Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1 Page 3

  Catherin sighed. She had pushed him a little far. But that extra push had just given her a new lead. “I’m sorry, detective. I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position.”

  He brushed off his dark blue shirt, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “That’s, it’s, yes, it’s all right.”

  “Thank you for coming out here,” Cat said. She’d been pretty freaked at the thought of a stranger in her bakery.

  “It’s what I do,” the detective replied. “I’ll see myself out, Miss Kelley. There’ no need to come downstairs.”

  “Thanks,” Cat said and glanced at the TV.

  “Yeah, I’ll leave you with your dance lessons,” he said, and his mouth twitched again. An almost smile.

  His almost smile was cute.

  Cat shook her head to get that thought out. “Good night, detective,” she said.

  “Miss Kelley,” he grunted, then turned and marched back down the hall. The door closed a second later, then the gate after that. His footsteps echoed down the stairs and into the bakery.

  Oreo hopped into her lap and settled. His purr radiated through her sweats, and she stroked his velvety ears.

  “The pier,” Cat whispered. “That’s our next lead, Oreo. We’ve got to get down there and find out what happened.” She practiced a few breathing exercises, then leaned her head against the sofa cushions. This was ridiculous. She couldn’t let a little break-in, and a strange note set her on edge.

  Tomorrow, she’d go back to the scene of the crime. What would Bradshaw think about that?

  Chapter 7

  Lacy and Cat stood shoulder to shoulder, staring at the slatted bench.

  “This is it?” Lacy asked.

  “Yeah, this was her favorite bench. She used to come here on days like this. Sunny Saturdays,” Catherine replied, then sighed and ran a hand through her shoulder-length dark hair.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone,” Lacy replied.

  The crash of waves against the rocks interrupted her sentence. Lacy stepped up to the bench, then turned and sat down. She looked out at the ocean, and a salty breeze tussled her short-cut red locks. She shivered, then pointed out at the pier.

  Catherine followed her gaze.

  Three or four men stood huddled together on the end of the stone and wood construction, their fishing poles on their shoulders.

  “Is that where it happened?” Lacy asked.

  “I can’t be sure. But it was somewhere here. And that means the killer was here too,” Cat replied. She narrowed her eyes at the huddle of fishermen, then sniffed. The strong tang of fish hit her olfactory cells full on. “Wow. Kinda fresh out here.”

  “Tell me about it,” Lacy replied.

  Catherine strolled down the wooden walkway and folded her arms against her pale yellow cardigan. The men on the pier hadn’t noticed her, yet.

  “Hey, wait for me,” Lacy said. She rushed up beside Cat and tapped her on the arm. “You can’t just leave me back there. I mean, there’s a killer on the loose, right? What if he decided I was next? What if –?”

  “The sky fell on your head?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” Lacy said.

  “If you continue freaking out like that I’m going to start calling you Chicken Little.” Catherine linked arms with her friend and led her down the dock.

  Seagulls cawed overhead, scoping the area for a quick bite to eat. They swept down and landed on the end of the pier, white and black bodies far too fat for scavengers.

  Beth had loved them. She’d fed them bait, and bits of fish and other gross tidbits Cat hadn’t asked about. Bleh.

  The women turned onto the pier, then strolled down.

  Shouts reached their ears. The fishermen huddle didn’t budge, but the men glared at each other across the short distance which separated them.

  “I didn’t touch the old lady. She was my friend too, George. You’ve lost your tackle if you think I have it in me to –”

  “Uh huh?” The shorter guy asked, and tapped his heel on the rough boards. “Then how come you were the last one to leave the pier the other night, when she was here. Huh? Explain that. I bet you did do it. You should be ashamed of yourself. She was a saint!”

  “She reminded me of my great grandma,” another man said, and dabbed a crusty handkerchief beneath his lower eyelids.

  “She was everyone’s grandma,” the short man yelled.

  “Keep it down,” the final fisherman said, a portly guy in a loose shirt. He pointed at Cat and Lacy. “We’ve got company.”

