Trick or Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 12

by Point, Rosie A.

  “Oh, then… no, I don’t know.”

  “I’m an alien.” Jules pointed at her buns. “These are my antennae. You know, I think it’s wonderful that you’re doing this for everyone.”

  “Doing what?” I asked.

  “Dressing up and encouraging everyone to have a treat and forget about what happened yesterday. I think that’s admirable.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing.” I waved a hand. “We wanted to celebrate Halloween, right, Bee?”

  “Exactly. And we needed to get rid of all our Halloween candy.”

  “If we don’t, Bee will eat it all.”

  “Hey!” Bee protested. “That’s just…”

  “True?”

  She grunted, but she couldn’t lie. Bee had the sweetest of sweet tooths. Donuts were her kryptonite, but I’d discovered that Halloween candy, from candy corn to vampire fangs, came in a close second.

  “Either way, this is great,” Jules continued. “Can I get one of those spooky donuts? Oh, and, a pumpkin-spiced milkshake, please?”

  “Coming right up.”

  “I’ll get it,” Bee said, and set to work on whipping up the milkshake.

  “How are you holding up?” Jules asked, to fill the time it took to complete her order. “I heard you two were right there when it happened.”

  “Walked in just after,” I nodded. “It was horrible. But we’re doing our best to move past it.”

  “Way past it,” Bee said.

  “That’s good.” Jules prodded her buns to check they were in position. “Still, it’s a pretty traumatic thing to witness. And Vera was such an angel. Really lit up the guesthouse with her presence.”

  “She was.”

  “Though, I can’t say the same for that brother of hers,” Jules continued, “seemed like a bit of a freeloader if you ask me.”

  “I don’t know,” I said, carefully. “From our conversations, Jack appeared… like he couldn’t quite look after himself without help. And he was so upset after it happened yesterday.”

  “You mean, before they had to cart him off to the station for throwing a tantrum?” Jules smirked. “Never liked the guy. I mean, if what you’re saying is true and he can’t look after himself, that’s sad, but at least he’ll have plenty of money to hire himself a nanny or a nurse or something.”

  “Plenty of money?” Bee asked, setting down the completed milkshake on the counter.

  I spiced the drink then slid it across to Jules and got out a Bite-sized Bakery box for her donut order. Bee returned to another customer in line.

  “Plenty of money,” Jules repeated. “Vera was utterly loaded. To the maximum degree. How do you think she afforded to travel cross-country like she did?”

  “How did she make her money?”

  “From what she told me, it was through buying and selling property. Flipping houses,” Jules said. “This was their first cross-country road trip. Maybe Jack wanted an excuse to get rid of her.”

  It was a vicious thing to say, but then, Jules had proved herself vicious during the last few weeks. When she’d thought we’d been guilty of a murder, she’d frozen us out then booted us from her guesthouse. She wasn’t the type of woman you wanted as an enemy.

  And awkward quiet followed as I handed her the box with her donut nestled inside.

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter what we think or say now, I’m pretty sure the cops will know exactly who did it soon.”

  “Why do you say that?” I asked.

  “Oh, because of the haunted house,” Jules replied. “You know, they’re one of those that travels the state and sets up in different towns? They take pictures every time they do a big scare for a group, so you can keep it to show your family and friends what an idiot you look like mid-scream, and they upload it to their website. I bet they have a picture of the murderer.”

  “Wow! OK,” I said. “That’s horrible. And good, I guess.”

  “Good for solving the case,” Jules agreed. “Thanks a lot you two. See you back at the guesthouse. Don’t miss dinner! We’re having something special tonight.”

  “Can’t wait!” Bee said.

  “Jules,” I called before she could walk away. “Quick question.”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Yesterday, I noticed this strange woman limping around after… you know, it happened, and I wondered if you knew who she was?”

  “Describe her to me.”

