Bee would be frustrated when she found out what I’d promised, but I couldn’t fathom why Jack would’ve decided to get rid of his sister. They had lived with each other for years, and he clearly didn’t have the capability to look after himself on his own.
“Sugar in your coffee?” I asked.
Jack nodded again, and I prepared the cups for us and handed him one. I had wanted to enjoy Halloween murder-free as much as the next woman, but how could I turn my back on someone who needed help? I knew exactly what it felt like to be isolated, talked about, and afraid.
6
I hadn’t yet worked up the courage to tell Bee about my morning interaction with Jack. I didn’t want her to think that it had colored my view of what had happened in the haunted house. Really, it had. I was privately convinced that Jack was innocent, even though I couldn’t prove it.
“This is a nice change,” Bee said, as we rattled down the road in the food truck.
We’d entered one of the lower-income suburbs in town—there weren’t too many of them—and the houses here weren’t so much messy as they were neglected.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Oh, just that we’ve been doing a lot of selling over the past while. It’s nice to take a daytrip around town. We should go grab something from the Diggin’ It Diner after this. Take the day off.”
“You’re in a great mood.”
“Yeah.” Bee shot me a glance. “Well, I—”
I slowed, taking a corner into the street where the witch’s house was. We’d asked Jules for her name and address—Leslie Racker, 78 Dribblepatch Lane.
“What is it, Bee?” I parked outside the house, peering up at it. It was shaped like a box with only one floor, and siding that had seen better days.
“You’ll think I’m stupid,” Bee said.
“I know you’re not stupid. Go on, shoot.”
Bee cleared her throat twice.
“Bee? What is it?”
“I love getting my fortune read. No matter what it is. Whether it’s palm reading, or tarot, or a crystal ball, and I’m hoping this Leslie woman will do that.” It came out in a rush.
I grinned. “I had no idea. Sheesh, I’m learning new things about you every day, Bee.”
“Or at least every month,” she said, peering up at the house.
“Let’s go find out if she does readings.” It would serve as a good excuse for us to speak to her. And to pose few of those probing questions Bee was so good at asking.
We trekked up to the front door, and I knocked.
Barking came from within, followed by a flurry of paws on wooden boards. The lock clicked and the door opened.
“Easy, Fluffball,” Leslie said, “easy.”
Her dog, a ball of brown fluff, lurched at the space between the door and the jamb, licking furiously and wagging his puff ball of a tail.
“Hi there,” Leslie said. “Sorry about all the excitement.” She picked up her dog and he went mad licking her cheeks and chin. “We don’t get visitors very often. May I help you?” Her red hair was tied back in a massive red ponytail, and her friendly eyes peeked us from a nut-brown face, covered in wrinkles.
“Hi,” I managed.
“Hello,” Bee followed up.
Off to a terrific start.
“Sorry to bother you,” I said, “we were wondering if you perhaps did tarot readings? My friend here likes to get her fortune read.”
“Oh!” Leslie flashed her yellow teeth. “Oh, yeah sure. I haven’t had anyone ask for one in ages. I’d be happy to help you out.”
“That’s great.” Bee beamed.
“Come on in. Don’t worry about Fluffball, he’s friendly as can be.” She let us in then closed the door and set down her dog.
Fluffball licked the fronts of my boots and jumped up against my legs, wagging his tail. I bent and gave him a few scratches behind the ears, and he made happy whining squeaks in response.
“Come on into the living area.”
We walked down a dim hallway and entered an equally dark living room. Leslie pulled back heavy curtains and the area was filled with bright sunlight. It was remarkably tidy and smelled of lavender.
Her coffee table had been arranged to fit several crystals of varying shapes and colors, a deck of tarot cards and an incense holder.
“Please, take a seat,” she said, gesturing to the sofa opposite the table.
Bee and I sat next to each other. Fluffball promptly leaped into my lap.
“Thanks for doing this,” I said.
“No problem. I don’t get many visitors in this town. I think most of the locals think I’m the type of witch who should be buried upside down. You know, black magic and all that.” She wasn’t limping when she came over to sit opposite us. Leslie lit up an incense cone and it smoked off to one side, presenting a heady, sweet scent.
“I suggest we do an aura cleansing too,” Leslie said. “There’s been some terrible happenings in town of late.”
“The murder.”
Leslie bowed her head. “So unfortunate.”
“Did you know Vera?” I asked. “I could’ve sworn I saw you at the haunted house.”
“Oh, I was there. Halloween is one of my favorite times of year.”
“Did you see anything?” Bee asked.
“We don’t want to be callous,” I put in. “We’re just curious.”
Leslie lifted a pink crystal from the table and held it between her palms, tracing its jagged edges with the tips of her thumbs. “Nothing of use to the police, unfortunately. Detective Snodgrass made it clear that my information wasn’t helpful.” It was the first twist of lemony sourness in her voice since we’d arrived.
To be fair, Snodgrass had that effect on most people. Us included.
“Oh? What information did you have?” Bee asked. She’d always been pushier than me, and it usually paid off.
Leslie sighed. “Not much, other than the fact that there was a creepy clown with a knife, and I overheard the two girls in our group gossiping about a boy. One of their boyfriends, I think.”