  The men turned to face them, and Lacy tugged on Cat’s arm. But Cat didn’t stop moving. She walked right up to the group and flashed them her brightest smile. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Catherine Kelley.”

  “We know who you are,” the tall man said. The guy who’d been accused of hurting Beth. “We heard that you’re the one that’s getting all Beth’s money.”

  “I’m not,” Cat replied. She hadn’t heard anything about a will or money, apart from accusations, and she didn’t care, for that matter. “I was one of Beth’s closest friend’s though.”

  “Bob,” the tall man said, and extended a grimy hand.

  Cat shook it. Lacy grimaced.

  “George.” That came from the short man. “The fat guy is Bill, and the weepy guy is Leonard.”

  “They’re like the seven dwarves,” Lacy said, “only there’s four of them.”

  “Who are you calling a dwarf?” George replied, and drew himself up straight. He shifted the fishing pole against his shoulder.

  “Oh no,” Lace said, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant –”

  Cat waved a hand to draw attention from the fishermen – and to take the heat off her best friend. “I’m investigating Beth’s murder.”

  “You’re not a cop,” George said and folded his stubby arms. “Show me your badge.”

  “You’re absolutely right, George,” Catherine replied. The wind whisked her hair around her face, and it whipped her across the nose. She hooked it back behind her ear. “I’m not a cop. But the cops think I did it, and I loved Beth with all my heart.”

  “Oh, Beth,” Leonard wailed, then dabbed at his eyes again.

  “So, you didn’t kill her, then?” Bill asked, and adjusted the hem of his pants around his expansive girth.

  “Of course, she killed her,” George yelled. “She’d say anything to get out of it.”

  “A second ago, you said I killed her,” Bob replied, and lifted a finger into the air. “Everyone shut up and listen to what this nice lady has to say.”

  George pouted and examined the end of his fishing pole. “Fine.”

  “Right,” Cat said and searched her thoughts. She had to get back on track after the interruption. “Right, so as I was saying, I’ve taken to investigating.”

  “So you can pin the murder on someone else,” George grumbled, and Bob slapped him on the back. He made an ‘oof’ noise, then shut his mouth.

  “I wanted to find out if you guys had seen anything suspicious around here, in the weeks leading up to Beth’s murder.” A bitter taste spread on Cat’s tongue. The word murder didn’t fit into her vocabulary.

  “I didn’t see nothing,” George replied.

  Bill let out a massive burp and Lacy recoiled, then pressed her palm to her mouth.

  “Anyone else?” What if they didn’t speak to her because she didn’t have a badge? That would make her little mini-investigation even more difficult.

  Bob raised his arm. “I saw a stranger hanging around the day before Beth’s murder. Short, bald guy.”

  “You sure you’re not talking about this stranger?” Bill asked, and jerked his thumb toward George.

  The short man growled low in his throat, then pointed to the tufts of gray hair which encircled the naked patch of skin at his crown. “Do I look bald to you?”

  Bob ignored them. “I tried speaking to him. We’re fishermen. We stick together around here. But this guy, sheesh, he didn’t want anythi
ng to do with us. He just gave me this real creepy lookin’ grin then wandered off. He spoke to Beth, though.”

  “He talked to Beth? Did she tell you what it was about?” Cat asked.

  “Nope, but she didn’t like him either. I could tell from the look on her face.” Bob stood his fishing pole straight and placed the end on the wooden boards. “Didn’t catch his name either, but I haven’t seen him around since Beth since she –”

  Leonard burst into a fresh set of sobs, again.

  “Thank you, Bob, that’s helpful.” Cat stepped back and waved to them. “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll let you know what else I find out. And hey, if you guys like cookies, you should stop by my store on Monday. I’ll fix you up with something good.”

  “You got any of those ginger cookies?” Bill called after her.

  “You bet,” she replied, and gave him a thumbs up.

  She grasped Lacy’s arm, then walked back down the pier. Her hair whipped around her head, tangled by the salty breeze.