  “She was in a hippie costume, tallish with messy red hair. Looked like she’d spent a lot of time in the sun too, sort of like a hazelnut brown, with lots of wrinkles.”

  “Ah! I know exactly who you’re talking about,” Jules said. “That’s our resident witch.”

  “A witch? A real witch?”

  “Oh yes. She’s a… what’s it called? A pagan or whatever. She’s got crystals and tarot cards and she’s completely unholy. Dangerous. Most of the folks in town avoid her, you know, in case she tries to put a spell on them.”

  “Thanks for the info,” I said.

  Jules waved goodbye and hurried off with her box, leaving us with two interesting leads to pursue. The picture and the witch.

  4

  Later that evening…

  Dinner had been fantastic—salt pork and milk gravy then apple pie with cheddar for dessert—and Bee and I settled down in my first-floor bedroom with coffees and mints for an after-dinner treat.

  I sat on the bed, wide-awake thanks to the questions that had percolated during the day while Bee lounged in one of the armchairs, casually nibbling on her mint and stifling yawns.

  “What a day,” she said. “I’m glad to be out of that vampire getup. I swear that wig did permanent damage to my scalp. I’m going to have to see a specialist.”

  I didn’t say anything but sipped my coffee, my gaze wandering to the window and settling dusk outside it. The view of the creek that bordered the Oaken Branch Guesthouse was a welcome sight, but it did little to relax me.

  “What’s on your mind?” Bee asked.

  “The murder,” I replied.

  “You heard Jules today,” Bee said. “It’s basically solved. If the police have a photo of what happened…”

  “Yeah, sure, but aren’t you curious about it?”

  “I am,” Bee said, somewhat reluctantly. “It’s so soon after the last case we investigated that I’m a little wary of getting involved, especially when it’s so open-and-shut.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s clearly the brother who did it,” Bee replied. “Who else would have the motivation? Vera was well-liked by the locals, and she’d only been in town for a few days. Who would want to get rid of her other than someone who had a grudge?”

  Bee posed a good question. One I hadn’t considered. This is why we need to work as a team on these investigations. Ugh, since when had I decided that investigating murders was our thing? We were bakers.

  “What about the witch?” I asked.

  “The witch?”

  “Yes, the one Jules mentioned. The woman who was wearing the hippie costume? She was limping after it happened, and she was strange. I can’t quite put my finger on why.”

  “We don’t even know if she was anywhere near Vera when the murder occurred,” Bee said.

  Right again. I set my coffee on the bedside table. “Ah!” I raised a finger. “But I bet we can find out if she was.”

  “How?” It was Bee’s turn to be intrigued.

  “Jules said the haunted house has a social media presence. It’s called Traveling Spooks n’ Freaks. It makes sense that posting pictures of people screeching would draw in more customers.”

  “Sure.”

  “So, they might’ve posted recent pictures of the scares from this Halloween. And we can check that.” I scooched off the bed and got my laptop out of its carry case. I set it up on the small wooden coffee table and joined Bee, seating myself in the second cushy armchair.

  My baking buddy leaned forward, her curious side getting the better of her. “It
might be too soon for them to have posted pictures online.”

  “True, but we can still look.” I typed in the name of the haunted house company—Traveling Spooks ‘n Freaks—and brought up one of their most prominent social media pages. I navigated to the photo album dated ‘October 31st, 2020’ and clicked.

  There were pictures galore, a few of which had Prattlebark Village locals I recognized.

  “Look, there’s Jules,” Bee chuckled.

  The guesthouse’s owner was mid-scream, cowering away from the camera, one leg lifted like she was about to kick someone.

  “This is hilarious,” Bee said. “I wish we’d gotten our picture taken. We could’ve put it up on the specials board in the truck.”

  “It would’ve been a talking point for sure.” I clicked through the photos, tension balling in my chest. If they had a picture of Jules from yesterday, surely there would be one of Vera and Jack. Right? What if the police had asked them not to post it? That would make the most sense since it was technically evidence. But slip-ups happened all the time.

