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

by Point, Rosie A.

  “Interested.” Francescan snapped her fingers. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll, like, see what I can do.”

  “I was hoping you could—”

  “Wait a second.” Francescan produced a phone out of her pocket. She held down the record button on the screen and pouted. “Hey everyone, like, just wanted to let you know there won’t be a donut post this morning. But, and this is, like, a major but, I will have a special surprise later on. You just wait. Kiss, kiss, babies. Love you.”

  I tried not to openly cringe at her.

  “OK,” she said, tucking her phone away. “Let’s go. What do you need?”

  “I need to know who Heathcliff is and where he lives.”

  “Oh, that’s super easy,” Francescan replied. “Heathcliff is the super hottest of hot emo guys who never went to college. Totally unattainable and broody. I heard he has a girlfriend now, but I wouldn’t trust that news because he’s like… I don’t know, resistant to my charms. And if he doesn’t want me, then, like, yeah. Whatever.”

  I wasn’t even sure what that meant. “So, he’s a young guy?”

  “Yeah, like, a little too young for you, sorry.”

  I blushed. “I wasn’t asking for me. Not in the romantic sense.”

  “Oh, OK. He lives with his mom on 20 Woodbury Lane. You want me to take you there? I totally can. It would be great to see him again.” She raised her phone, and I feared another social media video or, worse, she’d summon a pink batmobile out of nowhere.

  “No, thanks! I’ve got this. Thank you. I’ll bring over your box of donuts as soon as the truck opens, OK?”

  “Oh totally. That’s great. Can’t wait.” Francescan tapped her screen and pouted again. “Hey, my babies, so just a heads up that I’m going to be super busy today with my new fashion line. I’ll be showing you a few sneak peeks before the end of the day. Keep an eye out for a special donut surprise too. Ooh.” She gave a faux shiver and blew a kiss.

  I cringed my way out of there, pulling out my phone as I went. I plugged Heathcliff’s address into my maps app and set the destination.

  Heaven only knew what I’d find when I got there.

  14

  Heathcliff’s house was just as fancy as Laci’s had been. Another two-story affair, this one with brick walls and a wraparound porch, it glared down at me in disdain as I approached the tall front gate. It opened, and none other than Rebecca, the dark-haired suspect, emerged. She was followed by a tall, dark-haired young man.

  They stopped on the sidewalk, shared a kiss that was far too steamy for a public display of affection, and then Becca pranced off. The guy, I assumed it was Heathcliff, sauntered back inside and shut the gate without noticing my presence.

  So, Becca and Heathcliff are having an affair? Can it be called that when the participants are college-aged?

  I let out a breath and checked my watch. Bee would expect me on the truck in about twenty minutes. I needed to get my information, get out of here, and then deliver Francescan a box of free donuts as a thank you. Without letting Bee know what the thank you was for.

  Being covert was so exhausting.

  I headed up to the now silent house and hit the buzzer next to the gate. Minutes passed. Leaves danced across the yard, driven by swirling wind.

  Finally, the front door of the house opened, and that same lanky guy with long, black hair appeared. He swept it out of his eyes, which were encircled in kohl, and stared at me from afar. “Who are you?” he called. “And what do you want?”

  “I’m looking for Heathcliff,” I replied.

  He hesitated, fiddling with his black bracelets. He took a lazy stroll down the path, past perfectly trimmed hedges, and now barren flowerbeds.

  “Why?” He folded his arms over his skinny chest.

  “I wanted to talk to you about, well, this is going to sound strange, but about two girls you know? They’re in college. Their names are Laci and Rebecca.”

  “Yeah? So? Why?” Heathcliff’s dark eyes cut into me.

  “They were there on the night that Vera died?”

  “Who?”

  “Surely you heard about the murder in the haunted house on Halloween?” I asked. “It’s all over the newspapers.”

  “I don’t read news.”

  “OK…” This was more difficult than I’d thought it would be. And I had thought it would be super difficult. “OK, well, so, uh, apparently they were overheard talking about you? They wanted to tell you something or the other?”