  “That was… an experience,” Lacy said. “I thought I’d die when he burped.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she said. “All this investigating has given me an appetite. Let’s go to the farmer’s market and check out the produce.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in weeks. Apart from the Choc Mudslide Cookie, of course,” Lacy replied.

  “Of course.” But Cat couldn’t get the image of the strange, short man out of her thoughts. Another lead, and another suspect. The cookie dough got stickier by the minute.

  Chapter 8

  Barbequed ribs sizzled on the griddle and the sweet honey scent filled the air around the stall. Cat and Lacy stood in the long line, in front of it, drooling for a taste.

  “Wow,” Lacy said. “I’m never skipping a farmer’s market again. This place is unbelievable.”

  Rows of stalls lined the walkways. Families wandered between them, shopping everything from potted plants to homemade canned sauces to trout jerky. Smells and sounds filled the area.

  A wash of culture and color and – oh boy, it was just Cat’s favorite place to be, apart from Cat’s Cookies, of course.

  “We can get something to eat, then take a look around. I wonder if they have any cat toys here,” Catherine said and placed her index finger under her chin. “I need to get something for Oreo.”

  “What about the Halloween pumpkin ball I got him last year?”

  “Oh, he’s already scratched through that. He loved it so much. He wouldn’t let it out of his sight. The poor thing has gone from orange to yellow to beige.”

  “The fluffy pumpkin ball or Oreo?” Lacy asked, and arched an eyebrow.

  “Oreo’s still as black as ever, I assure you,” Cat replied.

  The line shifted forward a few steps, and they hurried to close the gap. The sooner they got their order in, the better. Cat’s belly grumbled a complaint.

  “Fancy meeting you here, murderer,” a man said, behind her.

  Lacy and Catherine froze. They stared at each other, then turned to face the man.

  A young guy – with a full head of hair, shoot – stood behind them in the line, arms folded across his blue Polo shirt. “I didn’t know killers enjoyed the farmer’s market, like regular folk.”

  This kid had to be just out of high school. So much for respecting elders, right?

  “Who are you?” Catherine asked. She looked up at the young man and schooled herself to calm.

  “I’m Kevin Walters. You killed my grandmother,” he said, loudly.

  A couple of the people in line for the ribs turned and craned their necks back down the line.

  Lacy tried to shrink back, but there wasn’t space.

  “Well, Kevin Walters, you might want to work on your manners. How old are you? Nineteen? Younger?”

  “That’s none of your business,” he said, a snarl curled his upper lip. “I don’t fraternize with murderers.”

  “Look, I know your parents probably raised you to believe that you’re everything. You’re a star, right? Take on the world and all that, but you need to learn some respect. A bad attitude will get you nowhere, fast,” Catherine replied.

  Lacy sucked in a couple of breaths, then squared her shoulders. “Yeah.”

  “What, is this your bodyguard?” The kid asked, and pointed to Lace.

  “Is there a reason you approached me, child?” Catherine asked, and gave him her sweetest smile. “I was in the middle of a conversation before you interrupted.”

  “Man, what kind of idiot was my grandmother to leave her money to a woman like you. What are you going to do with it? Spend it on ribs and cookies and all kinds of junk,” the kid replied.

  That was it. If Cat hadn’t been in control of her faculties, she might’ve shaken this kid for a comment like that. “Beth Walters was an incredible human being,” Cat replied. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand that. Goodbye.”

  She turned her back on Kevin and moved forward in the line. Only two people ahead of them, and then they’d have their ribs. She focused on that, to avoid the bubbling anger in her gut.

  How dare he accuse her of murdering Beth? And worse, how dare he speak about his grandmother like that?

  “He’s gone,” Lacy said, after a second. “And he didn’t look happy about leaving. I don’t think he came for the barbecued ribs, though.”

  “No, he came to make a point. Or to do someone else’s dirty work.” Cat stepped to the front table and eyed the ribs on the grill. “I’ll have two of your largest portions, please.”

  She’d need to keep her strength up for what came next. Catherine Kelley was anything but a coward, and Kevin had invoked a deep sense of determination within her.

