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

  “Mom makes us wake up at 5 AM each morning because it’s good for us, or whatever. We were all eating breakfast, together at 5 AM. We have surveillance cameras in the kitchen, too. The cops know we were all home,” Rachel said.

  So, that was why Cat was the main suspect. Everyone else had an alibi, and she didn’t. “This isn’t good,” she said. “I didn’t do this, and it’s starting to look more and more like I did.”

  “I believe you. I know you didn’t do it,” Rachel replied.

  “Why?”

  “Because Beth loved you. She spoke about you all the time,” Rach said. “We used to watch Jeopardy on her sofa, and talk about our lives. She always brought you up. She said the best decision she ever made was –”

  “Her house,” Cat said. “Rachel, you’re a genius.”

  “What? Why?” Rachel asked.

  “I never thought to check out her house!” Excitement thrilled through Catherine’s core. “I’ve got to get there. Now.”

  Rachel glanced at her brother, who hovered near the counter, expression torn between disgust and fear.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Chapter 16

  Catherine unhooked the key to Beth’s back door from the secret spot the elderly woman had fastened it months ago. She’d told Cat that any time she needed to get in, she could use the key.

  This was the first time she’d needed it.

  Cat pulled on the screen door, and Rachel held it open. She inserted the key into the lock, turned it, then let them into Beth’s kitchen.

  The scent of cookies and cream drifted through the house. Beth’s special scent, cultivated from years of baking and creating. She’d helped Cat learn about her craft. She’d inspired her and laughed with her. Helped her set up the business.

  Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat and strode into the kitchen. She swept past the small, yellow table and into the living room.

  Beth’s widescreen TV put Cat’s to shame. Rachel plopped down in an armchair and kicked her feet up on an Ottoman. “So,” she said. “What now?”

  “Now,” Cat replied, then glanced around the room. “We investigate.”

  “Yeah, but where? I mean, what exactly do we look for?” Rach gripped a few strands of her pink hair and ran her fingers down their lengths.

  “I want to say, answers? But that seems too simple.” Cat walked to the curtains, then tugged one aside. Light flooded the interior, and Rach closed and eye to accommodate for the change.

  Catherine turned in a circle, thoughts rushing along in a similar pattern. Too fast, too much to think about. Her gaze landed on the desk pushed against the flat side of the stairs.

  “Laptop,” she said.

  Rachel sat up straighter, though she still didn’t get out of her seat.

  “Of course, the laptop,” Cat whispered. “Beth kept everything on this thing.”

  “For an old lady, she was pretty tech savvy,” Rach said, then grinned at the TV. “Do you know, she made me promise not to watch Game of Thrones? She said it was too violent for my eyes.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Beth,” Catherine replied. She hurried to the desk, then flipped the lid of the laptop.

  It started up right away, and the CPU hummed. Cat drew the chair back, then lowered herself into it and crossed her legs. There had to be something on this thing. Anything that could give her a clue about the case.

  Desperation clasped her heart, and squeezed. She breathed evenly. Shoot, she should’ve brought that brown paper bag from the car.

  The laptop sang a tune, and the desktop appeared.

  “Ew, is that windows?” Rachel asked.

  “Now, is not the time for a techno war,” Catherine replied. She tapped the mouse pad and scrolled over the icons on the desktop. “Come on, come one. Oh, email!”

  She double tapped, and Beth’s email application opened.

  “Ew, is that Mozilla Thunderbird?”

  “What are you, an IT specialist?” Cat asked.

  “No, but I’m interested in it. Don’t tell my parents though, they’ll have a conniption,” Rachel said, then yawned. “I wish we’d brought some cookies with for this.”

  “I didn’t know young folk used the word ‘conniption’,” Cat said, and scrolled through the long list of emails. “I thought it was all about uh, I don’t know. Hip lingo.”

  Rachel groaned. “Young folks don’t say conniption,” she replied, “but I do. I’m not like other people my age.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Cat said, then stopped scrolling. “Wait a second. What’s this?”

  “What?” Rachel asked.

  “What college did you say your brother went to?”

  “College of Charleston,” Rach replied. “He did a Biochemistry major, I think. Apparently, that’s the best thing to take to get into medical school.”

  Cat stared at the screen. Her jaw dropped open.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked. “What did you find?”

  “Beth paid for your brother tuition fees. In full.”

  “For the semester?” Rach shifted forward and dropped her feet off the sides of the Ottoman.

  “No,” Cat replied, “for every semester.”

  “Whoa,” Rachel replied. “I told you she was a –”

  Cat scrolled through the emails again, trying to pick out more information. “A what? Rachel? She was what?”

  “Hello, Miss Kelley.” Detective Jack Bradshaw’s voice sent a spear through Cat’s chest.

  Uh oh. This wouldn’t end well. It was the second time in as many days he’d caught her trespassing. Cat swiveled in her chair and looked at him. “Nice to see you, detective. I was just, uh, sorting out some of Beth’s affairs?”

