The Chicken Burger Murder

by Rosie A. Point

  The thumping of someone moving around upstairs, along with the muffled yammer from a TV show, were the only sounds. Dolores was home, and, clearly, taking some time to relax from her busy schedule of meeting with Russo’s. Potentially committing murders too.

  I made my way across the interior of the bakery and stepped up behind the counter. The office door’s knob was cold, even through my gloves. I turned it and entered another darkened space. This time, I’d have to risk a little light.

  I shut the door quietly, brought out my cellphone and turned on the flashlight app. I directed the beam to the desk and crept toward it. If there was anything suspicious in here, I’d find it, whether it was rat poison or not.

  The quiet, punctuated by the odd thump, creak or bout of laughter from upstairs, was eerie.

  I set to work on the desk drawers. I rolled one open at a time and felt around, checking for false bottoms. Nothing. I moved to the filing cabinets, but they were full of folders pertaining to the bakery’s finances.

  “Shoot,” I whispered. “Come on, there’s got to be something.”

  If I were a murderer, where would I hide my rat poison?

  If I’d been the murderer, I would have disposed of the evidence long ago. Of course, I hadn’t actually expected to find rat poison here, or some admission of guilt, but there had to be evidence. I was desperate here.

  What would happen if the murderer stayed in town? Another victim, perhaps even at the Food Fair this weekend?

  I moved the light over the interior of the office and spotted a bookcase on the other side. I started my search, pulling out books like I expected to find a trap door to another room. Nothing, of course. This had been a blatant waste of my time.

  I sighed and chased the beam over the books one last time. A leather backed journal caught my eye, and I removed it, walked it to the desk and pressed it open. Hasty writing was scrawled across the pages.

  I don’t see how he can think I’ll ever let him get away with this.

  Everyone knows he’s a maniac, and that he’ll do whatever it takes. What if I’m next on the list?

  Tucked beneath those words, in between the pages, was a folded letter. I removed it, carefully, revealing another line of writing beneath it.

  This is my evidence. If he thinks that he’s going to get away with it, he’s wrong. I’ve got all that I need to show the cops the truth. Anything happens to my bakery, and they’ll know. They’ll know.

  I opened the note and scanned it.

  You tell anyone what you saw, and you know exactly what will happen if you do. I’m watching you.

  Sal.

  A note from Sal to Dolores threatening her? If this wasn’t a motivation for her to kill him, then I didn’t know what was. Could she have been working with Mario? Or alone?

  My heart leaped. I had to get this home. Get it to Liam. He would be angry at me, but what could I do? Hide the information from him? There wasn’t a chance.

  I slipped the note into my pocket, then walked the journal back to the bookcase and slid it into place. Perhaps, Dolores had figured hiding it in plain sight was the best option.

  Quick as I could, I shifted myself out of the office and shut the door behind me, listening for noise above. All was silent now, and my breaths were too loud in my ears. I stood dead still, waiting for any sign of movement above.

  It came from inside the bakery instead.

  A figure moved out of the darkness to my left, in front of the counter. Tall, definitely not Dolores-sized, their face hidden in shadow.

  Adrenaline rushed through my limbs, and I pushed off from the door and sprinted for the kitchen.

  A throaty shout rang out, and the person thundered after me.

  I wrenched the back door open and fled into the night, nearly tripped over my sneakers and caught myself on a dumpster.

  The steps drew closer. A hand closed on the back of my jacket and tugged. Whoever it was growled, and the scent of… what was that? Ketchup?

  Get up! Move!

  I forced myself onto my feet, but the pursuer’s grip was strong. They dragged me back a step.

  Take it off, Chrissy. The nickname my mother had used for me. It echoed through my mind and shocked me back to focus.

  I shook my jacket off then heaved myself forward and ran down the alleyway.

  The sounds of pursuit followed.

  18

  My only saving grace was that I’d been a track star in high school. That and the fact that I’d opted not to weigh myself down with some of Jarvis’ delicious burgers today.

  I took corners at a speed, pumping my arms back and forth, sweat gathering beneath the woolen knit of my gloves as I pounded through the middle of town, then into the suburbs. My lungs burned, and my ears rang, but I didn’t dare stop or look back.

  It was a miracle whoever had been in that bakery hadn’t had a gun.

  I thundered around another corner, forced myself on, my breaths coming in great rasps.

  Griselda’s house joggled into view, the porch lights still on. A car drove past, and the old lady inside frowned at me through the windshield.

  I slowed. No doubt, this would be high gossip within the next few minutes. The out-of-towner sprinting through the streets wearing all black and gloves at a quarter past eight at night.

  Keep going. They might still be behind you.

  I finally dared to glance over my shoulder and found the street blissfully empty of evil guys in balaclavas. Not that whoever it had been had worn one, but still. It was a relief. I was much more vulnerable without my gun and badge.

  Another car drove past, another person staring out at me, and I brought myself down to a walk instead of a jog.

  Almost there. Just a few more steps.

  I crossed the road, stripping off my gloves as I went, the coolness washing over my skin, and opened Griselda’s front gate.

  Curly Fries sat on the porch, her black shape a comfort for once.

