Scornful Scones (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 5)

by Mildred Abbott

  “But, Fred, again, you said so yourself. Eustace Beaker was a miserable, mean man. He was awful to everyone, all the time. We all have to die at some point. It would’ve been much more unlikely for him to do so after being kind.”

  He had a point. One that I’d thought of several times. And one that had almost convinced me to let it go. “I can’t explain it. I don’t want to call it a gut feeling because that sounds crazy, but… well… it’s a gut feeling.”

  “Fred.” This time Branson reached over and took my hand, and he sounded apologetic more than judgmental or like he was simply humoring me. “The coroner determined his cause of death was asphyxiation by choking. The man’s getting buried tomorrow. What do you want me to do?”

  I hadn’t heard that bit of coroner information, at least not officially. Maybe I was being ridiculous. “Did anyone test the scone?”

  “I’m sure there are samples of it.” He sighed, sounding tired. “But such a tox screen wasn’t ordered. The cause of death was cut and dry.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but didn’t have an argument to offer.

  Luckily, Branson cut me off before he realized that fact as he lifted his free hand. “But… how about this. Would you be satisfied if I go in tomorrow and see if they indeed have a sample of the scone, and if so, I’ll have them test it? Will that work?”

  “Yes. That will work.” A wave of relief washed over me that I hadn’t felt since Mr. Beaker’s death. “Thank you.”

  He smiled, still handsome and charming, but now back to easy and warm once more. “Now… can we return to date conversation?”

  “Sure.” I smiled at him, appreciating that he seemed willing to listen to me when he hadn’t been several months ago. Sometimes second chances were warranted. “That sounds good.”

  “Finally.” He reached across the table, took my hand once more, and held it lightly. “There’s been something I’ve been dying to ask you all night.”

  My heart rate sped up at his suddenly serious tone. “Okay…”

  “If I…” He swallowed, glanced away nervously and then back again, and started over. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

  My jaw fell open.

  His lips twitched.

  I jerked my hand away and swatted his shoulder with a laugh. “Shut up! You are ridiculous!”

  And miraculously, for the rest of dinner, there was only laughter, easy conversation, and cake. I didn’t think of Eustace Beaker again until my drive home.

  The soft yellow of the sunrise brought to mind the hue of Katie’s lemon bars. I watched from the driftwood bench on the porch of my log cabin as the morning stars began to fade from view above the mountain peaks. The sun had yet to crest on the horizon, leaving the surrounding forest shadowed and dense. Only a quarter mile away was a McMansion subdivision, then the smaller neighborhoods that led into Estes Park.

  With every day that passed, I felt more and more at home, tucked away in the woods. I was a long way from the city girl I’d always been. Though, I had a feeling the transition to who I was going to become had barely started. Every once in a while, just how much my life had altered crashed around me, leaving me feeling anxious and somewhat disoriented. But more than anything? It was exciting. I got to be someone new. Maybe the Fred I was always meant to be.

  A motion called to me from the corner of my eye, pulling me out of my overanalyzing state.

  “Oh no you don’t.”

  Watson halted at the edge of the two steps that led into the yard, casting a quasi-guilt-ridden, part-defiant glance my way.

  “Yes, you, mister.” I’d had both hands wrapped around my coffee mug for warmth, but I shook a finger at him. “We’ve had this talk before. I know you think everything you see is food, but half the things in those woods see you that way as well. If you want to go down there, we get a leash.”

  His ears flicked back, and he chuffed out an annoyed breath, considering the clearing in front of the house once more, as if debating how disobedient he wanted to be. After a stubborn couple of seconds, he slunk back and folded himself at my feet, offering me one more judgmental, withering stare, before closing his eyes.

  “I know. I can tell you’re thinking I’m crazy.” I pulled my grandmother’s old quilt tighter around me, snuggled into it, and then cupped the mug of coffee in my hands once more. “You’re not wrong. I light the fire at the bookshop so it’s a billion degrees, and then I wake up before dawn and come sit on the porch and shiver. Insane, I know. But I couldn’t sleep any longer.”

