Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1 Read online

  Get Early Access to My Books For FREE!

  Every two weeks you’ll get a new Cozy Novella from me absolutely FREE.

  Sign up now! http://bit.ly/KarenSullivan

  Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright 2016 by Guardian Publishing Group - All rights reserved.

  All rights Reserved. No part of this publication or the information in it may be quoted from or reproduced in any form by means such as printing, scanning, photocopying or otherwise without prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 1

  “Have a beautiful day,” Catherine said and handed the customer the brown paper bag. The Cat’s Cookies logo peered up at her from the front – a winking cat – and she grinned.

  Another perfect day in her favorite place in the world. Her very own Cookie Store.

  “These Cheeky Choc Chips are selling like crazy,” Lacy said and waved her hands above her head. “They can’t get enough. Look at the line.”

  Her assistant pawed at her apron, straightened it, then cleared her throat. Lacy had a bit of an anxious streak, add the sugar habit and the recipe for disaster presented itself. This much stress couldn’t be easy for her.

  Cat reached over and clipped her best friend on the shoulder. “Relax. We’ve got plenty more where this came from. Besides, we’ll just bake more tomorrow morning. Maybe a couple more of the Brittle Caramel Swirls, and we’ll be good. Don’t stress out about it, okay?”

  Lacy pushed out her lips and wiggled them – her signature, ‘not buying that’ expression.

  “Heya, Cat.” Jeffrey stepped up to the front of the glass counter, embellished with silver, metal swirls at either end and tapped on the glass. “I’ll take two of your Choc Chips to go.”

  “No coffee today?” Catherine asked, and peered past Jeff at the center table in the storefront. Beth hadn’t come in this morning. Or maybe she had. Cat had hardly any time to chat, regardless, even if it was with the woman who’d gifted her the store.

  Nerves tickled at Cat’s navel – Beth hadn’t missed a morning chat in the two years since she’d handed over the keys.

  “Nope. I’ve got a big business meeting today.” Jeffrey flashed a grin, then ruffled his bright, orange hair. “A contractor pulled out of the deal to build a new hotel on the waterfront. That means I’m in with a chance.”

  Catherine accepted his money, rang up the order, then handed him his paper baggie. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  The noise reverberated through the small space. Light filtered through the windows, from the busy street outside. Iconic buildings reared opposite Cat’s Cookies, wearing their signature Capitol Street colors: beige and white. Trees poked out of holes in the brick-lined sidewalk, the wrought iron street lamps competing for space alongside them.

  Charleston. Her home away from home. The only place Catherine had ever felt accepted and loved and –

  “Hey, you wanna help me over here?” Lacy called, and panic seeped into her tone.

  Cat spun on the spot and rushed to the faulty coffee machine in one corner. A customer stood beside Lacy and tapped her heeled boot. She checked her watch.

  “This is taking forever. I’m just going to go to the Starbucks. Forget about it,” the woman said, then tossed her flaxen hair back.

  “Wait, please,” Cat said, and closed one eye. “We’ve had some trouble with our coffee machine lately, but I can add a free Choc Chip cookie to your order.”

  “Ah, it’s working!” Lacy said, and flourished her hands. She pressed a button, and the machine’s milk steamer gushed hot air. “Whoops! Wrong button.”

  “I don’t want a cookie,” the woman said, and twiddled her fingers at Catherine. “I’m on a diet. Hello.”

  Oh, shoot. Cat couldn’t relate. The minute she’d hit forty years old, she’d sworn off diets for good. What was the point – she’d rather enjoy her cookies than eat carrot sticks.

  “Then you’re in luck,” Cat replied, and beckoned for the woman to follow her back to winding line at the front counter. “I’ve got just the cookie for you. A low fat, gluten-free Mojito Mint Cookie with your name written on it.”

  The woman eyed the counter, then glanced back at Lacy. Cat’s assistant had embroiled herself in a downright war with the coffee machine. She turned, gave Cat a thumbs up, then returned to the battle.

  “Here you go,” Cat said and picked up a pair of antique tongs from the ledge below the counter. She slid the glass open, reached in and retrieved the Mojito Mint, then bagged it. “Enjoy.” She handed the bag over.

  The woman accepted it between two fingers and lifted her nose. “Thank you,” she said, stiffly.

  “And here’s your coffee,” Lacy yelled. She sprinted across the room – only twenty-year old’s could sprint like that – and skidded to a halt in front of Miss Rude-pants.

  The woman took that too, then fished a few dollars out of her purse and paid. She marched out of the store without another word.

  “Sheesh,” Lacy said, and grabbed a serviette from the pile next to the register. She dabbed at her forehead. “I hate to say it, but you’re going to need to get another assistant. This place is out of control.”

  “Don’t be dramatic,” Cat said and winked at her. “We’re doing just fine.”

  The front door opened, and customers streamed inside, yammering, clamoring, the works.

  “All right,” Cat said. “You might have a point.”

  Lacy hurried to the coffee machine and banged on it with her fist. “Don’t give up on my yet,” she said.