  I took the steps two at a time, fished my keys out of my pocket, then unlocked the door and let myself inside. Curly followed me in, dragging her tail as she was wont to do when she had to make a choice between inside and outside, and I shut the door behind her, locked it, then latched it, then checked that I’d done both properly.

  I let out a breath and sank to my butt on the floor.

  “Holy dogs and cats,” I whispered, between gasps.

  My lungs were on fire. Jerry Lee Lewis Great Balls of Fire, fire. I huffed and puffed, then finally heaved myself up and into the kitchen. I poured myself a glass of water and glugged it down, messing some down my already sodden shirt.

  Curly parked her furryness on the tiles and stared at me.

  “What?” I managed. “Never seen a woman sweating before?”

  Curly flicked her tail.

  “Yeah, well, what do you know? You don’t exactly exercise much.” Talking to Curly helped. My brain was clogged with adrenaline, excitement, fear and disconnected thoughts.

  I opened Griselda’s not so secret candy drawer and brought out a chocolate coated nougat. I unwrapped it and shoved it into my mouth, relishing the sweetness. “Oh goodness,” I muttered. “Oh my goodness.”

  It helped. My breathing slowed, my throat hurt from the run and the tension, but I could breathe and think again, at least. I set about making myself a pot of coffee—because this situation called for it—then sat down at the kitchen table and drew the note out of my pocket.

  It was slightly crumpled, but the writing was still clear. I smoothed it out and read the note again.

  A threat from Sal to Dolores. And I had been chased.

  I had no choice here, I had to call the cops. Liam would likely report me to the Chief again. I’d made my bed, and I’d have to lie in it and accept responsibility for my insistence on investigating.

  But for once, I had a reason for it, and it wasn’t because I wanted to fast track a case. Or impress. Or find the truth as fast as possible.

  It was because this was
related to my mom.

  “Just do it,” I said.

  But he’d take the note. I’d have no evidence, and a niggling in the back of my mind told me that I’d need this note in the future. That it would be important somehow, that if it involved Sal, it involved a Russo, and hadn’t that text told me to stay away?

  I entered Grizzy’s downstairs study and used her printer-scanner combo to make a quick copy of the note. I tucked it away in my back pocket, then walked the original back into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee then made the dreaded call.

  After, I changed out of my dark clothing and into something a little less suspicious.

  Five minutes later, the doorbell buzzed.

  Strangely, I was more nervous now than I’d been during the entire chase back to the house.

  I opened the door for Detective Balle.

  “Christie,” he said, dapper in his uniform. “You called. Why did you call?”

  I’d kept as much from him as possible on the phone to avoid the apoplectic reply. Also, I really despised making phone calls. “Come on in,” I said. “We should talk.”

  “Why don’t I like the sound of that?” He followed me into the kitchen, and we sat down at the table.

  “Coffee?”

  “I’ll pass,” he said.

  I lifted the folded note from the table and handed it over to him. “I found this today.”

  He opened it, cast a frown in my direction, then read the note. “Where did you find this, Watson?” he asked.

  “I can’t tell you exactly where, but I found it.”

  His expression darkened. “You got involved again,” he said. “Watson, you—I should arrest you for this. In fact, I have every right to. I’d be remiss not to. I’d—”

  “Do it,” I replied. “You’re right. I shouldn’t get involved, but I’m not going to stop until I figure out what’s going on in this town. It’s not just a few unconnected murders. It’s all linked to my mother somehow.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?” he asked.

  I nudged my phone across the table toward him. “Check my text messages,” I said.

  Liam did as I’d asked, then looked up at me. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?” he asked. “This is a threatening message, Christie.”

  “Because it wouldn’t have made a difference to these people. If anything, it would have made it worse. It’s so clear that they want to draw me out.”

  “And you’re letting them do that,” Liam said. “You’re following their trail of breadcrumbs.”

  “I’ll do whatever I have to do to find the truth about my mother’s murder.” The longer I stayed in Sleepy Creek the more I realized how important it was. What had happened would stay with me for the rest of my life, unless I found a way to deal with it.

  Figuring out who had done it was part of that.

  “You know what a difficult position this puts me in.”

  “Liam, you’re not the one receiving threatening messages. Quite frankly, I don’t care what position this puts you in,” I said.

  “You’re misunderstanding me, Christie. I don’t want to—” he broke off, shaking his head.

  “What?”

  “I don’t want to get you in trouble, and I definitely don’t want to see you hurt.”

  Heat climbed up my throat and into my cheeks. “You won’t. I can handle myself.”

  “I don’t doubt that,” he said, “but these aren’t the type of people you mess around with. If they are the Spiders then you need to stay out of it. You’ll be their prime target after what happened to your mother. They’ll want revenge.”

  “I know that. It’s why I’m trying to stop this before any more lives are claimed.”

  “It’s not your place to stop anything,” Liam said. “It’s not safe for you.”

  “That’s what you care about?” I asked. “What about the fact that I’m interfering in your investigation?”

  He massaged the bridge of his nose. “If the circumstances were different, I don’t doubt I’d be asking you for help. To be a consultant on these cases since you’re so closely connected with what happened here, but that can’t happen. You don’t have the jurisdiction or the permission to investigate here. And I’ve given you too many final warnings.”