  I waited for some response. Another chuff, yawn, or even an opportune moment of flatulence. Ever the obstinate one, Watson feigned sleep.

  Surprisingly, falling asleep hadn’t been a problem. Somehow, I’d managed to not overanalyze the date with Branson. Even the brief goodbye kiss we’d shared as we’d gone our separate ways after dinner. Although, that had been part of what had woken me up. The kiss had been nice, comforting in a way. Strange in another.

  Was a kiss supposed to be nice?

  I’d really thought that aspect of my life was over. Maybe that was silly. I’d gotten divorced when I was thirty-two. And I was going to be thirty-nine in a couple of weeks. Did I really expect to have finished the relationship portion of my life in my early thirties? Had I really expected to spend the rest of my life alone? Alone, but not lonely? Had I expected it, wanted it, or thought that was all I could have?

  Regardless, it was safer.

  Branson… Well, he wasn’t safe. Actually, he felt safe. He said he would never hurt me, and though there was very little I understood about the man, that part I could feel. He wouldn’t. Ever. But the rest? I couldn’t get a good gauge on who he was. Maybe that attracted me to him as much as his beautiful face. Surely that was a problem.

  A groan cut the quiet of the morning. I glanced down at Watson, who peered back up at me as if annoyed I’d disrupted his fake nap.

  It seemed I’d been the one who groaned.

  And rightly so. Good grief. Much too heavy thoughts for such a pretty, barely-started morning.

  I shoved Branson and possible romance out of my mind.

  Leo flitted through for a second, but I chased him away as well.

  Instead, Eustace Beaker strolled into my thoughts.

  There. That was much preferable. Murder was a lot easier to handle than the possibility of relationships.

  I wasn’t going to think about that inclination, which was probably a problem, as well.

  But murder? Maybe I really was seeing things that I wanted to be there, to avoid such confusion as relationships. Even though Branson hadn’t said he thought I was crazy, it was clear he was simply humoring me about getting the scone tested.

  Eustace had choked. It happened. All the time. And considering the texture of Carla’s scones, it was a small miracle it hadn’t happened on a daily basis since she’d opened her coffee shop. How many times over the past several months had I thought they were little more than choking hazards? And yet, here I was, proven correct, but now skeptical.

  Branson had been right. From what I’d observed and heard about Eustace, he was rather miserable to everyone all the time. It would’ve been much more shocking if he had died after a moment of not being awful to someone. But… if anybody seemed a candidate for having enough enemies that one of them wanted you dead, Eustace Beaker had the perfect resume.

  His funeral was later that afternoon. Part of me wanted to attend, just to observe, see who was gathered in the crowd, secretly rejoicing. Although chances were high there would be more than one of those individuals present.

  I wasn’t going to go. It wouldn’t be appropriate. I didn’t know him, didn’t like what I did know of him, and if Carla had sicced Susan on me to warn me off, then showing up wouldn’t be a good idea.

  And… maybe I really was searching for things that weren’t there. Maybe some unflattering part of me was enjoying solving murders just a little too much, and now was looking for them wh
ere there was nothing to find.

  Watson sighed a long, contented doggy sigh and stretched as the sun finally broke the peaks and filtered down onto the porch, offering him some warmth.

  I’d brought The Chipmunk Chronicles, the Estes Park newspaper, on the porch with me, but it had been too dark to read and I hadn’t wanted to turn onto the porch light. But I reached for it then, trading its location on the small log table with my coffee mug, then flipped through it and opened to Eustace’s obituary. I’d read it the night before, but wanted to again.

  It was written by Athena Rose, and I could almost hear her cultured voice read it to me over my shoulder.