  “There!” Bee pointed at a thumbnail near the bottom of the page. “That’s Jack’s spooky ghost mask.”

  I clicked on the image and it opened on my screen. It had been captured what had to be moments before the murder.

  Vera was next to Jack, screaming, eyes wide, her hands wrapped around her brother’s thick forearm. His face was obscured—no clue as to whether he’d gotten a fright—but his body posture was precisely the same as it had been when we’d run into the pair near the food table. Shoulders hunched, stiff and unyielding. He faced his sister.

  “Look there,” Bee said, pointing to the people behind them. There were two. One was the hippie woman who Jules had claimed was a real-life witch, and the other was…

  “Oh, my heavens!” I sucked in a breath.

  It was the clown. And he held a knife.

  “That’s crazy.” Bee shook her head.

  “It doesn’t look like he’s afraid,” I said. “Could he be one of the people who works at the haunted house?” I frowned. “He’s not staying at the guesthouse, though, so if he is from out of town—”

  “All the haunted house travelers are staying together at a campground outside of town,” Bee said.

  “Oh, OK. That makes sense,” I said, scanning the others in the picture. There were the two college-aged girls from before, and they were equally terrified but unarmed. One had her hands grasping her face, the other, one arm out to protect her friend, the other behind her back.

  “We have to assume the clown’s knife is real,” Bee put in. “I can’t tell from the picture, though. I mean, you can buy a fake knife from any party store, and all these costumes are ominous. It’s not like carrying a knife would be out of place on Halloween.”

  “Right,” I nodded. “I agree. But what about her?” I pointed at the hippie woman on the screen. “She doesn’t have a weapon but, she’s the only one who seems out of place in the picture. Like she’s not with the group. What if she came in and attacked Vera from behind?”

  “Why, though?” Bee asked.

  “Jules said she was a witch.”

  “There are no real witches, Ruby. Besides, people who practice paganism aren’t allowed to harm people.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked.

  “One of the cases I had back in the day.” Bee waved the question off. “Anyway, her positioning in the picture is interesting. The clown’s too. They’re both behind Vera and Jack so it would’ve been easy to stab her and then run away. But with Jack right next to her, he had ample opportunity too. And then the young women… hmm.”

  “What?”

  “They’re off to the right, closer to the entrance,” Bee said. “But that doesn’t rule them out.”

  I got up and went to grab my cooling coffee. I took a few sips, sandwiching the mug between my palms. “Who do you think did it?” I asked.

  “The brother,” Bee said. “Most parsimonious answer here.”

  “I guess.” But my gut said otherwise. “I’d like to talk to this hippie-witch woman, though. She seems interesting.”

  “Might be fun,” Bee said, settling back in her armchair again and idly closing her eyes. “It’s been a while since I’ve had my palm read. I hope she does fortune telling.”

  “We’ll find out.” The sooner we got to the bottom of this, the easier it would be for me to get a good night’s sleep without replaying the events of Halloween over and over again when I lay in bed.

  5

  I hadn’t gotten much sleep after the coffee and mints. This had been a second strange murder in a short amount of time, and not so long ago, a resident had given us an ominous warning.

  “This ain’t the first murder to happen here. Every once in a while, somebody dies. Now, I had my money on it being some undercover operation and that Snotweed detective being involved, but I might be wrong. Dunno. Anyway, my advice to you ladies? Get out of this town before it eats you alive.”

  The man who had told us that had been a chef at the restaurant of a woman who had been murdered. The warning had sent shivers down my spine at the time, though nothing had come of it technically.

  I pulled myself out of bed at 4:30 am, yawning and red-eyed from a night of tossing and turning. It was time to give up on shut eye. Besides an early morning on the truck, getting all the ingredients and prep work done for Bee would be nice.

  I relished my alone time in the mornings. All day was filled with socializing, and as much as I loved it, a girl did need space.

