“She’s awake!” someone said.
Bee appeared above me. “Oh, Ruby, thank goodness. I was worried sick about you. You passed out.”
“How embarrassing,” I managed, shakily. Every part of me trembled, though it wasn’t from fear now. “Has anyone got some water?”
“Here,” a man croaked. “Give her some of this.”
Bee helped me into a sitting position, and a glass bottle was shoved into my hand. I downed fizzy, delicious soda, blinking at my surrounds. I was inside a trailer filled with props, costumes, and makeup. Of course, this was the haunted house’s setup area. The place was stuffed full of all things spooky. Heck, there was even a skeleton hanging in an open closet—oh, the irony.
I finished the bottle of coke and sat back against the headboard of the single bed I’d been placed upon. “Does someone live in here?” I asked.
“Ah no,” the clown, the same one who’d scared my soul straight outta my body, perched on the dressing table chair, facing us, his makeup half off, and his wig gone. Two tufts of gray hair puffed from either side of his crown. “This is just a trailer that was repurposed for setting up. We all sleep in separate campers parked outside of town. We got a shuttle that takes us there each night after work.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t sure why that was important, but it was more information, at least. “OK.”
“Are you feeling any better?” Bee asked. “I feel terrible for laughing at you.”
“Don’t,” I said. “I’m sure it was pretty funny.” My gaze met the clown’s, and I searched for inner strength. He wasn’t in the makeup anymore, and not nearly as scary as he had been with it. His collapsible knife sat on the dressing table next to him.
“That’s only the second time this has ever happened,” the clown said. “You know, someone passing out from fear.”
“What about the murder?” I managed. “Has that ever happened before?”
“Definitely hasn’t.” He removed a thick cigar from the pocket of his costume. He lit it and sucked on the end, emitting puffs of acrid smoke. “Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it.”
“Like what?” Bee asked and took the empty bottle from me.
I was covered in sweat, but Bee had opened the trailer window and the sounds of screams and laughter drifted in with the chill breeze.
“Like what I saw yesterday. You know, that big fella offing his sister.”
“Who, Jack?” I asked, my attention snapping back to the clown.
“Tall guy with a screaming ghost mask?” the clown asked. “Yeah, that’s the guy. Saw him push his sister right as the picture was taken. You ask me, he wasn’t pushing so much as he was stabbing. Just my opinion, though.”
“You saw that?” I asked. “Are you sure?”
“Sure as I am that this cigar is cheap,” he replied, the ash on the end growing larger with every puff. “I told the cops too.”
I fell silent again, turning my head to catch the silent breeze. People moved around in the town square in the purple evening, none of them bothered by what had happened mere days ago. Wasn’t that funny? No one seemed to care.
A woman with bushy red hair crossed the street, lamplight catching the shimmer of something in her hand. Is that Leslie? Before I could make out if it was her, she was gone, and I was left with more questions than answers, and a pounding headache.
9
“There’s nothing about them online,” I said, scrolling through the search results for Vera and Jack. “I can’t believe it. Neither of them has social media accounts.”
“Why is that so unbelievable?” Bee asked, applying a layer of lipstick, her focus on my bathroom mirror rather than my confusion.
“Everyone has social media nowadays.”
“I don’t,” Bee replied. “And neither do you.”
“We’re different, though. We had reasons for not having social media accounts. Jack and Vera…” I trailed off, tapping backspace and trying another combination of phrases to bring up results.
“Jack and Vera might have had their reasons too,” Bee pointed out.
“I don’t know. It’s strange.”
“It seems strange to you because you want to see strangeness,” Bee replied. “You’re obsessed with this case.”
“That’s a fairly shocking observation coming from the queen of investigation herself.”
“While I’ll gladly take the title,” Bee said, “I have to say that this case is open and shut.”
“You still think it was Jack.”
Bee capped her lipstick tube and slipped it into her purse. She looked lovely, her hair tucked back behind her ears, her mascara applied masterfully, and her thick woolen dress neat and cut just below the knee. “He’s the most obvious suspect, and I don’t think I’m alone in assuming that he was the one who did it.”
“I don’t think it was him.”
“This is the first time we’ve disagreed on the course of an investigation,” Bee said, tapping her chin. “It’s interesting.”
Frustrating more like.
“Anyway.” Bee walked to the door. “Let’s go have dinner. I’m starved.”
I reluctantly closed my laptop’s lid and followed my friend out into the hallway. We entered the well-lit dining area, a fire crackling in the grate. The tables closest to it were already taken, while the glass sliding doors that led out onto the terrace overlooking the creek were firmly shut.
No one would wander out there on a night as windy and cold as this. The weatherman, Stormy, had predicted a thunderstorm. I loved storms—they were a great opportunity to curl up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a good book.
We took our seats at a table with a view of the entire room, and a server arrived. It was Yannis, a Greek man with a thatch of thick, black hair. He smiled at us and rattled off the set menu for the evening.
“The roast chicken sounds divine,” Bee said. “Perfect for an evening like this.”
“Would you like that with roast potatoes or mash?” Yannis asked.
“Roast potatoes, please.”
