’s girlfriend,” Hunter gritted.
“Who’s at the door, honey?” Dahlia’s pleasant soprano voice reverberated from down the hall.
“No one,” Hunter said bitingly, already starting to shut the door in my face.
But Dahlia had already wedged her way into the doorway and was staring me down like a feral feline in the jungle. Her face was red and blotchy with dried tears. Puffy
purple circles underscored brown eyes that had lost all their luster, rendering her almost unrecognizable from the seductive siren I had met at Ramiro’s apartment.
“What are you doing here?” Dahlia demanded.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea Ramiro was your brother. I’m so sorry for your loss. I came to talk to you today…because I’m trying to solve this terrible crime,” I spoke with all the softness and compassion I felt in that moment, knowing that my words were still grossly inadequate.
“Are you an undercover cop?” She asked harshly.
“No, I’m…”
“Then why are you trying to solve a murder? Aiming to get the attention away from yourself? Because believe me, the whole county has got you under a microscope.”
I convulsed with fear, imagining a Salem-style witch hunt culminating with angry citizens capturing and punishing me for a crime I couldn’t have committed in my darkest dreams. “I’m sorry that you feel that way. But I had absolutely nothing to do with your brother’s death. I know this sounds awful now, but I thought you might be involved.” Secretly, I still had Dahlia on the hook and hadn’t released her from my personal list of suspects. Scorned lovers weren’t the only ones capable of murder; envious and money-hungry family members frequently turned out to be the culpable parties.
“You thought I was involved?” Dahlia asked disgustedly.
“Well, yes,” I replied frankly. “You had just dropped off that package for Ramiro…”
“His birthday gift,” Dahlia muttered on a choking sob as her husband stroked the back of her neck soothingly.
“His birthday gift?” I gulped.
“Yes, Ramiro died on his 31st birthday! The irony is unbearable…” She dissolved on a tremulous wave of grief as I tried to find an appropriate place to fix my gaze. I didn’t dare look the woman in the eyes; my presence had already caused her enough pain.
“I’m really sorry. I better get going,” I said, swiftly turning and walking down the driveway.
“Not so fast!” Dahlia screamed, running out of the house and chasing me down the driveway in bare feet. “You need to tell me exactly what happened! The cops told me that you found my brother dead. How did that happen? How did you get into his apartment?”
“The door was unlocked. At first, I thought Ramiro had been in a rush to get to work and forgotten to lock the door. But now I think the killer must have left the door open in a hurry to escape,” I reasoned as her eyes blazed.
“What were you doing at his apartment? How did you know my brother?” She pressed as goose bumps rose on her forearms, but in her impassioned state, she seemed impervious to the cold.
“We had our first date the night before and…”
“And you cast an evil love spell on him?” Dahlia finished for me as I shook my head in vehement protest.
“That’s crazy! Don’t tell me that you think I’m a witch too! Your family is from Spain, right?” I asked rhetorically. “So you should know about the history of the Spanish Gypsies. Our history has nothing to do with witchcraft!”
“Yes, I know about the cultural history. And I also know that you were the one to find my brother’s body.” Dahlia shivered involuntarily, but I didn’t think it was from the cold.
“Come back inside!” Hunter urged from the doorway.
“Not yet!” Dahlia hollered over her shoulder. Grimly facing me again, she made her voice as sharp as a needlepoint. “There were no marks on Ramiro’s body. No blood. Nothing! The police don’t understand how he died....”
“That’s why the medical examiner is doing an autopsy,” I supplied.
“Don’t interrupt me!” Her eyes flashed with white hot rage. “My brother didn’t have any health problems. He was in perfect shape. So we know it was a homicide. But how? Why don’t you tell me? What kind of curse did you put on him?”
“Curse? That’s insane! Look, when the autopsy results come back, they should be able to determine everything and then you’ll see that I’m not lying.” I shared my logic, but it landed on stubbornly deaf ears.
“I don’t trust anything you say. I’ve been doing some research about you and your family. And I know about your aunt’s death on Thanksgiving!” Dahlia raved accusingly.
“Okay. And I know about your prior arrests! What’s your point? My family’s not perfect and you are not perfect. That doesn’t make either one of us a murderer,” I shot back. “And, to be honest, I had my suspicions about you before today. You see that farm next door?” I pointed to my father’s old dairy farm. “That’s where I grew up. I thought it was more than a coincidence that you live so close by.”