“Oh.” Snodgrass might’ve been right on this one.
“And I told them that I do not think that Vera’s brother would have hurt her. He seemed like a gentle soul.”
“I bet Snodgrass took that well,” Bee snorted.
Leslie gave a shy smile. “Now, who wants a reading first?”
“Ruby can go first. A palm reading.”
I blinked. I hadn’t expected this.
Leslie put out a hand, and I placed mine in hers. She shifted to get a better look at the lines on my palm and ran her fingers over them. “Two children,” she said, “in your future. They might not be yours, but there will be two children.”
I tried not to show my shock. I’d secretly always wanted kids, but I’d never gotten the chance and had pretty much resigned myself to the fate of never having any. “Oh.”
Bee flashed her gap-toothed smile. “I can see that for you. You’d be a wonderful mom.”
“I don’t even have a boyfriend.”
Leslie traced another line on my hand. “But you will,” she said. “And soon. A handsome man will pay you a visit, and you’ll wind up falling in love.”
I pulled my hand out of her grasp, panic clawing at my throat. “Thanks,” I managed. “Bee’s turn now.”
If Leslie was offended by my actions, she didn’t show it. She turned to Bee and extended her hand. I was left to ponder what she’d said, and whether she was capable of murdering Vera. The latter was far easier to contemplate.
7
“I’m just saying, every time I’ve gone to one of these fortunetellers, the fortune has always wound up being true.” Bee took a sip of her morning coffee, standing on the truck, ready to start a new day serving customers our delicious creepy treats.
This would be the last day we’d serve bloodied vampire teeth donuts because it was time to move on to Thanksgiving themed treats, and after that… well, it would be my favor
ite time of the year.
“Why are you staring off into space and not facing facts, Ruby?” Bee asked, gesturing with her coffee cup.
“I’d say you’re using the phrase ‘facts’ quite liberally, Bee,” I replied, polishing the counter. We were about to open—a great way to avoid an awkward conversation if ever there was one. “She read my palm. She didn’t travel into the future through a time portal in front of us and then reappear with all the answers to the world’s problems.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bee said. “That’s impossible.”
“But reading someone’s future off the lines of their palm is plausible?”
“I never took you for close-minded.”
“I’m not! I’m really not,” I said, and set aside my rag. “I’m simply a skeptic when it comes to this type of thing.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” Did I even want to know what that ‘hmm’ was about? Bee saved them for deductions, most of the time, but she’d been surprisingly quiet about what we’d learned from Leslie. The things she’d said about the day of the murder rather than our supposed futures.
“Hmm.”
“Bee.”
“You’re afraid of discussing what’s really going on here.”
“And what’s that?”
“That your knight in shining armor is on the way. And that it’s probably a handsome police officer. Like, say, Jamie Hanson.”
I rolled my eyes at her. “Jamie and I haven’t seen each other in months, Bee.”
“But he still calls you. And I’ve seen you texting more often. You’re talking to him, aren’t you?”
“I’m allowed to have friends.”
“This one just so happens to be an incredibly handsome male friend.”
“Opening time!” I announced, before the conversation could go any further or freak me out anymore. I wasn’t ready for any form of commitment. Leaving Muffin had come at exactly the right time because the thought of how wonderful Jamie had been, in every way, had scared the jelly out of my donut.
I left the truck and found a line of waiting customers. I offered them morning smiles and opened the shutter on the side of the truck. Bee gave me a knowing look from inside, but I ignored it.
The more attention I gave her on this topic, the more she’d want to discuss it. It was best to ignore the conversation.
I headed back inside the truck and took my position next to my bestie. We set about serving our customers. The treats practically flew off the counter. It was a successful week, all things considered.
The lull came after the morning rush, and I took a second to fix myself a pumpkin-spiced milkshake and slurp it down. “What do you think about what Leslie said yesterday?” I asked.
“Ah! So you do want to talk about Jamie,” Bee started.
I raised my palm. “No, about the evidence. You know, Vera’s murder.”
Bee gave a noncommittal grunt and took a set of donuts out of the oven. She popped them on the counter to cool.
“Bee?”
“There wasn’t much to think about because she didn’t say much of anything.”
“She told us that the two girls were discussing a boy, that there was a creepy clown, and that she didn’t think Jack was capable of doing it. Those are three avenues we can discuss.” Honestly, what had gotten into my friend? She didn’t seem at all excited about the prospect of another mystery to solve.
“I don’t agree regarding the brother,” Bee replied. “I think he was capable. I think he was putting on an act and that this is exactly what a person who wanted an inheritance would do.”
“An act,” I said. “That’s cruel.”
“I’m not trying to be cruel.” Bee was conversational as she admired her freshly baked donuts. “Just honest. It’s the long con.”
“How long? The way Vera spoke about Jack, he’d been that way his entire life.”
“Yeah, but who knows to what extent he’s ‘that way’ and Vera didn’t tell us what his problem was,” Bee continued, waving away my flurry of follow-up protests. “I’m not saying I’m right, just that it would be silly not to suspect the most obvious person. He lived with her, he inherits her money, he was with her when she was murdered.”