  He puffed out his lips and let out air. “What the—” He snorted. “So, you thought you’d come to my house and ask me about it? That’s none of your business, you… freak. Who does that? Get out of here before I call the cops.”

  “Uh… Uh, I, uh—”

  “Seriously. Leave.”

  I backed away from the gate, hot and sweaty again. How had this gone so wrong? When Bee and I spoke to people about our suspicions, it usually went great. We’d bring cakes or donuts, and they’d invite us inside, spill the beans, and give us clues without even realizing it.

  Was it just me? Was I this bad at investigating?

  “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Get lost.”

  I scurried back down the sidewalk, mentally kicking myself for what I’d done. But, at least, I’d found out who he was, and that Rebecca had been smooching Laci’s boyfriend.

  This is ridiculous. So what if Rebecca and Heathcliff are having an affair? So what? It’s got nothing to do with anything. I was so clueless about the murder and so desperate to help Jack, even though there was no evidence to clear him, that I’d managed to get involved in a love triangle between three college students.

  On the plus side, at least I wasn’t going to be late getting back to the food truck.

  * * *

  A long day on the truck had brought me nothing but more questions about what had happened. Not that anything had come to light. I’d had plenty of time to mull over the facts or lack thereof.

  And I was officially clueless.

  I hadn’t written down any illuminating notes or figured out any connections, and Bee was more than happy to continue with her usual baking and serving endeavors.

  Evening had arrived, and we sat at a table in the pizzeria in the center of town, right across from where we usually parked our truck, our glasses half-full of soda, and our gazes on the menu. I’d read it three times already, and I still didn’t know what I wanted.

  I played with the checked tablecloth and glanced around, frowning.

  “Not sure what you want?” Bee asked. “Because I know what I’m getting.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “A buffalo chicken pizza with extra cheese.” Bee licked her lips. “Large. I’m so in the mood for pizza. And if I have leftovers, I’m taking them with me and snacking at the guesthouse.”

  “This place does make great pizza,” I managed.

  “What’s wrong?” Bee asked. “You’re not paying attention to the menu. You love pizza.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Ruby, I think I know you well enough by now. You’re not fine. Go on, spill the beans. Did something happen this morning? You went for your walk and when you came back, you were spaced out.”

  “Well…” I didn’t want to tell her. It would only stress her out, and she’d said she didn’t want to get involved. “I went hunting for clues this morning.” I crumbled.

  “Clues? About what?” Bee paused, and then her gray eyebrows lifted. “About Vera’s murder? Rubes, that case is closed.”

  “Yeah but…”

  “But what? Why are you so invested in this? There’s no reason to keep investigating when the case has been solved. Jack has already been arraigned for the murder.”

  “I don’t believe he did it,” I said. “I told you that. And just because the police say it’s a closed case, doesn’t mean it is. Bee, you used to be so motivated to solve cases. All of a sudden, I’m on my own and you’re showing no interest whatsoever.”
>
  “Wow.”

  “What? It’s true,” I said, and lowered my voice. I’d been close to yelling at her, and a few of the other diners in the pizzeria had turned their heads. Thankfully, the Italian-inspired music blasting through the speakers had drowned out some of what I’d said.

  “It’s true that I don’t want to get involved, yes. Because the cops figured out who did it, and it’s the same person I thought did it too,” Bee said. “What is your obsession with Jack? Do you have a crush on him or something?”

  “No!” I balled my hands into fists under the table. “No, I don’t. I just—I promised him that I’d help him, and I don’t go back on my promises, Bee.”

  “You promised him?” Bee asked. “You… promised him?” She let out a sigh that carried so much disappointment it nearly pinned me to my chair. “I knew you had soft spot for the guy, but I had no idea you promised him anything. Why would you do that?”

  “Because he’s innocent. There’s no way that he did it.” Even as I said it, I heard how ridiculous it sounded. “And I think it’s… it’s just mean that you don’t want to help me.”

