Brownies & Betrayal (Sweet Bites Mysteries, Book 1)

by Heather Justesen

  “True.” That seemed to brighten her attitude.

  Before I could change the subject, Millie entered the room, speaking with Caroline and her husband, Craig. The Richardsons were dressed up, as if they were on a fancy date, but it appeared they had come from a quiet dinner together. Strange, but rather sweet. Millie, on the other hand, was in a T-shirt and jeans, and looked like her evening plans had leaned more toward a burger and a movie than champagne and dancing.

  “Hello,” I greeted the three of them. Honey echoed me.

  “Hello, ladies, how are you tonight?” Mr. Richardson asked. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Can’t get enough of this hotel?”

  “We wanted to chat with Millie,” I said.

  “And is your business keeping you busy?” he asked. “You must be so excited about starting something new and fresh.”

  “I am,” I told him. “I’ve been busy today getting my store cleared out, among other projects.” Said projects being picking everyone’s brains about the murder. “Have you been out to eat?”

  “Yes, we ate at a little café between here and Prescott,” Craig said. “And we ran into Millie in the parking lot.”

  “The beauty of a small town—you run into everyone you know the moment you leave your house,” Honey said. “I didn’t expect you to still be in town.”

  “The police won’t let us leave yet,” Caroline said with a sniff. “They’ve told everyone to stay for a few days. Well, except for Jeff and those guys, since they live close by.” She glanced at her perfectly manicured nails. “I have committees, projects, commitments at home and we’re stuck here.”

  “Now, darling.” Craig set his hand over the one looped through his elbow. “I know it’s inconvenient, but it’s important that the police have time to check everything out. We want Valerie’s killer to be caught, don’t we?”

  Her lips pressed together in a mild pout, but she nodded. “Of course, sweetheart. You’re right. I’ve been stressed about this whole thing. I’m sure it will be taken care of soon.” She looked up at her husband’s face and smiled, her company expression back in use.

  “Speaking of the police. Have you heard any news from them?” I asked, though I doubted Detective Tingey was being more forthcoming with them than he was with me.

  “They’re working on fingerprints, and the pathologist was supposed to be, ah, taking care of his job this morning, I guess, so Lidia is supposed to be able to hold the funeral this weekend,” Caroline said. “It’s such a terrible shame that she’s having to deal with this—and with her husband out of the country.”

  “Poor woman, and poor child,” Millie said with a shake of her head. “I still can’t believe Valerie’s gone.” She put a hand over her mouth, as if trying to hold back the sobs. Pathetic insincere attempt, I thought, even though I hadn’t thought her words insincere only two nights earlier.

  I decided now was as good a time as any to broach the issue that bothered me. “You know, it’s funny how you talk about what great friends you were, how close you’ve always been, but I heard that you and Valerie had a big fight when you were in college. What happened?” Once the words were out, I wondered if I should have been a bit more tactful, but it was too late.

  Millie stuttered for a minute and Caroline spoke up, stepping slightly in front of Millie, as if to shield her from the interrogation. “I don’t see why you’re asking these questions. It’s all water under the bridge now. If Millie wants to remember the good times instead of the petty misunderstandings, how is that your problem?”

  “It’s not my problem, but I am concerned that the police are looking at me as a suspect.” I stared them both down. “I’m not taking the blame for something I didn’t do.”

  Honey tugged on my sleeve, her move surreptitious, a reminder to tread lighter. “Don’t overreact, Tess. You know you’re not a serious suspect.”

  I didn’t know it, but the reminder was good and I pulled myself back.

  “Calm down,” Caroline said, tightening the filmy silk scarf around her bare arms. “There’s no use getting excited about a petty slight. In trouble like this, cool heads must prevail.”

  “Did you call it a petty slight?” Millie turned to look at Caroline, incredulous. “Petty? Her stealing my boyfriend when we had begun talking about marriage was petty?” Apparently she was still quite bitter about it.

  I had to agree with Millie, since my own wounds were pretty raw. I kept my voice light. “Doesn’t sound too petty to me. People have killed over less.”