Dahlia appeared alarmed by this tidbit of information. “My husband and I just moved in last year. I had no idea you and your witchy brood grew up next door! I would have chosen a different house if I had known! As for my police record, we’ve been having problems paying the mortgage. That’s why I stole some money. I’m not a hardened criminal, and I’m certainly not a murderer.” Lowering her voice to a diabolical whisper, Dahlia promised, “If you ever set foot on my property again, I’ll have the police here faster than you can cast a spell! And Captain Davis will only be too happy to arrest you!”
Stalking off towards the house, Dahlia turned and gave me one last steely stare. Hunter reached out his hand, pulling his wife inside and slamming the door forcefully behind them. My mind was reeling from the unexpected outcome of the confrontation. Of all the secrets I thought I might learn from Dahlia, her blood relation to Ramiro was not one of them. I shrank back from the house, retreating from the property and taking the woman’s warning very seriously. She was dead right. Captain Davis would be ecstatic to arrest and throw me behind bars.
***
By the time I returned to Espresso Magic, Penelope had finally arrived. As soon as she saw me walk in, she perceived that something was wrong. “What happened?” She asked frantically as I resisted the need to crumple into a ball of self-pity and cry a flood of tears like a melted iceberg.
Glumly, I recounted exactly what had transpired at Dahlia’s house. As I wrapped up the story, I added, “You better have some emergency bail money ready for me. Just in case. It’s not looking good.”
“Stop it, Marisa! You are not going to be arrested! I feel like you’re really close to solving this murder,” Penelope placated desperately, but I felt the hollow helplessness of her words.
“I wish that were true. But it’s not.” I exhaled shakily and strode behind the counter to take refuge in the daily task of straightening out the shop.
“I’ll do the cleaning today, Marisa. You just relax. Let me get you a cup of coffee,” Penelope offered as I shook my head.
“No, I don’t feel well. I can’t drink anything right now. Not even water.” My sinuses throbbed as I buried my head in my hands and willed the tears not to fall.
Solicitously, Penelope rushed to my side and gave me a sisterly hug. “We’re going to figure this out, Marisa. We always do.”
“I don’t know this time, Penny.” I wiped away a traitorous tear.
“We need to put our thinking caps on. If Dahlia isn’t the prime suspect anymore, then who is?”
“Me,” I deadpanned, dotting another errant teardrop.
“No, I mean a real suspect!”
“I am a real suspect. Unfortunately,” I said softly. “But there is someone else, actually. She came by this morning.”
“Who came by this morning?” Penelope asked.
As I was poised to answer her question, I shifted my weight as my foot kicked a cylindrical object under the counter. “What’s this?” I murmured, glancing down at the floor. My body instantly iced over with terror as I realized what I had just stepped on: A hospital needle encased inside a clear plastic syringe.
Chapter 9
“How did that get in here?” Penelope gasped as I retrieved the needle with a paper towel. “Be careful, don’t touch it!”
“I’m not. That’s what the paper towel is for,” I said, starin
g intently at the medical needle and realizing that it must be the object from my vision. “The coffee revealed a sewing needle to me, but I guess the channels were murky.”
“That’s the way it works sometimes,” Penelope agreed. “But how did that needle get in here?!”
“I have no idea.” My voice was laced with fear.
“Okay, we need to search the rest of the place,” Penelope asserted, ripping the lids off of every cookie jar in the shop and peering inside.
While my sister turned the café upside down, I continued to stare at the foreboding needle while being careful not to get my fingerprints on it. I couldn’t tell if any liquid was inside the needle, and I didn’t notice any blood.
“Does Mrs. Dollner use a needle for anything? Like insulin shots?” I asked, drawing at straws. I didn’t want to believe that someone had planted the syringe in my shop even though I knew deep down it was true.
“I don’t think so,” Penelope replied. “That woman is as healthy as a horse. Someone put that needle there on purpose!” She declared, echoing my own ripe suspicions.
“But who?” I wondered blankly.
“Oh no!” Penelope shrieked as a second syringe tumbled to the floor from an overhead cabinet. “There’s another one!”
Mechanically, I grabbed another paper towel and picked the needle up off the floor like the precious evidence that it was. “Someone definitely planted these here.”
“I’d bet our whole business that one of these needles is the murder weapon,” Penelope wagered gravely.
“Or replicas of the weapon,” I suggested. “The murderer would have wanted to get rid of the real weapon and all the forensic evidence along with it.”
“I think you’re right about that. You should take these needles right to Captain Davis.”
“Are you kidding me? Why don’t I just slap the handcuffs on my own wrists?” I crowed in disbelief.
“Hear me out. If you can tell Captain Davis the cause of death before the autopsy comes back, then…”
“Then he’ll think I’m the killer because who else would have such knowledge?” I shook my head with frustration. Penelope was a decent sleuth, but her thought process was a little skewed and frazzled sometimes.
Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology) Page 20
