A Sprinkle of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 4)

by Alaine Allister

  After Liana was gone, Clarissa sat there alone in her booth. She got a little work done, but her mind was wandering. She was restless, anxious to try to solve the mystery of who had killed Al Moreno. Finally, she decided she should just leave.

  As she walked toward the door, she noticed a young man standing there. He appeared to be in his early twenties, and clad in work clothes. He was sticking a flyer up on the window. Ever-curious, she paused to see what he was advertising.

  “You’re a handyman, huh?” she asked him after reading the flyer.

  “Sure am,” he replied cheerfully. “I’ll do basically any odd job, as long as it isn’t too far outside my area of expertise. I build stuff, paint stuff, clean stuff, you name it. Do you have any odd jobs you need done?” he asked hopefully.

  “I do have some door frames that need to be sanded down and stained,” Clarissa said. “I have a cat that has scratched them all up. I’m sure I have about a million other little things around the house that could use fixing, too. How long have you been doing this kind of work?”

  “Three years,” he replied. “I started right out of high school. I know I’m young,” he said quickly, as though he was afraid his age might put Clarissa off. “But I promise I’m really, really good at what I do!”

  “Do you have references?” Clarissa asked, just to be on the safe side.

  “Yeah, I helped build Patricia Porter’s deck last summer,” the young man replied. “And Irene Meddler calls me every so often to unclog drains and change lightbulbs for her. She always barks at me like I’m doing everything wrong, yet she keeps asking me to come back,” he said, scratching his head in confusion.

  Clarissa grinned. “If your work is good enough for Mrs. Meddler then you must be good at what you do,” she joked. “Do you have much experience with painting? If you’re going to fix my door frames, I may as well get you to touch up the walls at the same time.”

  The young man hesitated. “I did some work across the street,” he admitted.

  “Do you mean at the donut shop?” Clarissa asked, perking up.

  He nodded. “Josie Moreno hired me to paint the walls and stain the floors,” he explained. “I worked there for two and a half days. I don’t expect she’d give me a reference, but you can go look in the window and see for yourself. I did a good job.”

  “Why wouldn’t she give you a reference?” Clarissa pressed.

  He hesitated. “We had a disagreement over payment,” he confessed. Then he quickly added, “I’m always very up front about my fees, don’t worry. It was just…Josie hired me for an agreed upon fee. Then her father showed up and refused to pay me that much. I ended up quitting.”

  “I see,” Clarissa murmured. The wheels in her head were turning. “What’s your name?”

  “Max,” the young man replied. “Max Daniels.” He looked upset. “I made an idiot of myself, didn’t I? I’m good at what I do, but I’m not so good at the whole networking thing,” he sighed. “I always say the wrong thing.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Clarissa assured him. She could relate to putting one’s foot in one’s mouth! She wanted to give the young man a break – and hopefully find out more about his encounter with Al Moreno. “I’ll call you soon,” she promised.

  Suddenly the door jingled and somebody cleared his throat.

  “Excuse me,” a middle aged police officer said, motioning for Max and Clarissa to stop blocking the entrance to the coffee shop. With him was none other than the chief of police himself. And they didn’t look like they were after coffee. They were stone-faced and clearly on a mission.

  The two cops strode inside purposefully. As Clarissa watched, they cut to the front of the line, right in front of all the customers who were waiting for coffee. The police chief leaned across the counter and spoke to Cathy in a low tone.

  As she listened, Cathy’s face went white.

  The two officers stood there looking at the coffee shop owner expectantly.

  Looking ill, Cathy stepped out from behind the counter.

  “Excuse me,” she called out in a shaky voice. “Could I get everyone’s attention please?”

  A hush fell over the coffee shop. Everyone turned to look at Cathy.

  “I’m afraid…something has come up,” she said, sounding as though she might burst into tears at any moment. “I’m going to have to close up shop early today. I’m sorry, but you’re all going to have to leave so I can lock up.”

  For a moment, there was stunned silence.

  Then patrons began to gather up their things, whispering amongst themselves.