  Horror filled Millie’s face and she stepped back. “I did not kill her. I can’t believe you’d suggest that.” She flipped the hair back from her face.

  “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” I said, thinking maybe even my not-so-casual observation had gone too far—especially if I wanted her to talk to us.

  Caroline studied me for a long moment. “Still, you need to be careful about what you say and how you say it. Such a comment can be misinterpreted.”

  “Now, dear,” Craig said, patting his wife’s hand. “You’re tired and overwrought. Let’s go back to our room and rest. I’m sure you all understand.” He said this last to the rest of us, and of course, we agreed.

  It was a well-bred way to extricate themselves from the conversation, I thought, and admired Craig’s deft handling. Caroline nodded to us. “It was nice seeing you again, Honey, Tess.” She gave Millie a hug. Because they were that close, or to show us where her loyalties lay? I wasn’t sure.

  Her words were insincere, but I smiled, accustomed to playing the politeness game with clients. I wish I could manage to apply some of my own social training to this situation. What was wrong with me, anyway?

  The Richardsons turned and walked off, and Honey and I fell into step alongside Millie as she turned in that direction as well. They took the elevator up, and we waited at the bottom.

  “So where are you headed?” Millie asked.

  “We wanted to chat with you,” Honey said. “It must be so hard for you right now. Even if you and Valerie weren’t really best buddies, it must be traumatic for you. I mean, Analesa is a little busy with Tad right now, so she’s not around to talk it out.”

  Another set of elevator doors opened and the three of us entered. Millie took an emotion-studded breath, as if she were trying to hold back tears. “That’s so kind of you.” She pushed the button for her floor and the doors closed. “We lived with each other so long, even if I didn’t like her much at the end, she was still my friend once. This is all so shocking.”

  We stepped into the hall and walked toward Millie’s room.

  “It’s always hard when something like that happens to someone we know,” I agreed. “I remember when a kid in high school died in a car accident; it shook everyone up, even people who didn’t really know him well.”

  A moment later we were in Millie’s room.

  She walked to the box of facial tissues and grabbed a sheet, touching it to her dry eyes. Her hand moved to slide a magazine to the side on the nightstand, and I caught a flash of color before it was hidden by the smiling starlet on the glossy cover.

  If I had antenna, they would have started quivering. Still, I tried not to appear too interested. Since Millie was on the far side of the bed, I couldn’t see the magazine well, so I walked over to grab myself a tissue. “Even now, thinking about my schoolmate’s too-early death is difficult.” Which was a true statement, but I wasn’t thinking about him—I was wondering if I’d seen what I thought I’d seen.

  Honey sat beside Millie and set a hand on her arm. “You can talk to us, you know. What happened that night?”

  I pulled out a tissue, then bumped the magazine as I retracted my hand. The sparkle of gems flashed again in the light of the table lamp, which she’d left on earlier. “Wow.” I pulled the necklace out so it was completely revealed. “Isn’t this Valerie’s?” I kept my voice curious and surprised, but inside, my thought was gotcha.

  “Do you think it looks like hers?” Mill
ie asked, her voice rising in pitch. “Valerie and I must have similar taste in jewelry. She did have good fashion sense.”

  “Yes, she did, but she told me, an ex-boyfriend had commissioned the earrings, necklace and bracelet for her for their first anniversary. There isn’t another set like it out there.” This was a bluff on my part. Millie hadn’t been in the room to know what we’d discussed.

  Millie’s gaze slid away from me, and she clasped her hands together nervously. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

  “Come on,” Honey said with a derisive look. “You can’t expect us to believe that. We know you had problems with Valerie. You might as well come clean.”

  “Fine. You want to know the truth?” Millie slumped. “Valerie used people, you know? Lance wasn’t the first guy I liked that she’d made a play for—but she kept borrowing money, charging things on the phone bill, promising to pay me back. She owed me close to two thousand dollars by the time school finished, and I ended our friendship. She never paid me.”