  A few of the customers at the front of the line stared at her.

  “May I help you?” Cat asked.

  “Three Cheeky Choc Chips,” the old woman replied.

  “Coming right up!” Cat cared about three things: cookies, Oreo her mischievous pet kitty, and her friends.

  Lacy and Beth were family to her. The only family she’d ever had.

  “Would you like a coffee with that?” Cat asked.

  Lacy banged on the coffee machine again, then pressed a button. Hot water dribbled from the nozzle and onto the grate next to the Styrofoam cup.

  The woman paid and accepted the bag. She eyed the ongoing war at the coffee station. “No, thank you.”

  A police officer stepped up to the counter next, decked out in his lawman blues. His bright green gaze landed on the counter, then flicked to her face. “Mrs. Kelley?”

  “That’s Miss, and what can I get you, officer?” Cat asked.

  He ruffled his dirty blonde hair at the back of his head. “I need to ask you a couple of questions,” he replied. He sure had that handsome detective thing going on.

  “Questions? Uh, I’m a little busy right now, officer. We’re in the middle of the brunc
h rush.”

  “Why won’t you work?” Lacy growled and pressed more buttons on the coffee machine.

  “I’m afraid this can’t wait, Miss Kelley. We need to talk. In private.”

  Cat stepped back from the counter and brushed off her palms on her apron. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”

  The officer’s expression didn’t alter a whit. Gray flecked the blond hairs at his temples. A frown wrinkled his tan brow.

  “Lacy. Forget the coffee for a second. Put up an out of order sign on the machine and man the counter. I’ll be back in five,” Cat said.

  Her assistant hurried to the counter.

  The officer nodded once and walked to the side of the room, to the spot beside the stairs which led up to Cat’s home above the store. He didn’t look happy.

  “Make that ten minutes,” she whispered, and a deep sense of foreboding settled on her shoulders.

  Chapter 2

  Catherine sat down on her checked sofa and gestured for the officer to take a seat on the armchair beside her old TV set. He didn’t sit down, but he flashed a small, tight smile.

  It slipped off his face like cookie crumbs off a toddler’s fingers.

  “Should I be worried, officer, uh. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Detective Jack Bradshaw,” he said, and folded his arms. He stared her down.

  “Well, I would introduce myself, but you already know my name, where I work and where I live,” Cat said and chuckled. A nervous, squeak of a laugh.

  She’d never spoken to an officer; other than the time she’d gotten a speeding ticket. Innocent mistake, she’d missed a turn-off and continued at the same speed but –

  “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” the Detective said.

  Cat interlaced her fingers and placed her hands on her knees. Oreo wandered through the door which led into the kitchen, and meowed once. He turned yellow eyes on the newcomer, then padded to the sofa.

  He hopped up, then crawled into Cat’s lap and proceeded to needle massage her lap. Needle massage – her nickname for the clawing he did each time he fell asleep.

  “Cut it out, Oreo,” she whispered, and nudged him back.

  “Miss Kelley,” Detective Bradshaw said. “I regret to inform you that Beth Walters is dead.”

  The sofa crashed into her back. No, she’d collapsed against it. She sucked in great, big gasps. Shock trembled through her legs. “No,” she said. Oreo’s weight pinned her to the sofa.

  Bradshaw’s tough expression wavered, but he slammed regained his composure. “Miss Walters fell off the pier in the early hours of this morning at the Waterfront Park. She was found –”

  “Impossible,” Cat said.

  “Pardon me?”

  “That’s impossible. Beth was obsessed with fishing. She’s spent more time fishing off that pier than she has eating cookies in my store. She was an experienced swimmer too.” Sure, Cat’s benefactor had been nearly seventy, but she’d had the constitution of a thirty-year-old.

  Detective Bradshaw unfolded his arms. He stared at her, weighing her like flour on the scale. “Mrs. Walters appears to have been knocked on the back of the head, prior to falling into the water. Blunt force trauma is the official term.”

  Cat pressed her palms to her eyes to block it out. Beth. Her Beth. The woman who’d helped her set herself up after she’d arrived in Charleston fresh out of a corporate position she’d despised. And she was gone?

  “I don’t want to believe this. No one I knew would want to hurt Beth. She was an amazing person,” Cat said, and finally dropped her hands.

  Jack Bradshaw brought his notepad and pen out of his pocket. “Beth’s family, a Mr. Joseph Walters and Mrs. Tara Walters, has informed us that her will had been changed at the last moment,” he said.

  “Where are you going with this?” Catherine asked, and narrowed her eyes.

  “They’ve informed us that you are the sole benefactor of Mrs. Walter’s inheritance.”

  “What? That’s – wait, you don’t think I had something to do with this?” Cat asked, then stood up straight as an arrow.

  Oreo hissed and landed on the floorboards, then padded off. He flicked his tail at her.

  “Because that’s plain ridiculous. I had no interest in Beth’s money. She was my friend. No, she was family,” Catherine said.

  “Is it true that she gave you this building?”

  “Yeah, but what’s that –?”