  “Ruby—”

  “No.” I got up. “Every time we’ve had a case, and I haven’t wanted to get involved, you’ve basically told me that we need to solve it, or you’ve twisted my ear, or whatever, even when I’ve been afraid. And I’ve always gone along with you. Now that I need help, you won’t budge. It’s not fair.”

  “That’s because—”

  “Don’t say the case is closed,” I snapped. “Don’t.” Now, people in the restaurant openly stared at me. “You know what? I’ve lost my appetite.” I left my friend sitting at the table, tears welling in my eyes, brought on by a mixture of sorrow and frustration.

  15

  “You’re back early,” Jules said, cheerily, from her spot at the front desk in the guesthouse.

  I forced myself not to slam the front doors behind me. The weather was miserable outside, and I’d walked back to the inn, leaving Bee the food truck’s keys, under a bruising sky and the threatening rumbles of distant thunder.

  The guesthouse’s interior smelled amazing—Jules’ chef had cooked up another wondrous meal for dinner, but my stomach turned at the thought of eating. I’d left Bee sitting alone in the pizzeria and had stormed out like a child.

  Even worse, the walk back to the Oaken Branch hadn’t cured me of my anger.

  “You look upset,” Jules observed. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  And have it spread all over town that Bee and I are in the middle of an argument? Hard pass. “I’m fine,” I grated it out.

  “Heavens,” Jules said. “Why don’t you go sit in the living room by the fire to warm up? I’ll bring you a mug of hot chocolate with melting marshmallows. That always makes me feel better when I’m in a mood.”

  I glared at her then softened. What was wrong with me? She was trying to help. “Thank you, Jules, that’s very kind of you.”

  “Of course.” She got up and walked to the dining area’s door. “I’ll bring it to you in five, all right?”

  I nodded, solemnly.

  It would do me good to have time alone. The first thing Bee would do when she came home was knock on my bedroom door. Better that I wasn’t there to talk to her. I couldn’t trust myself to keep my temper.

  I ran down the hall to my room, let myself in and grabbed my laptop from my bedside table. In the living room, I took a place in front of the fire, thankful for the closed doors and the crackling warmth, even though I had nothing but my own fears and doubts for company.

  What if Bee quit because of how I’d spoken to her? I’d simply have to apologize, and we’d move past this, right?

  Was I even ready to apologize when I was still angry about what had happened?

  A knock rat-tatted against the living room door and Jules entered bearing the promised mug of hot chocolate. She set it down on the coffee table then tucked her hands behind her back and turned to the fireplace. “Lovely and toasty warm in here, isn’t it?”

  “It’s great,” I said, but I wasn’t in the mood to chat. “Thanks for the hot chocolate.”

  “No problem. I pride myself on knowing what my guests need at all times.”

  I opened my laptop and hit the power button. Hopefully, a little research would set me at ease. Or help me forget the fight.

  “Where’s Bee?” Jules asked. “I thought you two were having dinner tonight?”

  “Uh…” I trailed off, chewing the inside of my cheek. There was no polite way to tell Jules to leave me alone. And she wasn’t exactly the type of person who’d take a hint. “She decided to have pizza, and I wasn’t that hungry.”

  “Oh dear, are you feeling ill?” Jules asked. “I’ve never known you not to enjoy a good meal.”

  She’d known me all of two weeks, but she was technically right. I loved food. “Yes, feeling a bit sick. In the stomach.”

  “Oh, and the drug stores are closed. I can fix you some tea. I’ve got a great home remedy for a sore tummy.”

  “No, thank you, the hot chocolate is perfect.”

  “A bit rich for your stomach, though,” Jules said, facing me. “Maybe I should take it away. Unless you feel like having something to eat. We’ve got hamburgers on the menu.”

  Bee loved hamburgers. “Uh—”

  “Or I could have the chef fix you some eggs?”

  “A hamburger would be great.” I wasn’t even hungry, but I’d do anything to be rid of her at this point.