  Eustace Beaker, aged seventy-six years. Survived by wife, Ethel, son, Jonathan, daughter-in-law, Carla, and grandson, Maverick. Eustace Beaker built a life of success and privilege. He devoted his existence to shaping Estes Park and the surrounding community in the fashion he believed best for those of the town. Mr. Beaker used his resources to accumulate real estate and businesses, and influence the town government, organizations, and ordinances. As the chairman of the town council for the past three decades, there is not a solitary aspect of Estes Park that has not been touched by Eustace’s influence. He was passionate in his beliefs and standards, and assisted in helping others rise to meet those expectations. There will be a vast emptiness in Eustace Beaker’s absence. He was a force of will who refused to be denied, and the town will not be the same without him.

  If I hadn’t met Athena a few days before, I might have read the obituary in a much different light. I was sure of that actually. In many ways it was flattering. It told of a man who was powerful, in control, passionate about the town, and worked tirelessly to shape it the way he saw fit. But Athena’s distaste for the man was apparent. As was my own. Knowing that lent a much different filter to her writing. One that was barely disguised. A person didn’t even need to read between the lines, not really, to see that she was basically calling him a power-hungry, controlling tyrant, who abused his influence and privilege to be little more than a dictator of his kingdom.

  I traced Athena’s name with my fingernail, considering.

  If Eustace had been murdered, given her history and her position at the paper, Athena might be able to provide quite the exhaustive list of people who could have wanted to speed along the absence Eustace left behind.

  I waited until midmorning to leave Katie alone at the Cozy Corgi. There seemed a lull after the breakfast rush in the bakery, then business started again around noon. Book sales were always slow in the morning and tended to pick up in the afternoon when tourists began to stroll lazily through the shops after their morning hikes.

  The offices of The Chipmunk Chronicles, though small, were surprisingly modern and sleek. The outside was done in the typical river rock and dark wood siding that much of the town had, but the interior seemed to be transported from somewhere else. Not at all the quaint little village feel, like I’d expected.

  The receptionist cast a quizzical glance at Watson when I requested to speak to Athena but didn’t offer commentary on his presence. Most places in Estes were dog friendly, but perhaps she felt a trail of corgi hair didn’t really suit the ambience of the newspaper.

  Little did she know that his presence didn’t affect that fact all that much. There weren’t enough lint rollers in existence to keep my outfits from dispersing corgi fluff wherever I went.

  “Fred!” Athena offered a welcoming smile as she turned from her computer to find Watson and me at her door. She swiveled around and flickered those french-tipped fingers our way. “And Watson. What a nice surprise.” Though she didn’t stand, she offered an outstretched hand in my direction.

  I took it, giving a squeeze before I sat down in the chair by her desk. “Thanks for letting us drop in like this. I probably should’ve called, but sometimes, when I get something in my mind, I have a hard time shaking it and act without thinking.” True enough, but I’d also discovered that when I wanted to get the most honest answers from someone, it was best to not give them time to prepare.

  “Goodness, no. It’s not a bother at all. Quite nice actually. As you can imagine, there aren’t too many people who drop by to talk about obituaries. And when they do, it’s never a pleasant meeting.” She straightened the golden purple scarf at her throat. “I do wish I had dog treats or something. I hate not being able to offer such a cute visitor anything.”

  At the word “treats,” Watson perked up, and gave a bunny bounce on his front paws.

  “She said she doesn’t have one of those, Watson.” I patted his head. “Breathe, buddy.”

  Her dark eyes widened, and she winced. “Oh, I’m so sorry. That word probably isn’t a very good one to say, is it?”

  “It can get you in trouble. I’m afraid one of the things Watson and I have in common is that we share a sweet tooth.” I cast him a sidelong glance. “If we don’t mention it again, he’ll forget in a couple of minutes. Well, no, he won’t forget, but that look of frantic desperation on his face will slowly transition to one of forlorn betrayal.”

  Athena chuckled and smiled as she settled back in her seat. “I knew I liked you. And your little dog. I wish I had brought Pearl in with me today. But it’s not allowed.” Her head twitched slightly as if experiencing a new thought. One of her long nails tapped the arm of her chair. “Now that I think about it, since the paper will soon be under new management, maybe Pearl can join me before long. That would definitely make my days better.”