  Clarissa was every bit as surprised as everyone else. She left the coffee shop, but stood out there on the sidewalk watching events unfold. One by one, people streamed out of the shop, all looking confused.

  Eventually Cathy emerged, looking unsteady on her feet.

  The two cops were right behind her.

  The somber-faced woman flipped the sign on the door to indicate that the coffee shop was closed. Clarissa couldn’t help but notice that her hand shook uncontrollably as she did so. In fact, she had such trouble locking the door that the police chief had to do it for her.

  A terrible feeling had come over Clarissa. She suspected she knew exactly what was going on, but she didn’t want to believe it. She desperately hoped she was mistaken. But what she saw next confirmed her worst fears.

  The two stern-faced cops led Cathy over to their squad car.

  They put her in the back, and then they drove off in the direction of the police station.

  As Clarissa watched the police car disappear around a corner, she felt sick to her stomach.

  Had Cathy been arrested? It certainly seemed that way. The cops hadn’t put her in handcuffs, but maybe they were simply trying to spare her unnecessary embarrassment. Had new evidence been uncovered that implicated the coffee shop owner in Al Moreno’s death?

  Then a terrible, almost unfathomable thought occurred to Clarissa.

  What if Cathy actually was guilty?

  It was impossible to believe she had plotted to kill a rival business owner, but what if her temper had flared out of control? That was certainly possible. Clarissa had witnessed Cathy’s rage firsthand the day she had screamed at Al Moreno and thrown her phone against the wall so hard it had shattered.

  What if, in a moment of rage, Cathy had driven her car straight at the donut shop owner? Maybe she had simply snapped, as some people were prone to do in moments of great stress. What if Clarissa’s own biases had prevented her from seeing the truth?

  No. That couldn’t be it.

  Clarissa had known Cathy forever. She wasn’t capable of murder…was she?

  Chapter 17

  “Did you hear about Cathy?” Clarissa demanded the second Liana walked onto her porch.

  “I did,” Liana confirmed, looking every bit as grim as Clarissa felt. “She was taken down to the police station for questioning…again. And this time in the back of a squad car! In the middle of her work day! It doesn’t sound good.”

  “Wait. Cathy was only taken in for questioning?” Clarissa asked hopefully.

  “Yep, that’s what Amy said. I ran into her at the grocery store,” Liana explained.

  “And she said Cathy was taken in for questioning?”

  “Yes,” Liana confirmed. “We started chatting and got onto the subject of the hit and run. Amy accidentally let it slip that Cathy is the prime suspect. She said the police don’t have enough evidence to arrest her yet. Sam must have told Amy all that.”

  “I wish he’d tell me what’s going on,” Clarissa grumbled. “He’s a tough nut to crack.”

  “You’re not his fiancée,” Liana winked.

  “I was still at the coffee shop when the police came in. I can’t believe they caused so much commotion just because they wanted to question Cathy again. I thought for sure she was being arrested! I mean, I’m happy she wasn’t arrested, obviously. But what were the cops thinking?”

  Liana shrugged.
“Maybe they were trying to scare her into confessing?” she theorized. “Or maybe they were hoping she’d slip up and say something incriminating.”

  “Maybe – but that seems pretty misguided, not to mention desperate. Don’t you think so? I have a hard time believing she killed Al Moreno.”

  “Same here,” Liana agreed. “My money’s on the son. I heard he’s a tattooed, motorcycle riding career criminal with a bad temper. Oh, and he apparently didn’t get along with his father. That’s like a perfect storm, right?”

  “From what I’ve heard, no one got along with Al Moreno,” Clarissa replied. “It makes it tough to narrow down suspects. But I might have a new lead,” she confided.

  “Ooh, who is it?” Liana demanded.

  “I ran into a guy who was at the donut shop the day of the murder. He had been hired to do some work inside the building – painting and whatnot. But things didn’t work out.”

  “Ah yes, I remember Jo saying her helper had walked out,” Liana recalled.

  “Yes. He left partway through the day due to a disagreement over wages,” Clarissa nodded. “But maybe he saw something or knows something that will be of use to me.”