  Millie sighed. “She left the necklace in Ana’s room that evening before she went out for her date, probably because the clasp is broken. I saw it sitting on the table when I went in to do my nails, and slid it into my pocket. If she forgot about it, all the better. I figured it was fair payback.”

  “You had it all evening? No one else realized she’d left it behind and asked about it?” I asked. I didn’t think I believed it, but at the same time, I couldn’t be sure the story wasn’t true. When I picked up the necklace and checked it, the clasp was broken. “So why didn’t she put on something different before she went out? She’s not the kind of person to go out un-accessorized.”

  Millie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe she was running late for her date when she finished talking with Ana.” Though she made the pretense of being helpful, there was a stubborn glint in Millie’s eyes that said she was done answering questions.

  Honey and I looked at each other. “That makes sense.” If you think I’m an idiot. “We need to head out now. It’s getting late.”

  When Honey and I stepped into the hotel parking lot a few minutes later, we started rehashing the conversation.

  “I don’t know. Do you believe her?” Honey asked.

  “It seems kind of far-fetched, and I’ve seen her lie and be insincere before. She could be dangerous, but I’d rather turn that issue over to the cops to figure out.”

  “I know. I think it’s true Valerie owed her money, but she went about collecting it all wrong. Besides, that’s what I call loan-shark interest—her necklace was worth more than two grand.”

  “I know. I’ll have to deal with it later, though. I’m tired, after the long day of painting.” I hoped I would be able to sleep once my head hit the pillow despite it not even being ten yet. My mind was full of everything I’d learned that day.

  I waved goodbye to Honey at the back entrance of my home. I thought again of the conversation with Bronson. He had all the answers I was willing to give, but I had the feeling it wouldn’t be enough. He wasn’t going anywhere in the morning. Drat.

  The sky was moonless, so the parking lot was dark, lit only by a flickering lamp in the middle of the block. I made a mental note to contact the city in the morning and see if we could get the lamp fixed. I grabbed some garbage from my car on the way to the back door, then leaned to toss it in the Dumpster. There was a rustling noise just as something pounded on my shoulder, knocking me off balance.

  My arms wheeled to break my fall as I went down, hitting the Dumpster and then my knees. A second blow hit me in the back of the head, pushing me forward so my hands landed hard on the rocks and my crown banged against the garbage receptacle. I tried to get my balance and decide if the reason I saw nothing but blackness was because of the blow to my head or because it was dark out. I heard quick footsteps like the heels of athletic shoes slapping against the blacktop, running away from me. A car passed on the road thirty feet off, but in a different direction from the one my assailant had taken.

  My head spun and my stomach lurched. My knees and the palms of my hands felt like they were on fire as the old, uneven blacktop dug into them. The air had been knocked out of my lungs and I sucked in oxygen a little at a time until I felt like they were filling again. I groaned as I rolled off my knees, my back to the Dumpster so I could see what was going on around me—or I would have been able to, if there had been more light. The attacker was long gone now, but I studied the shadows as I recovered. Passing cars, barking dogs and the heavy bass of a rock song blared for a moment. After a long while I dragged myself to my feet again and hobbled inside.

  When I was in my apartment with the door locked tight behind me, I took inventory: my favorite pair of jeans had a rip in one knee now—not the fashionable kind—and I had scrapes and light bleeding on both knees. My hands were scraped from the Dumpster, and one had a long, shallow cut along the side from rubbing on something sharp—the lid, I guessed. This gave me visions of tetanus and hepatitis, and had me scampering for the first aid kit Grandma had always kept in the bathroom. I had abrasions all over my palms from the rocks as well. My right shoulder blade hurt like the dickens—I was going to have a serious bruise there—and my head pounded.

  I struggled out of my clothes and into a pair of soft, cut-off sweats and a T-shirt before calling the police. Through it all, I kept thinking: who would have done that to me? And why did someone hurt me? Could it have been kids playing games?

  I didn’t know. If this incident had been isolated, I might have thought it could be kids or a random attack. In concert with the slashed tires, though, it seemed a little more ominous. Was someone trying to stop my investigation?