  “Oh, that would be nice. Did the paper sell?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Not exactly. The owner just passed. Which I figured is why you’re here.” There was the slightest hint of humor in her voice.

  “Am I that obvious?”

  “Yes. And no.” She gestured toward the folded-up paper in my hand. “I would imagine you read the obituary, the funeral is today, and you do have a reputation in town already.”

  I tried to determine if there was judgment in her tone, but I didn’t think so. Though not necessarily approval either. Either way, it saved time, and I preferred being straightforward whenever possible. “You caught me. I did come to talk about the obituary, or about the man, more specifically. Though I didn’t realize Eustace owned the paper.”

  “Darling, the only person who owns more in town is your stepfather. But two more different men there couldn’t be.” Athena leaned forward, snagged a small notepad and pen from her desk, then seemed to think better of it and replaced them. “I take it, by your presence here, you suspect foul play?”

  She was a quick one, and direct as well. It seemed my initial impression of her the other day had been on point. “The police think I’m grasping at straws, to say the least, but I can’t help but think that’s a strong possibility.”

  “I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you’re seeing someone on the force. That’s an inside track most of us don’t have.”

  Not a day went by where it wasn’t made overtly clear that I was building a new life in a small town. One where everyone knew everything at all times. Though I had no idea where things were going with Branson, if anywhere beyond a few dates and maybe some more kisses, there was no reason to clarify that, so I let it be. “I’m not sure if that gives what the police see as my harebrained theory any more credence than if you would’ve come up with it.” I didn’t want to talk about Branson or the police, however. “But I wanted to pick your brain. Especially after reading your obituary and our conversation the other day.”

  She smiled, her violet-red lips glistening in a nearly sinister way. “Hoping I’ll provide you with a list of suspects?”

  On second thought, she was a little more direct than was comfortable. I attempted a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “I wasn’t planning on putting it quite that bluntly.”

  She waved me off. “Oh, Fred, when you get to be my age, there’s no time for subtlety.” She shrugged one thin shoulder. “But I’m afraid I won’t be of much use. There are technically six thousand people in town. Alth
ough, that number fluctuates greatly between the summer and winter months and those who are permanent and part-time residents. I imagine the list I would provide would be around six thousand people long. Not very helpful at all.”

  I waited for a laugh, some punch line.

  But though her eyes twinkled, her expression stayed serious.

  “So everyone hated the man?”

  “Everyone who met him. Except his family.” She blinked rapidly, those false eyelashes attempting a look of innocence. “Although, even members of his family hated the man, as I figure you could imagine.”

  “Carla?” Her name slipped through my lips without any forethought, and I wished I could suck it back in. I liked Athena, quite a bit, though she was making me more uncomfortable than she had when we’d first met. She didn’t strike me as a gossip, but who could say. There were enough hard feelings between Carla and myself without it getting back to her that I brought her up in connection with her father-in-law’s death.

  Athena didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know your story, Winifred. I do know that you’re divorced, but I haven’t been privy to the how and why. So I can’t say what your experience was with a father-in-law. But let me tell you, an overbearing father-in-law can make life just as miserable as an abusive husband.” Her expression softened. “I’m not, however, saying that Carla had anything to do with Eustace dying. I’m simply stating that as far as who might want to have a Eustace Beaker-sized hole in their life, that list is endless. I imagine it would be impossible to meet the man without hating him. So, really… the question isn’t who hated him enough to kill him; it’s, of all the people who hated him, who might be willing to kill.”

  The conversation with Athena was going in such a different direction than what I’d anticipated. I figured she’d laugh me off. And even if she didn’t, I most definitely couldn’t have predicted such a response. “To be frank, I only met the man that once. And while I didn’t come away with a good impression, I can’t say I’d noticed enough to hate him.”