  “Maybe he did it!” Liana speculated excitedly. “How perfect would that be? A disgruntled laborer blows up at the guy who hired him, storms off and then mows him down in the alley outside. Bam, case closed!”

  “I suppose that’s a possibility,” Clarissa admitted. “But it might also be a stretch. Do you really think some college kid is going to freak out that badly over losing some wages?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” Liana told her. “It depends on who he is and what else he’s got going on in his life, you know? Maybe he really needed the money. Maybe he’s unstable and prone to violent outbursts. You never know.”

  “That’s true. I’m going to have him do a few odd jobs around the house for me. Maybe I’ll be able to get a better read on him after I’ve chatted with him for a while,” Clarissa said hopefully.

  “Be careful,” Liana cautioned. “You might be inviting a killer into your home!”

  “I doubt I’m in any danger,” Clarissa replied. “Between you and me, he seemed nice enough but not particularly cunning. I mean, he did a terrible job of giving me a sales pitch! But I promise to be careful.”

  “By the way, here’s your cinnamon loaf,” Liana said, holding out a foil-wrapped package.

  “Ooh, thanks!” Clarissa pulled a ten dollar bill out of her jeans pocket. “A pleasure doing business with you,” she grinned. Then she leaned in close so that she could smell the cinnamon loaf. It was heavenly.

  “Mmm,” Clarissa murmured appreciatively. “I can’t wait to dig into this!”

  “We should go see Jo first,” Liana reminded her.

  “Right,” Clarissa agreed. “Be right back.”

  She went into the house and grabbed her handbag. Then she picked up the new bouquet she had put together for Jo. She had tied it with a pretty satin bow in an attempt to make it look fancy. When she emerged with it in her hand, Liana’s eyes grew as wide as saucers.

  “That’s even prettier than the last bouquet you made, and that one was gorgeous!” Liana breathed. “Are all those flowers really from your garden? I mean, I know they are, but they’re just so stunning! Look at all the colors! I love it!”

  “Thanks,” Clarissa smiled, pleased that her bouquet was a hit.

  “I need you to come plant my garden for me! You should totally be a florist!” Liana gushed. “Ooh – or a professional landscaper! I mean, I know you don’t have time to run a newspaper and take on a second job, but wow!”

  “It’s no big deal,” Clarissa replied, shrugging off the praise. “I just hope Jo likes it.”

  “She’ll love it,” Liana said confidently.

  “Unless she’s allergic to pollen,” Clarissa quipped. “Are we taking my car or yours?”

  “Mine,” Liana replied without hesitation. “You know I’m scared to ride with you.”

  “Oh come on, I’m not that bad of a driver,” Clarissa protested.

  Liana gave her a pointed look.

  “Okay fine, maybe I am. Your car it is,” Clarissa grumbled.

  The women made the short drive to Jo’s house, but no one answered the door. They tried ringing the bell three times. Then they tried knocking, just in case the doorbell wasn’t working. But nobody came to the door.

  “Maybe she’s in the backyard,” Liana suggested.

  “Couldn’t hurt to check,” Clarissa replied.

  They walked around the side of the house. Clarissa noted that the garden was overgrown, as if no one had tended to it in quite some time. The grass was also quite tall. She made a mental note to offer to help Jo out with her yard work.

  Why not? It was the neighborly thing to do and besides, Clarissa really enjoyed gardening.

  Around back, there was a tall white fence that obscured their view of the yard.

  “Jo?” Liana called. “Are you there?”

  Clarissa peeked through an opening in the fence.

  She scanned the backyard for signs of Jo, but didn’t see her.

  “I guess Jo isn’t here,” Liana concluded.

  “I guess not.” Clarissa took a step back from the fence. “Should we leave the bouquet and cinnamon loaf on the front step?” she asked. “I hate to leave the flowers in the sun in case they wilt. And I suppose the heat isn’t good for the loaf either. Hopefully Jo will be back soon.”

  “We should leave a note so she knows this stuff is from us,” Liana said. “And we should leave Jo our contact info so we can get together whenever she feels like it. Do you have a pen and paper on you?”