“I’ll have the same. And a glass of wine wouldn’t go amiss.” I didn’t usually indulge, but it had been a holiday, and I needed something to take the edge off and warm me up.
“I’ll be right back with your orders,” Yannis said, hurrying off.
The other guests at the inn chatted amiably, some of them already eating their meals, others sipping from glasses or coffee cups. Jack was missing, notably, the table where he and Vera had sat by the windows empty.
Poor man.
Or he was a murderous man. But, no, I couldn’t force myself to believe that he’d done this, no matter how hard I tried.
“Ah!” Bee waved. “There’s Jules.”
The owner of the guesthouse sauntered over, straightening her apron with the Oaken Branch Guesthouse logo printed on the front pocket. “There you are, ladies,” she said. “How are you tonight? Cold as the rest of us? Can’t believe how quickly the seasons change. I swear, it was just summer the other day.”
“It feels that way, doesn’t it?” I asked. “Time passes too quickly.” Not that I hadn’t enjoyed the passing of the year. Just that it had been a strange one, from the traveling to the murders.
“Such a delicious selection of dishes tonight, Jules,” Bee said. “How do you do it?”
“The secret is having a good chef,” she replied. “He does all the work, and I get to spend time out here with the guests, gossiping to my heart’s content.” Jules intertwined her fingers, clasping her hands against her belly. “Speaking of which,” she continued in a whisper, “did you hear about Jack?”
“What about him?” Bee asked.
I tensed. What was it? Was he in trouble or… worse? Had the killer struck again?
“Apparently, he’s hired a nurse to come look after him,” Jules said. “Some local woman is going to have to take care of that murderer, and on Vera’s dime too.”
“I noticed you haven’t kicked him out yet,”
Bee said.
Jules colored. The last time there’d been a murder and we’d been the suspects, she’d booted us out of her gorgeous guesthouse and we’d wound up sleeping in the nastiest motel room imaginable.
“I learned my lesson after what happened the last time,” Jules said. “Innocent until proven guilty. Though, you’ve got to admit, Jack is looking mighty guilty.”
“How so?”
Bee pursed her lips but didn’t say anything about my belief that Jack was innocent.
“Oh, I haven’t told you, have I?” Jules asked.
“What?”
She placed one hand on the table, bending over and checking that none of the other guests were listening in. “I overheard Jack and Vera arguing the night before it happened.”
“Oh my,” I breathed. “What were they arguing about?”
“I couldn’t quite make it out, but Vera kept saying that he ought to be ashamed of himself. At the time, I felt sorry for Jack. It sounded like she was chewing him out for something he’d done wrong, but now… well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? She was a bully, and he finally snapped and killed her because he couldn’t take it anymore.”
My jaw dropped at the confidence of her proclamation.
“Ruby. We can see your molars.” Bee patted my arm.
I snapped my mouth shut. “Sorry,” I managed. “You think Vera was a bully? She seemed so nice.”
“Of course, she did. That’s the front she was putting up to fool everyone. But of course, she was mean behind closed doors, and that Jack couldn’t tell anyone. He can barely form a sentence. But he can sure wield a knife. Have you seen the size fo the man?” Jules asked. “Monstrous. I’m telling you, it’s only a matter of time until the police arrest him. You wait and see.” She winked at us like she’d told us one of her trade secrets, then minced off toward another of the tables, likely to spread more vitriolic gossip.
“She just victim-shamed Vera,” I said. “I’m beginning to think that Jules isn’t the nicest of people.”
“Beginning to?” Bee chuckled.
Our plates of delicious roast chicken arrived before we could discuss it any further, and I was too hungry to bother with Jules anymore. But my eyes wandered to the empty table in front of the windows.
Where was Jack?
10
Another day on the truck arrived, and with the view of the haunted house packing up. Staff members crawled over the structure, helping take it down and pack it into a waiting truck. It was fascinating to watch the process, and the staff members came over often to grab a drink or a bite to eat on their breaks.
“Pity they’re leaving,” Bee said, “it was such an experience having them here. Apart from that first night, obviously.”
“Yeah.” I handed a customer a cup of coffee and a Bite-sized Bakery box with donuts inside. “I’d like things to get back to normal around here.”
“Oh please, you love Halloween.”
“I do,” I said, “but I’d prefer less screaming while we serve cakes.”
“You’re just mad because of that.” Bee jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the specials board. Bee had pinned the picture of me having the scare of my life to the top corner of it.
I had to admit, it was pretty funny.
The photograph had caught me mid-scream, my hands grabbing for the clown’s arms, while he held the fake knife over my head, an evil grin on his disfigured lips.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Never,” Bee agreed, chuckling. My friend had been reserved lately, apart from when we’d gotten our palms read, and it was nice to see her smiling. If only I could figure out what had changed over the past couple days. Could there be a deeper reason for why she’d wanted to go to the fortuneteller?
I let go of the worries and continued serving our customers. I’d started getting used to the familiar faces of the locals. That was one of my favorite parts of arriving in a new town—learning more about the strange characters that inhabited them.
