Mossy Creek: A Maggie Mercer Mystery

by Jill Behe

  “Really?” Laughter. “Is the food as good at suppertime as it is at lunch?”

  “Um, yeah. She, uh, she told me some things that could impact the case. Made me feel weird, too. Interesting … disturbing things you need to know about. Could you…. Would you, mind coming over? I really think we need to talk about them tonight.”

  “Hmm.”

  “If you’d rather wait until tomorrow, that’s fine, too.” The oven timer went off. “Oh, crud. Hold on a sec.” The receiver clunked to the counter as I raced for the hot pads. Cookie baking was an exact science, more or less, and it only took an extra minute for them to be too done. The baked tray got swapped for an unbaked, and the timer reset. Once the hot tray was on a cooling rack, I went back to the phone. “Sorry about that. So, do you have time for a discussion tonight, or—”

  “You’re baking cookies.” It wasn’t a question. Actually, it sounded like an accusation.

  I cleared my throat and looked around at the mess in my kitchen. “Um, yeah. I am.”

  “What kind?”

  “Right now? Chocolate chip.” I frowned at the phone. Was that a moan, or a whimper? “Wyatt, are you okay?”

  “Got coffee?”

  I looked over at the pot. “Um, yeah. Just finished perking.”

  “Be there in ten.”

  ARGH! He didn’t even wait for me to say good-bye before hanging up.

  True to his word, Wyatt arrived as promised, pounding on the back door like somebody was chasing him. Opening it, I glared ... I hoped it was a glare. “Good thing I didn’t have a cake in the oven.”

  “You ought to be arrested for baking cookies without inviting someone to share.” He glared back as he shouldered past me into the kitchen, where he inhaled deeply.

  I shoo-shooed him and went over to the coffee pot. “I would have brought them in to work in the morning.” I poured two mugs.

  “Yeah, and Ricky’d have ’em all eaten before I got there. Besides, they wouldn’t be fresh-baked-hot-out-of-the-oven gooey, in the morning.”

  I shrugged. “That’s not my fault. If you didn’t take all day to get to work….” I set the cups on the table.

  Ignoring me, he made himself at home, getting the milk for his coffee out of the refrigerator, then taking a seat in front of the pile of cookies. “Okay. Tell me.” He bit in. A moan escaped, and his eyes rolled back. “Maggie, you have to marry me. I can’t stand the thought of you marrying anyone else. I would never get any more cookies, especially fresh baked, like this.”

  My hands went to my hips. “I didn’t bake them for you.” What was I saying … the man just proposed

  MARRIAGE.

  He started on his second cookie as I took another pan out of the oven. He’d said marriage.

  “If I promise to say you’re the best cook in the county, will you save yourself for me? I mean, cookie baking-wise?”

  I laughed and shook my head—and, my God, Wyatt had said marriage. “Sorry, Dude. Ricky would die of starvation.”

  “Who’s more important?” He grabbed a third. “Oh, man. On second thought, never mind. I’d look like the Goodyear Blimp if I ate like this all the time.”

  I put a pout on my face. “You mean you don’t want to get married, after all?”

  He stared over the edge of the half-eaten chocolate chip cookie. I bit my lip. He was way too solemn. “When I get serious about it, Magdalena, I won’t be asking because of your baking skills.”

  Oh. There he went using my whole name again … got me all tingly. And, he’d said when not if.

  Lord, have mercy.

  I used a potholder for a fan, and wished I could stare anywhere but at the man munching away at my confectionary creations.

  Now y’all get your minds out of the gutter. This is primetime, after all.

  However; getting back to business, those little niggles in my belly, those were real, not my imagination. Wyatt was definitely interested.

  Double WOW!

  He took a swig of coffee and smiled ... the one that makes me melt into the floor. “Come sit down. Tell me what’s got you all worked up.”

  I almost laughed; almost said, Besides you? Instead, I refilled our mugs and sat across from him. “Okay. You know I had dinner at Annetta’s.” He nodded. “According to her….”