  “Don’t I always?” Clarissa grinned.

  “You have everything in that massive handbag of yours except the kitchen sink, don’t you?”

  “Who knows? The kitchen sink might be in there too!” Clarissa joked.

  They went back to the front of the house. There, Clarissa started rummaging around inside her handbag in search of a pen and paper. She knew they were in there…it was just a matter of finding them amidst everything else!

  “Don’t look now, but Patricia Porter has spotted us. She’s headed this way,” Liana whispered.

  Clarissa glanced up and saw the gossipy woman crossing the street. “Oh great,” she muttered.

  “Yoo-hoo!” the busybody trilled as she barrelled towards them waving frantically.

  “I don’t suppose we can pretend we didn’t hear her, can we?” Liana asked sadly.

  “No, I think that ship has sailed,” Clarissa replied with a grimace.

  “What are you gals up to?” Patricia asked, out of breath and red in the face.

  “We’re leaving a couple things for Jo Moreno,” Liana told her.

  As nosy as ever, Patricia immediately bent down and began to inspect the bouquet. She had the gall to pick it right up and turn it over so she could examine it from all angles. She looked it over so carefully it seemed she might be trying to memorize every last detail.

  Actually, she probably was trying to memorize every last detail, Clarissa reasoned.

  How else would Patricia be able to gossip about it later?

  Next, Patricia turned her attention to the foil-wrapped package. She picked it up and turned it over in her hands curiously. “What’s in here?” she demanded as she simultaneously began to peel back a corner of the foil.

  “It’s a cinnamon loaf,” Liana told her, snatching it away. “It’s for Jo,” she added pointedly.

  “Do you happen to know when Jo will be home?” Clarissa asked politely.

  “No, but the longer she stays gone the better,” Patricia grumbled.

  Liana gave Clarissa a stern do-not-engage sort of look.

  Against her better judgment, Clarissa engaged. “Why do you say that?”

  With a cluck of her tongue, Patricia gasped, “I have never in my life had such a noisy neighbor! She is so inconsiderate of all the rest of us in the neighborhood! My goodness
! The racket that comes from that house is shameful!”

  Before Clarissa even had a chance to ask what she meant, the gossipy woman offered up all the salacious details. “There are loud screaming matches over there on a near-daily basis! And the things they say! The profanities they use!”

  Patricia gave an overdramatic half-swoon to illustrate how distraught she was.

  “Do you know who’s doing the yelling?” Clarissa asked eagerly.

  “Not for sure,” Patricia replied. “It’s always the same two voices: a woman and a man. I think the woman may be Josie herself. At least it sounds like her,” she shrugged.

  “What about the man? Do you know who he is?”

  “No. The yelling always comes from inside the house. I can’t see anything.”

  “Well what about company?” Clarissa pressed. “Does Jo have friends over often? What about a boyfriend? Have you noticed any vehicles parked in front of her place when the screaming matches are going on?”

  “No dear, I don’t pay attention to the comings and goings of my neighbors!”

  That was rich.

  Clarissa was tempted to call Patricia out on her ludicrous statement.

  Who did she think she was fooling? That woman lived for involving herself in other people’s affairs. She had probably been glued to her front room window with a phone in one hand and binoculars in the other after Jo had moved in across the street!

  “When did you first hear the yelling?” Clarissa urged, hoping to at least get some sort of timeline to work with. “Was it immediately after Jo moved in?”

  “No. At first it was quiet. At first I thought she would be a good neighbor – boy, was I wrong! It’s been quieter lately, thank goodness. In fact, I’m not sure Josie has been home much lately. I suppose she’s been busy getting her father’s affairs in order.”

  Clarissa was about to ask another question when Patricia noticed her sneakers.

  “Oh my, would you look at how dirty those shoes are? Clarissa! Dear! You shouldn’t wear those! Those look like gardening shoes, not going out shoes,” Patricia chastised, acting as though it was the end of the world. “Surely you have a nicer pair than that to wear?”