Halfway through our morning rush, a handsome man with perfectly coiffed brown hair stepped up to the front of the truck. He gave us a winning smile, and I stifled a gasp.
It was Stormy Winters, the weatherman. He was famous around these parts.
Bee made a soft cooing noise.
“Good morning, lovely ladies,” Stormy said, in his cheesy weatherman voice. “I finally get to meet you two. I’ve heard a lot about this food truck.”
“You have?” Bee asked, growing red in the cheeks.
“Oh yes. People in this town tend to talk, a lot.” He laughed.
“Is the studio here?” I asked.
“Why no, of course not,” he laughed. “I’m here visiting family. Well-earned break. And my uncle told me all about your delicious treats.” He raised his eyebrows and wiggled them at Bee.
She covered her mouth with her hand.
It was my turn to chuckle at her. “Thanks for the kind words. What can we get for you?” I asked.
“I’ll take a—”
A siren whooped in the street that ran past the town square, and two police cars pulled up, their lights flashing. Police officers jumped out, yelling, and Stormy turned and back-pedaled right into the truck, pale as a ghost.
But the cops weren’t here for him.
The activity was centered around a cream camper—the police officers demanded the person get out. The driver’s side door opened, and Jack emerged from within, shuffling, his eyes darting from side-to-side. He raised his hands, and the officers swarmed him. The cuffs came out.
Within minutes, it was all over. Jack had been read his rights and escorted off in the back of a police cruiser.
The tension broke, and customers who had frozen in line chattered like mad, gossip spreading among them.
Stormy Winters brushed off his tailored suit and faced us. “Well, that was something, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Bee said.
Stormy was subdued after that, and even Bee didn’t seem as overwhelmed by his presence anymore. We served him a box of cupcakes and a coffee, and he was off.
Bee stared after him. “Oh! I should’ve asked for his autograph.”
“An autograph from a weatherman?”
“He’s a local celebrity,” Bee said, scandalized. “Who wouldn’t want an autograph and a selfie?”
Our lunch break couldn’t come quick enough. My thoughts had gone wild with musings about Jack’s arrest. Bee and I settled onto a bench on the sidewalk with a view of our closed truck while we ate our lunch—two jelly-filled donuts and two milkshakes. Our coat collars were raised to shield against the breeze, but it was nice to sit out under the sun people-watching.
“What do you think about what happened?” I asked.
“I don’t know how to deal with it,” Bee said. “I feel so bad for not asking for an autograph.”
“I’m not talking about Stormy. I meant Jack getting arrested for the murder. I can’t believe it. I don’t think it was him, Bee. I just don’t.”
“Hmm.” Bee took a sip of her milkshake and fiddled with her straw, squeaking it against the plastic lid. “We disagree on this, Ruby. I believe they got the right man, and that there’s no point in worrying about this any further.”
“You’re not serious!” I gaped at her. “Bee. You don’t want to poke around a bit more and find the truth?”
“I mentioned this the other day, Ruby. It’s an open and shut case. There’s no reason for us to stick our necks out when we know who did it. It’s not a mystery. It’s solved.”
“I disagree.”
Bee sipped her milkshake again. “I don’t want to argue. I’m just telling you that I won’t be getting involved in this investigation. If you’re going to check this out, you’ll be on your own.” Bee got up. “Sorry.”
“So, you’re really not interested in the case?”
“No. I want to relax and bake and spend time getting to know the people in this town. We just helped them solve
a case, and it’s been a crazy year,” Bee said. “I need a break.”
“Oh.”
“See you on the truck in five.” And with that, Bee walked off. Conversation officially over.
I let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. I was usually the one who didn’t want anything to do with these cases. And now, I was on my own.
What did I do? Pursue this without my friend at my side? It didn’t seem right. But neither was leaving Jack to take the fall for a crime he hadn’t committed. What option did I have left? I had to find out who’d done this, even if it was Jack, so I’d know that I hadn’t let him down.
I rose and waved to Bee, signaling that I needed a longer break, then set off walking, dipping my hands into the front pocket of my apron, anxiety driving me forward.
11
I paced down the street adjacent to the town square, frustration bubbling in me like a potion in a witch’s cauldron. Who could I talk to about this? Where could I turn? The only person I spoke to about investigations wasn’t interested in this one.
Man, it was a good thing I hadn’t told Bee about promising to help Jack. She probably would’ve been furious with me. Or she’d have… what helped me? I wasn’t sure. She was different this week, and it was a struggle because Bee was the only person I trusted implicitly.
You can still trust her.
I brought my phone out of the front pocket of my apron, the street and the stores, with their quaint sign boards decrying specials and discounts in chalk, blurring by.
My finger hovered over the screen.
I shrugged, then opened my contacts and dialed Jamie’s number.
This is stupid. He probably won’t care about your problems.
“Ruby.” Jamie’s warm, chocolatey voice came down the line.
I smiled, involuntarily. “Hello, Jamie. How are you?”
“Better now that you’re calling me.”
Darn it, there were those butterflies again. Whenever I spoke to Jamie, they cropped up. “I, uh, OK.”
“How about you?” Jamie asked. “Everything going well?”
Trick or Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 12 Page 4