  “How did you persuade Mrs. Walters to give it to you?” Bradshaw asked and clicked his ballpoint pen.

  Cat’s jaw dropped. She snapped it closed, then squared her shoulders. “I don’t appreciate this line of questioning, Detective.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “She was an old friend of my mother’s. I met up with her after my parent’s passed. She knew I had a passion for baking and wanted to help me set myself up –”

  “So, she just gave it to you?” Bradshaw asked.

  “Yes! She was a giving human being.” Which was more than she could’ve said for this guy. “I’ll tell you something else. Beth hardly ever saw her relatives.”

  “Why not?” The Detective asked.

  Cat’s irritation had peaked. “Because they tried to siphon money out of her. They didn’t care about who she was. They just saw her as the wealthy grandmother. A walking payday.” The gall of those people, accusing her.

  “I see,” Detective Bradshaw said. Though, it didn’t seem like it. “I think that’s all I need, for now, Miss Kelley. I’ll be in touch.” He turned and walked to the door, his shoes clicking on the wood.

  Catherine ground her teeth and glared at his back. “Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town?”

  He paused a foot from the exit and looked back over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Miss Kelley. I’m good at what I do. If you left, I’d find you.”

  And then he strode from the room and out of her apartment. The front door slammed shut behind him.

  Chapter 3

  Cat stood outside the Walters residence, grasping a folded cardboard box of Cheek Choc Chip cookies. The two-story house glared down at her. The veiled windows disapproved of her presence, and Catherine squared her shoulders

  “This place is fancy,” Lacy said and readjusted her black skirt and pillbox hat. “It’s like a mansion, not a house.”

  An outside door opened on the upstairs patio and a blonde woman, draped in pearls, stepped up to the railing. She matched the house’s empty stare and sneered at them.

  “Cat? Maybe we shouldn’t have come. Given what they said about you, this isn’t exactly going to be a pleasant –”

  “Beth was more our family than she was theirs, Lace. We’re doing this. I wouldn’t miss her memorial service for the world.” And if she discovered why the Walters family had accused her of murder at the same time, all the better.

  “Okay, I just know you’re angry, and when you get mad, you can get a little boisterous.”

  Catherine cleared her throat and stepped onto the stone paved path which led to the sweeping front porch. “I’m not angry. I’m enraged. There’s a minuscule difference.”

  Lacy puffed her cheeks out.

  “Relax, I promise I won’t do anything. I outgrew temper tantrums at three,” she said and popped up a smile for her young friend’s benefit. The first smile since she’d discovered Beth had passed.

  No, she’d been murdered and whoever had done it wanted it to seem like she was the culprit.

  Catherine stepped onto the bottom stair. Lacy joined her. They nodded to each other, then traversed the staircase and halted in front of the door. It stood ajar, and a cool breeze wafted past them.

  “Candles,” Lacy said, and wriggled her nose.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I smell candles,” Lace replied. She had the nose of a blood hound.

  Catherine moved across the threshold and followed the sound of chatter, down a long wooden hall. Family portraits lined the walls – images o
f four people: a surly day, that same pearl-bedecked woman, a young boy and a girl who’d shifted away from the other three slightly. Not exactly the image of a happy family.

  “Here we go,” Cat said and turned into the living room.

  People milled around the space, eating savory snacks and drinking cool sodas and pink lemonade. An image of Beth sat on top of a Grand Piano in the corner – the photo had probably been taken years ago, but Cat couldn’t reconcile the woman in the picture with the one she’d come to love as a second mother.

  The Walters had chosen a straight-laced photograph. Beth had been anything but straight-laced. She’d dyed her hair purple for heaven’s sake.

  A few of the guests glanced up and spotted her. They fell silent. That quiet spread across the room. People turned and stared, narrowed their eyes, shook their heads.

  “Told you,” Lacy whispered. “What did I tell you?”

  “Practice your breathing, Lace.”

  Lacy sucked in air through her nose and breathed gently out her mouth. She snorted a couple of times in between. A few of the guests shifted their gazes to her, instead. That didn’t help Lacy’s panic. Her breathing exercises turned into a mini-hyperventilation attack.

  “What are those?” A woman asked, behind them.

  They turned on the spot – Lace complexion colored a lovely shade of mauve – and blinked at the young, uh, lady.

  “They’re Choc Chip cookies from my bakery,” Cat said. She didn’t want to be rude, but this girl’s hair and makeup reminded her of something out of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

  The college student swept bright, pink locks back from her forehead, and slouched against the wall beside the door. Eyeshadow blackened her lids, and she’d smeared on dark lipstick to match it.

  Lacy’s mauve color paled to a rosy pink.

  The chatter behind them swelled again – no doubt she’d triggered a festival of gossip on arrival.

  Cat stepped up to the girl, wearing a tight grin. “I’m Catherine Kelley, but you can call me Cat. What’s your name?”

  The woman didn’t extend a hand. “I’m Rachel Walters.” She folded her arms and eyed the box of cookies in Cat’s hands.