“What about the clown with the knife?” I asked. “That’s got to be something. Vera was stabbed.”
“You might be right,” Bee said, slowly. “But I don’t know. Hmm.”
“We can check it out. The haunted house is still up.” I nodded across the square to where the house sat, quiet at this time of the morning. A few folks wandered around outside, dressed in costume—staff members.
“Maybe,” Bee said. “Maybe.”
I opened my mouth to ask her why only ‘maybe’ when the devil herself strolled up to the front of our truck.
Detective Snodgrass.
Black hair tied back into a bun so tight it had to be damaging her roots. A hooked nose that she looked down. And a button-down shirt that was perfectly pressed.
“Uh oh,” I muttered.
“Good morning, ladies,” Snodgrass said. “Having a good start to your day?”
“What do you want?” Bee growled. “We have the right to refuse service to you, you know.”
“Would you do that to the lead detective on a case that you were witness to?” Snodgrass raised a black eyebrow.
“You bet your too-tight bun I would,” Bee replied.
“Can we help you with something?” I tried being polite.
“I came by to check on you two. You know, make sure you weren’t doing anything I wouldn’t.”
“Don’t worry,” Bee said, gesturing to her hair. “We’re taking good care of ourselves.”
Snodgrass’ smile was cold and didn’t reach her eyes, but it didn’t shift an inch. Bee’s frown deepened—she wasn’t used to a calm reaction, especially when she was in a mood to argue.
“This is the second time you’ve been present at a crime scene. It’s starting to cause a stir in town. And you wouldn’t want to do that, now would you?” Snodgrass asked.
“Why’s that?” Bee countered.
“Because I look after the people in this town,” Snodgrass said. “And if you do anything out of the ordinary, anything nefarious, I will ensure that you wind up where you belong.” Snodgrass walked off, her leather boots squeaking, her hands tucked into the pockets of her blue slacks.
“She’s…”
“Horrible? A wretch? A piece of work?” Bee suggested.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like her. Or trust her.” My gaze moved to the haunted house across the square where a clown headed to the makeup and props trailer parked behind it.
8
Later that evening…
I closed the shutter of the food truck, my nerves skipping along in my belly. Screams came every ten minutes—the haunted house was up and running, the customers streaming in. The police had already taken evidence from the haunted house, meaning it could open again, and it seemed to be drawing even more customers than before.
“Do you want to go in?” I asked Bee. “We can catch up with that clown. You know, the knife-wielding one.”
“That sounds fun,” Bee replied, deadpan.
It was better than heading back to the inn and her asking me about how things were going with Jamie.
I left my phone and purse in the food truck—thankfully, Prattlebark Village was pretty safe, apart from the whole murder thing—and we headed toward the haunted house. The guy at the front, dressed up as a zombie, took our money and gestured for us to join the group entering.
Inside was dark as I remembered, fog rolling along the floor, lights and spooky noises emanating from the corners. My heartbeat fluttered, and I forced myself to take deeper breaths, shuffling behind the people in front of us.
Someone jumped out next to me, and I screeched. The others in the group followed up with more screams. I reached for Bee’s arm, but she was gone.
Silence returned, broken by footsteps and
spooky wails.
“Bee?” I whispered. “Bee, where are you?”
No answer.
I sucked in a breath and let it out, slowly. What if it really was the clown who did it and Bee’s in danger?
“Excuse me,” I said, and forced my way through the crowd in front. “Excuse me, coming through.”
People grumbled and shifted out of my path. I ran, nearly tripping over my own feet, heading for the center room where the pictures were taken. Shapes jumped from the dark, a ghost screamed, and a woman dressed as ghoul chased me down a hallway.
I ran into the main room and bumped into—
The clown holding a knife. He let out a ferocious growl of laughter and brought the knife down on me. I screamed—sure that this was it, I was dead—and a light flashed.
Laughter erupted from everywhere in the room and the darkness evaporated. Flickering neon lights came on, casting the other haunted house explorers into focus. Bee was with them, hiding her mouth behind her hand, her shoulders shaking with laughter. The clown grinned at me.
“You all right?” he asked, in his croaky Brooklyn accent. “Looked like you thought I was gonna stab you for real.”
“You were,” I gasped.
He brought the knife up and rammed its blade into his palm. “Collapsible, see?”
I exhaled and bent over, gripping my knees. A hand settled on my back.
“Rubes, are you OK?” Bee asked. “Sorry for laughing, I thought you were enjoying it too.”
I shook my head, spots hazing my vision. Funny, I’d been sure I was about to die, but my life hadn’t even flashed before my eyes.
“Is she all right?” the clown croaked.
“She looks pale.” I didn’t recognize that voice.
I blinked, but the gray specks had become one giant blob. It faded to black, and I flopped over.
* * *
“Ruby? Can you hear me? Ruby! Maybe we should call an ambulance.” Bee’s voice came through the quiet.
I opened my eyes to a cream-colored ceiling, parts of it stained, and the smell of mothballs and old clothing. “Bee?”
Trick or Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 12 Page 3