  I recounted everything the woman said, even her theories about Susie and Evey. “I just have this weird feeling that something, or someone, somehow connects those two girls with Miranda. Not that they had anything to do with her death, but whatever it is, it’s making my skin itch.”

  Wyatt reached across the table and grabbed my hands. I gasped at the contact. “Maggie, you’re ruining that cloth, and it’s a very nice one. Calm down.”

  I lowered my eyes and saw that I’d been picking at the frayed edges of the dishtowel on which the cookies were cooling. A small pile of fuzz and threads lay next to it on the table. “Guess I’ve been stressing.”

  He laughed. “I could tell that by the mountain of sweets you’ve baked.”

  “Am I that transparent?” The timer went off again, and I got up to retrieve the tray. There wasn’t another one prepared to go in, so I turned off the oven. My momentum was gone.

  Ya gotta have a routine, ya know? A pattern … like an assembly line. Wyatt was a big distraction, but talking about Annetta’s suspicions had thrown me even further off track. I sat down again, bit into a cookie, and with a grimace, laid it aside. If I ate anymore, I’d be sick.

  “Have I told you how good these are?” Wyatt devoured another one.

  Now, that was odd. “Not in so many words, no, but I got the gist.” Eyeing him over my coffee cup, I wondered where he was going with the flattery.

  “Are you going to bring any of these to the office tomorrow?”

  Hmm. “If there’s any left after you get finished. If I don’t, they’ll just tempt me and I’ll have to eat them myself.” And that’s not going to happen. “That will take too long, and they’ll start to get crumbly and dry … and then I’ll have to throw them out.”

  He tensed. “Um, that won’t be necessary. Ricky and I will handle the rest. You won’t have to … throw them out. Can’t have them go to waste like that.”

  “Wyatt?”

  “Hmm?”

  He looked innocent, but I could tell there was something going on behind those big beautiful browns. “All that sugar is going to your head. What’s going on?”

  “Not a thing.”

  Definitely too innocent.

  Okay, two could play at this game. “Do you think Annetta’s concerns have any merit?”

  He stopped chewing mid-cookie. It took him a minute to answer. I could almost see the gears shifting. “Uh, I don’t know. Randy’s death affected everyone—and certainly me. If she was the mayor’s exclusive babysitter, he may be truly grieving. If Annetta has something solid … you know, as in, evidence … I can get a warrant. Otherwise, I’d be an embarrassment to the uniform, and this town, if I show up at the mayor’s office and arrest him just because we have a concerned citizen who thinks he’s guilty of something. As for the two girls….” He shrugged. “We could bring them in for questioning, or go visit them at home.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine the mayor involved with any of this, let alone Susie and Evey. I haven’t seen Ridge in a while, though. That in itself is strange. He usually stops in a couple three times a week.”

  “I’ll have a talk with Annetta. Maybe she’ll have something to add to what she told you. Some people are like that, you know. They tell me something one day and the next they’re back, because they remembered even more.” He stopped and picked up another cookie. “Getting back to these things here.” He waved it at me. “You have a secret recipe, right? Are you part witch, or something? These things are—I can’t stop eating them.”

  “Sure you can. You only have another dozen or so more to go before they’ll be all gone and you won’t have any more to eat. And, no, there’s no secret formula—unle
ss you count the fact that I use semi-sweet chips instead of milk chocolate. I just follow the recipe on the back of the Toll House chocolate chip package.” I squinted at him. “I figured it out.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What? Figured what out?”

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  “What am I doing?” “You’re going to rub it in Ricky’s face that you got hot-out-of-the-oven cookies, and he didn’t. Right? Am I right? I’m right.”

  He leaned back in his chair and laughed. “You really are a witch.”

  “Nothing paranormal about it. I’m just that good.” I gave him the smug-mug look. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

  “I should go.” He got to his feet. “Looks like you have some more baking to do. I’ll get out of here and let you get to it. We’ll bring Ricky up to speed tomorrow. I have no doubt he’ll enjoy questioning those two young females.”