  “Great! Be right back.” Jules hurried from the room and shut the door.

  I brought my attention to the laptop’s screen to stop myself from thinking too much about my argument with Bee. There had to be something I could do to prove Jack’s innocence.

  My finger tapped on the laptop’s keypad and opened the image I’d downloaded from the haunted house’s social media page.

  Vera was caught mid-scream, Jack right next to her. There was the evil clown with his knife, and Leslie, the kind witch, dressed as a hippie. And then, the girls. Becca shrieking, and Laci, eyes wide, one hand behind her back.

  Wait a second. One hand behind her back? I hadn’t noticed that before. There was something in it, wasn’t there?

  I leaned in, glaring at the image, willing it to show me more than it could. Neither of the girls had weapons, yes, but what was Laci hiding? Was it a knife? It had a silver glint, but I couldn’t say for sure.

  “It’s got to be,” I whispered. “It’s got to be. She’s holding the knife behind her back.” That was what they were talking about in the treehouse the other day. My mind spun with the possibilities.

  But why? Why would these two girls want to murder Vera? And what did Heathcliff have to do with it?

  I had no idea, but my gut told me that the answer was hidden in that treehouse. That was there spot, and if they’d done something, the evidence would be there. Or they would be there, and I could question them. Because that would go down well.

  No, no, they were up to something. They’d been secretive, and this picture with Laci holding a knife, I was sure it was a knife now, proved that they’d had something to do with it.

  Shoot, hadn’t they been especially pale that day too?

  I got up, the hot chocolate forgotten, and headed for the door.

  Jules entered the living room before I reached it. “Oh! Going to the ladies’ room?” She held a burger on a plate.

  “No. I have to go. I—listen, Jules, can you tell Bee something for me?”

  “Of course.” She perked up at the thought of more gossip to share.

  “Tell her that I’m going to Laci’s house, and that if I’m not back by, uh, by 10 pm, she knows what to do, OK?”

  “I think I’ve got that, yes. Do you want to take your burger with you?” Jules asked.

  “No, thank you,” I said. “I’m good.” I was also about to catch a murderer. Or prove that my hunches were incorrect, and I’d burned my hair, my forehead, and strained m
y back for nothing.

  16

  Laci’s house was shrouded in darkness—either nobody was home or they’d all gone to sleep. Either way, I had to be sneaky if I wanted to do this. And I did want to do this, right? My insides had twisted into knots, but I was sure that Laci had been holding a knife behind her back now.

  There was no other weapon in the picture apart from the clown’s collapsible knife. It had to be her. If I could just find the weapon…

  Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  I checked my watch—it was 9:30pm—and let out a breath. If I didn’t do it now, I never would.

  The coast was clear, the houses in the street quiet, and I hopped the picket fence and scurried along the side of the house, keenly aware of how loud my footsteps were. There was no way Becca and Laci were in the treehouse—its singular window was dark too.

  I reached the tree, grabbed hold of the rungs of the attached ladder and climbed up. I rammed my head into the trapdoor and winced at the noise, pressing my hand to the wood above me.

  Ouch.

  Carefully, I lifted the trapdoor and clambered inside. The wooden boards were rough underneath my jeans and the inside of the treehouse smelled faintly of cigarette and old paper. I brought my phone out of my pocket and switched on the flashlight app.

  The blue beam of light showed me the comfy interior of the treehouse. Murders or not, Laci had done her best to make the place look nice. There were worn throw pillows in the corners, a set of candles on top of a shoebox—talk about a fire waiting to happen—and a dirt shovel in the corner.

  Wait, what? A dirty shovel in the corner?

  I crouch-walked over to it and lifted it, carefully. Yeah, the soil on the shovel’s blade was fresh. They had buried something recently. In the back yard below? There was only one way to find out.

  I shuffled to the trapdoor and threw the shovel down. I descended the ladder then collected the shovel again and lifted my flashlight, hoping the beam wouldn’t wake anyone in the house. Tension banded the muscles in my neck and shoulders.