  “Occasionally,” I murmured, and checked my phone. Jamie, the handsome ex-detective I’d dated casually, had been messaging more of late. Calling me once a week to catch up and check that I was safe and well.

  It gave me butterflies.

  “No time for that now.” I dressed warmly in a thick, puffy jacket and a set of ankle boots, then let myself out of my room and into the quiet hall of the guesthouse.

  I made my way to the foyer, where Jules kept the lights on at all hours of the day and night. Rain pattered the rooftop, and I grabbed one of the umbrellas from the stand next to the front door.

  Quietly, I slipped out into the early morning rain, the air smelling of moist leaves, and popped the umbrella open on the front porch.

  A sniveling noise came from my left, and I paused, frowning.

  Was I imagining things? I scanned the porch, but there was no one sitting on the swing set. Weird.

  I shrugged, lifting the umbrella, and heading down the front steps.

  Another sob sounded above the gentle pitter-patter of rain, closer this time.

  A shadowy figure sat hunched over in the front yard. He was on a bench under one of the maple trees, without an umbrella, his shoulders drooping, his head bowed, and a mask held in his hands.

  “Jack?” I started. It was Vera’s brother. “Jack, what are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death.”

  Jack let out a muffled wail.

  Probably, a poor choice of words there. “Sorry,” I grimaced. “Sorry.” I walked over to him and held the umbrella above his head, not that it would do much good. He was already soaked through. The maple’s boughs hadn’t provided much shelter, what with all the leaves that it had lost.

  He glanced up at me, his deep green eyes brimming with pain. “She gone.”

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s gone. Why are you out here?”

  “Forgot my key.”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, OK. Well, Jack, you could have knocked I’m sure. Or sat on the porch up there where it’s warm. Come on. Come.” I took hold of him underneath his thick elbow and helped him away from the bench and back up to the porch. “There,” I said, “better, right?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did the police only just let you go?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, dear.” I pondered my options. Bee wouldn’t be awake for hours yet and that left plenty of time for me to get everything set up on the truck. I didn’t have to go o
ut and do prep right now. “Come on,” I said. “There’s a coffee station in the living room. Let’s get you something to drink. Something warm.” I shut my umbrella, shook it out and then unlocked the front door of the guesthouse.

  I had to fetch Jack by the elbow again and escort him into the warmth of the living room. The embers of a fire glowed behind the grate, and I stoked them then added some wood. In no time, the fire raged, and Jack had stopped shivering, though he had managed to wet his armchair.

  “Coffee or tea, Jack?” I asked, standing next to the small wooden counter where Jules kept a kettle and the necessary fixings for early morning or late-night drinks.

  “Coffee, please,” he murmured, in his deep grating voice.

  I couldn’t help but pity him. From what I’d seen of Jack in the last few days, he’d been nothing but a gentle giant, and he was so hurt over what had happened to his sister.

  I fixed us two cups of coffee and brought one over to him, along with the sugar pot. I fetched some half-and-half from the fridge and set it out on the coffee table.

  “There,” I said. “That will warm you up.”

  He stared blankly at the coffee cups. His face twisted, and he burst into tears again.

  “Oh, Jack,” I whispered. “Oh, it’s going to be OK. You’ll be OK.”

  “Vera,” he wailed, loud enough to wake the whole guesthouse.

  I got up and put an arm around his shoulders. I squeezed him gently, rocking from side-to-side. “This must be so hard for you, but it’s going to be all right. I promise.”

  “No.”

  “It will be. I’ll help you,” I said, unthinkingly.

  His sobbing petered off to hiccups and he turned his head. “Help me?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’ll help you. I’ll find out who did this to your sister. Then, they’ll be the ones in trouble, and you will be able to relax and give Vera a proper funeral.”

  He didn’t move.

  “I’ll even help you find someone else friendly and kind who can look after you from now on,” I said. “All right?”

  Jack took a second, but he eventually nodded.