  I pursed my lips. He sure was in an awful big hurry all of the sudden. Was it something I said? “Huh. You’re right. He probably will. Probably have to take each one out to dinner, to discuss things.” I waved a hand at the counter. “But, I’m not going to bake anymore tonight. I’ll just cover the dough and stick it in the fridge. Tomorrow night’ll be soon enough to finish up.”

  “Sure you won’t need any help?”

  “That’s not help, that’s elimination.”

  He took his mug to the sink and held his … flat stomach. “Man, I’m gonna have to run two extra miles tomorrow morning, but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Thanks for inviting me.”

  “Technically, I didn’t invite you, not for cookies. They were just subconscious motivators.”

  “Aha. I knew there was something psychological about it. Either way, I appreciate the cookies, and the info.” He moved to the door; I followed. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  I watched from the doorway as he walked out to his Jeep, then waved as he drove away. He hadn’t acted mad, or upset, but the mood had shifted dramatically. Or was it just my imagination?

  My sigh wasn’t sad, not exactly. It would have been so nice … so absolutely fantastic … if he would’ve-could’ve stayed longer, lingered over coffee, gazed longingly into my eyes, whispered sweet nothings…. Sorry, there I go again—cliché-city, and I don’t care.

  Alas.

  And whose fault was it that he hadn’t? Mine, for not speaking up and telling him he’s.… What? The love of my life? The conversation hadn’t moved in that direction and I hadn’t steered it that way. The fear of rejection (or outright laughter) kept my wishing all in my head and heart. It wasn’t a matter of one-sidedness anymore, but how serious was he? Yes, he flirted. Does he flirt the same way with every woman?

  Sheesh, he better not.

  Thinking about him teasing Vicki Sporelli made my belly hurt.

  Was he just as wary as me about a relationship? Do we both want the same thing, but keep dancing around it too fast for it to catch up with us? All of the above? Or, none, because of my vivid, fantasy-laden imagination.

  The aggravation made me want to punch something.

  It’s hard enough to build a romantic foundation with someone when there aren’t any distractions. Being in the middle of a murder investigation was more than that.

  “Oh, for the love of Pete! I forgot about the diary!”

  CHAPTER 14

  FRIDAY

  THE CHOCOLATE CHIP cookies waited inside a pink cardboard Corsair’s donut box next to the coffeepot. Wyatt might be too full from last night. Ricky might not care for cookies.

  Yeah, right.

  One or the other better show up soon, I was getting antsy. It’s hard to look busy when you’re not, and don’t want to be obvious about it.

  “Hey, Maggie.” Ricky greeted me tiredly. This case was wearing everyone out.

  “Good morning, Officer Anderson.” Maybe I should have been reading, like I normally would be.

  He made his way over and took a big whiff of Maxwell House, then moved to the small table and lifted the lid.

  At the long lack of sound, I stopped pretending not to look.

  He stood, eyeballing the open box, his mouth open and slack.

  “Ricky, if you drool on those cookies, I’m gonna have to hurt you.” He could eat the whole box, for all I cared. I’d had more than enough last night. Just the smell kinda had my stomach roiling.

  Knowing Ricky, though, I wouldn’t put it past him to mark the lot so no one else could have any.

  He closed his mouth, but continued to loom over the tempting fare. “Those are chocolate chip cookies.”

  “Yup.”

  “Homemade?”

  “Yup.”

  “Yours?” He looked over his shoulder.

  “Yup.”

  A momentary pause. “How fresh?”

  “Last night.”

  He whimpered.

  I frowned. The sound was similar to the one I’d heard from Wyatt the night before. “What is it with you guys and chocolate chip cookies?”

  “Us guys? What us? I’m the only one here.” He turned around, grinning evilly, and rubbed his hands together. “I could touch them all. Then Wyatt wouldn’t get any.”

  See there? He just made my point.

  “That’s all right, he—” I bit my tongue. Uh oh. Shoot shoot shoot. If Ricky found out about last night, things could get ugly.

  He lost the grin. “He what?”

  “Nothing. Aren’t you going to have a cookie?”

  He wasn’t about to be distracted. “Don’t change the subject. He what?”

  I closed my eyes and mentally smacked myself in the head. And, as luck would have it, the subject of our discussion chose that moment to make his appearance.