  “What are you going to do? Call the Chief and tell him?” I asked, not in a challenging tone. Just because I needed to know what to prepare for.

  I’d come to Sleepy Creek to keep my nose clean, but that hadn’t happened. And it was past time I focused on figuring things out with the Spiders, even if that meant losing everything I had spent the past ten years working to build.

  It was the biggest choice I’d made.

  “I don’t know yet,” Liam said, after a minute, and his expression had softened. “I have to do the right thing. But I will have to trace this text message and find out where it came from. You should have brought this to me the minute it happened. I don’t usually…”

  “What?”

  “I always do what’s right, Christie. I put my job first, above everything else in my life. I don’t have anything else. But it’s difficult with you around.”

  “Why?”

  His phone trilled in his pocket, and we both jumped. Liam brought it out, then answered it, rising as he did and walking through to the living room. “Yeah? Got it. I’ll be there.” He reentered the kitchen. “That was Arthur. He received a call-in to the bakery because there’d been a break-in. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

  I shrugged.

  “I’ll be back for you,” he said. “Try to stay out of trouble.” And then he was out of the kitchen, trailing woodsy cologne. The front door shut a few seconds later.

  I exhaled and rested my chin in my hand.

  I had threats from every direction, but no real leads apart from the note, and even that was hearsay.

  There were no options left. For the first time in a long time, I was stuck.

  What now?

  19

  Sleep was futile.

  I was alone in the house, Grizzy was still working at the Burger Bar, and every time I closed my eyes images of the past week swam back into view.

  Dolores standing in front of Mario at the Russo house.

  Mario smooching the back of my hand, then giving me a card.

  Bella proclaiming her innocence, then shutting us out of our house without so much as a ‘how do you do’ the following day.

  And the person in the bakery. The tall one who had chased me. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the face, but the grip had been iron strong. A man or a woman? Not even the noises had given me a clue as to which it was.

  “Ugh.” I sat upright in bed, the sheets falling to my lap.

  I’d left the curtains open, so that a sliver of moonlight could dance through and lie across my comforter, but it didn’t help soothing me. Not only was a the comforter a magenta pink, but the house, old as it was, made creaking and ticking noises as it settled.

  I wasn’t afraid as much as I was unable to sleep because of them.

  Keep telling yourself that.

  Curly Fries’ yellow eyes glowed at me from the comfy chair in front of the desk next to the window. She did this every night—waited until I was asleep before climbing on top of my head. No luck tonight for either of us.

  I clicked on my bedside lamp, threw back the covers and clambered out. The clock read 8:45pm, way too early for me to go to bed in the first place, but I’d hope sleep would provide me with clarity.

  “What?” I asked, as Curly flicked her tail at me. “I can’t sleep. That’s not a crime, you know.” I got out of bed, walked over to her and heaved her off the chair. Heaved because she still wasn’t any lighter despite the diet we’d put her on. “I’m taking you on a walk tomorrow.”

  I sat down at the desk, fired up my laptop and waited, tapping my fingernails on the wood.

  If I could examine the evidence I did have, however slight, perhaps I could
find some workable conclusion to this case.

  “Let’s look at the evidence,” I said, and opened a word document. I wouldn’t save it as that would be incriminating for me. I looked over at Curly, who had perched on top of my dresser. “Are you paying attention, cat? You’re going to be my sounding board. This is very important.”

  To her credit, Curly didn’t meow or whip her tail.

  “What have we got?” I typed out a sentence. “Sal dies of poisoning. His wife, Francesca, dies two days later. Yes?” Curly blinked languidly. “Yes,” I said. “Which means our murder weapon is poison. But we don’t know which type of poison yet.”

  I launched myself out of my chair and took to pacing instead of typing. “But we do know that Dolores bought rat poison according to that crying waitress whose name I can’t remember now. The Kleenex stealer. She said Dolores was mean, was happy Sal died, and had bought poison. But the cops haven’t exactly investigated her or the whole town would know about it.”

  Curly meowed her agreement. Perhaps, it was a complaint.

  “They did, however, take Nelly in for questioning. Who had left evidence at the crime scene because she was friends with Francesca. Who had been upset with both Sal and Bella because she believed Sal was having an affair. Unproven claim, but still a motive. Is it possible that Francesca killed her husband, then Bella flew into a fit of rage and killed Francesca as an act of revenge?”

  But what had the note to Dolores been about? I padded to my dresser, opened it, and brought out my jeans. I rummaged around in the back pocket and extracted the letter.

  I stared at the words scrawled across it. “Tell anyone what you saw? Hmmm. So, Dolores saw something. But what? Fran and Sal fighting? Bella and Sal in an embrace? And if so, why was she talking to Mario about it?”

  Dolores had wanted Sal out of the picture because of the pizzeria and the Food Fair. But Mario had kept the pizzeria open after Sal’s death.

  And the text I’d gotten had told me to stay away from the Russo family.

  I grabbed a handful of my hair and tugged. I walked over to the desk, sat down, and placed the note next to the laptop.