  When I decided the bleeding on the back of my head wasn’t serious, I padded across the living room in my stocking feet and picked up the phone to call in the attack.

  The officer who came to my house was young and familiar. A glance at his name tag told me he was one of the Mitchell boys, which was good enough for me. “Hello, Tess. Can you tell me what happened?” he asked when I opened the door.

  Before I could invite him in, I heard sirens outside and I saw an ambulance pull up beside the squad car. I groaned. “I’m fine, really. No need for EMTs.”

  “It’s just a precaution. We’ll have them take a look. It’s been slow tonight. I’m sure they’ll be glad to have something to do.” He moved past me into the room.

  I bit back a sigh when I saw Jack hop out of the ambulance, a huge yellow case in one hand, an oxygen tank in the other. “It had to be Jack’s night, didn’t it?”

  “What?” Officer Mitchell asked, scrunching up his freckled face.

  “Never mind.” I invited him to sit. Footsteps on the stairs announced the paramedics’ arrival and I let them in. Jack looked worried, and his eyes scanned me. “Are you the one who was hurt?”

  “Yes, but I’m fine. I don’t need help.” Just a Lortab or two for my headache.

  He tipped his head. “You look like you’ll live, but how about if we check you out while the officer takes the report.”

  I wondered what he would do if I said no. When I hesitated, he added, “There’s no charge unless you ride with us to the hospital, so you ought to at least let us take a blood pressure and make sure everything’s okay.”

  I could tell he wouldn’t leave, so I may as well give in. “Fine. No needles, though.”

  “Scouts’ honor.” I think he would have saluted, except his hands were full of equipment. His partner came up the stairs behind him.

  “You were a Scout?” I asked as I stood back and let the two guys in.

  “Sure. Go ahead and sit next to Zach there.” He pointed to the sofa where Officer Mitchell sat.

  I was tired and I hurt, so I did as I was told. When I sat, I realized how disheveled I must look and was embarrassed to have Jack see me like this. Then I wondered why I cared what he thought of me. He was disagreeable in the best of circumstances.

  “Okay, start from the beginning,” Officer Mitche
ll prompted. “When you pulled into the parking lot. What happened?”

  I told him about returning from dinner—I didn’t say where or with whom—and being accosted. The paramedics went to work running their gizmos and interrupting my tale to ask about medications I’d taken, if I hit my head when I fell, etc.

  “Can you think of any reason that someone might want to hurt you?” Officer Mitchell asked when I finished talking.

  I hesitated. Was I jumping the gun by admitting it could be because I was looking into the murder? I decided I might as well be honest.

  Footsteps pounded up the stairwell and the door flew open. Bronson stood at the top of the stairs, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. His gaze fell on me and he hurried to my side. “Are you okay? I drove past and saw the ambulance.” He knelt in the space between Jack and the officer. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” He took my hand in his, studying my face.

  “Right. What would you tell the Goulds?” I didn’t want him in my home, and my humor and patience were long gone.

  Bronson sputtered in response. “This is about you, not the Goulds.”

  “Who’s this?” Jack asked, jabbing a thumb at Bronson.

  “I’m her—”

  “Don’t you say it, Bronson, unless you want my fist up your nose.” I balled up my hand and shook it at him. “I am not marrying you!”

  Jack’s eyes widened. “Well, Bronson, was it? Could you back off while we finish up here? She’s got some scrapes and bruises, but seems fine overall.” His voice held so much authority that, miracle of miracles, Bronson complied. Jack turned back to me. “You said whatever it was hit your shoulder?”

  “Yeah. The first blow hit my shoulder, the second one hit me in the back of the head. It was really hard.”

  Bronson gasped. “Someone attacked you?”

  “No, I needed the company so I thought I’d take up these guys’ valuable time.” I slanted a glare at him, then looked back at the officer.

  Jack got up and walked around behind the sofa, which was stationed between the television and the piano, dividing the room. “Lean forward. I’m going to check your spine. Tell me if there’s any tenderness or bruising anywhere I touch.”