  “Mornin’, Maggie.” He smiled at me as he removed his hat, then looked over at his young cohort. “Ricky. Hey, watcha got there?”

  As if he didn’t know.

  I didn’t bother to return his greeting.

  Stone-faced, Ricky looked at him, then me.

  When Wyatt got close enough to see into the box Ricky hadn’t closed, he grinned. “Hey, great, you brought the cookies. They were so fantastic last night, right as they came out of the oven, all hot and gooey.” He slapped the kid’s shoulder. “You shoulda been there, man.”

  Ricky’s burning gaze pinned me to my seat as he answered. “Well, I would’ve been, if someone had bothered to call and in-vite me.”

  I wanted to hide under my desk. No, I wanted to clobber Wyatt over the head. He was a good one for smacking at a beehive just to see if he could get something to come out.

  Then came ‘the mad.’

  I didn’t have to put up with this. We weren’t even blood kin. And, they were acting like….

  “You two are acting like three-year-olds.” I got to my feet. “From now on, if you want any sweets in this office, bring your own.” I grabbed my purse and stalked out the front door with as much dignity as I could muster.

  Yeah, it was probably dumb of me to walk out. But, you know what? There’s only so much macho posturing we gals can take. I’d reached my limit. It wasn’t a blistering mad, only a mom-mad. Like when two brothers are constantly going at it, and you just want to clunk their heads together to knock the stupid out of them. I’d never actually tried it. Don’t think it would’ve worked if I had. Males are so … hard-headedly aggravating, with their petty competitiveness.

  With no particular destination in mind, as it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, I decided to have a quiet cup of coffee at Annetta’s. The first corner booth next to the window was empty.

  “Mornin’, Miz Mercer,” a soft voice greeted.

  “Evey Peters. Hello. I heard you were working here. Thought you worked the afternoon shift?”

  She smiled. “Coffee?” At my nod, she sat a mug on the table and filled it with fragrant dark-brown brew. “Yeah. Normally I work three to eleven, but Annetta asked if I’d work mornings for a few days. You know, to see if I like it. So far, it’s pre
tty great. I have to get up a lot earlier, but it’s not as hectic as the later shift.”

  “Good. I’m glad. Liking your job helps—a lot. So does liking the people you work with.”

  “You’re right about that. Working with Annetta’s a blast. Will you be wantin’ some breakfast?”

  “Nope. Just the coffee. Thanks.”

  She smiled again and walked to the next table.

  Maybe I needed to take my own words to heart. But, I did like the people—okay, the men—I worked with. Sometimes, though, all that testosterone tended to get overpowering. The lone-female syndrome could have advantages, but there were also disadvantages. And, even though I’d been in a similar situation while married and raising two rambunctious boys, I wasn’t immune.

  There was something else bothering me, too. The Rapunzel in the tower … of my brain … was pouting about why Prince Charming hadn’t followed and made it all better? Well, yeah, why hadn’t he?

  Guess you’re not worth it, Maggie Lou. So much for mutual interest.

  I brooded until my cup was empty and went to pay for it. Pity Party was over. Time for damage control.

  When I got back to the station, Ricky’s patrol car was gone. At least I’d only have one Neanderthal to deal with.

  CHAPTER 15

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Wyatt was gone, too. Hands went to hips. “They didn’t even lock up. Must’ve been pissed, or figured I’d be back real quick.” I shrugged, sat, and began type-type-typing up my reports.

  About fifteen minutes later, hats in hand, they came up to my desk. I tilted my head and glared … waiting.

  Ricky moved over a little and pulled a big bouquet of flowers from behind his back. “Sorry, Maggie.”

  The kid’s smile was a bit crooked, and the red was creeping up under his collar. He was going to make someone an adorable hubby.

  I folded my arms over my chest, trying to hang on to my irritation. “I’ve been mad at you guys before and you never brought me flowers. What’s the deal?”

  Wyatt answered. “For one thing, you never yelled at us and left before. This whole week’s been hectic enough without us … me, adding to it. You’ve been putting up with a lot from everyone in town.”