  Chapter 9

  Crickets chirped in the bushes beneath the window. Catherine crouched between the leaves and held her breath. She let it out slowly, a long, low exhale, then crept along the side of the Walters' residence.

  Impulsive. That was what Lacy called her. Beth had once said her body knew what Cat wanted to do before her brain did.

  “Boy, I hope I don’t regret this,” Cat whispered. This was the first time she’d ever crab-walked outside someone’s home past eight o’clock at night.

  She stopped beneath a bottom floor window – probably, the living room – and caught her breath.

  “This is stupid. You’re a grown woman creeping around looking for clues in someone’s yard. Ridiculous.” Beth would’ve laughed at her. Lacy would be horrified. And Oreo? Ah, he’d probably have come with if she’d given him a chance.

  Cat leaned her back against the wall and swatted leaves from her arms. She had to get home. Kevin’s rudeness at the farmer’s market had planted suspicions in her mind, and they’d blossomed in the fertile soil of her paranoia.

  Could he be the murderer?

  Perhaps, but she wouldn’t’ find anything out by –

  “Hello?” A woman spoke above Cat’s head.

  She stiffened, then relaxed a second later. The woman was in the living room adjacent.

  Cat turned to face the wall, then walked her fingers up to the sill. She grabbed it and raised her head in increments. She peered through the window.

  Tara Walters fidgeted with her string of pearls and pressed a cellphone to her ear. She paced to the sofa, then back to the coffee table, rinse and repeat. Her gaze rested on the Grand Piano.

  “I said, hello!” Tara snapped, then paused and inhaled. She grasped the pearls firmly and held still. “What are you doing calling me at this time of the night? I told you I’m with my family. I can’t answer calls –”

  “Honey?” Mr. Walters’ voice traveled from further in the house.

  Tara snatched the phone from her ear and pressed it to her pink blouse. “Just a minute. I’m just on the phone.” She tilted her head to the side and listened, then lifted the phone, again. “I told you this isn’t a good time.”

  Who was on the other end of the line?

  “No, it’s not ove
r yet. Look, I’ll get the money. I’m in talks with my associates right now. As soon as I have it, you will,” Tara said and swallowed. She tightened her grip on her pearls.

  Cat lowered herself a bit but kept her gaze glued to Tara.

  “You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. I couldn’t have predicted this. No one could. Look, I have to go. I hear someone coming. No, no, no. I’m not trying to avoid you just –”

  “Honey?” Joseph Walters appeared in the doorway, the chandelier in the entrance hall behind him acted as a backdrop.

  Tara wrenched her hand down but ripped the string of pearls instead. The white balls dropped to the boards, and bounced, then rolled in every direction. “I’ll have to call you back,” Tara said. “Another time. Yes, thank you.” She hung up, then turned on her husband. “What is it?”

  “Honey, have you seen Rachel?” Joseph asked. “She’s not in her room.”

  “No, I haven’t seen that idiot of a girl,” Tara snapped. She dropped the remains of her necklace on the coffee table.

  “Are you all right?” Joseph stepped into the living room, wringing his hands. “Is this about Beth?”

  “No,” Tara replied. “I’m just having some trouble with a business associate.”

  “You seem stressed,” Joseph replied. “Why don’t I draw you a nice hot, bubble bath. You can soak in the tub. Get rid of your worries.”

  Tara clenched the cell in her fist and pressed it to her forehead. “No, that won’t help. Nothing will help. Our lives are turning into a disaster, and it’s all your fault.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joseph asked, and his shoulders stiffened beneath his designer button-down shirt. “Is this about Rachel’s fees again? Is it about Kevin’s? He’s already working two jobs to pay for college, Tara. What more can we do?”

  “Nothing. And Rachel is a low-life. She’s crazy. We should never have sent her to college in the first place.”

  “Don’t talk about her like that, and as I recall it was you who pushed the child to go pre-law.” Joseph clicked his tongue and looked away from his wife. “You’re just upset about Beth.”