  “Are you asking me? Or telling me?” Bradshaw countered.

  Rachel sat as straight as a stick, hands pasted to her knees.

  “I’m telling you?”

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” he replied. Bradshaw sighed, then massaged his forehead. “You two are the last people I expected to find together. Or in this house.”

  “We just wanted to prove that Cat didn’t do it,” Rachel said.

  Catherine pressed her finger to her lips to shush her.

  “We thought maybe there’d be something in Beth’s house that would tell us who really did kill her and –”

  “For heaven’s sake, Rachel,” Cat hissed.

  Bradshaw shook his head, and dropped his hand to his side. “All right, ladies. Let’s get you out of here.”

  “Are we under arrest?” Rachel asked and jumped up. “Because I’m totally okay with that. Whatever gives my folks a conniption, you know?”

  “A conniption?” Bradshaw asked.

  “Don’t ask,” Cat replied, then pointed at Rachel. “You keep quiet. And you,” she said, and jabbed her finger in the detective’s direction.

  “Yeah?” He asked, and a smile tugged his mouth upward at the corners. He straightened it again, then cleared his throat.

  “Nothing. Just, give me a break?”

  “You’re definitely asking this time,” Bradshaw replied. “But I didn’t hear the magic word.”

  Catherine bit the inside of her cheek, then let it go. “Please.”

  “All right,” he said. “But I’m breaking up this little party. Rachel, you go home. Your mom has called the station three times to report you missing.”

  “I bet she blamed me,” Cat whispered.

  “She’s not wrong.” Rachel grinned and hurried out of the room.

  “And you,” Detective Bradshaw said.

  Cat tensed up and rose from her chair. She reached back and closed the lid of the laptop. “What?”

  The detective pursed his lips. “You go home and get some rest. You need it.” Then he turned and walked off.

  Cat stared after him, mouth hanging open. That’s been the second time he’d let her off the hook.

  Chapter 17

  Cat sat on her sofa, legs curled beneath her body, and Oreo on h
er lap. She stroked his furry head and focused on her TV screen.

  So You Think You Can Dance was on again, and two of her favorite competitors were in the middles of a Venetian Waltz routine.

  “The coffee machine may be Lacy’s Everest,” Cat said, “But you are mine.”

  The Venetian Waltz was the least of her worries, though. Beth’s murderer hadn’t been caught, and the evidence had stacked up against her. Not to mention the confusing signals the handsome Detective had given off. She couldn’t focus on any of that now.

  But she did.

  Why had Kevin Walters met with that mystery figure on the pier? And how was it possible that the people she suspected the most had a rock solid alibi for the time of the murder?

  There had to be an answer. Something obvious, right in front of her eyes that –

  Cat’s phone rang beside her. She snatched it up, then pressed the green button on the keypad. “Hello?”

  “Cat, is that you?” A woman asked.

  It wasn’t Lacy. “Yeah, who is this?”

  “Hi, it’s Rachel. I found your number on your website. Sorry for cold calling you,” the young woman said, and her voice squeaked midway through the sentence.

  “It’s no problem. Are you okay?” Cat asked, then grabbed the remote. She muted the volume on the TV and blocked out Paula Abdul’s assessment of the Venetian Waltz. Pity, she would’ve like to have heard the comments.

  “I’m fine, but there’s something you’ve got to see.”

  “What is it?” Cat asked.

  “It’s huge. I, ugh, I need to think. I’m too excited right now. What’s your email address?”

  “Yeah, it’s cat cookies at Gmail dot com,” she said, slowly. “What’s going on, Rach?”

  “Remember how I said I wanted to help?” Rachel whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is me, helping. Look, I’ve got to go my mom’s going to be home any minute. The emails I’m forwarding you are from her inbox,” Rachel said. “Good luck!” And then she hung up.

  Catherine pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it. “That’s weird.”

  Oreo did a mixed meow and purr at her, then blinked languidly. She grabbed him under the belly, then lifted him off her lap. She rose and strode through to her bedroom, curiosity driving each step.

  She hurried to her dressing table, then sat down and dragged her laptop toward herself. She ignored her reflection in the mirror and flipped open the lid.

  The computer started up. She held her breath. “Come on, come on.” What on earth had gotten into Rachel? What could she have found that might be relevant to the case?

  Oreo bounded into the bedroom and leaped onto her bed. He sat and stared at her, the shook his ears and proceeded to clean them with a cupped paw.

  The desktop flashed up, and Cat clicked through to her email application immediately. It popped open, and the tab at the bottom lit up.

  Downloading 1 new email.

  “Oh gosh,” Cat said and pressed a fist to her belly. She’d never been this nervous.

  The computer’s speaker’s pinged. The email popped up on her screen. She tapped the mousepad and opened it, then leaned in and read a few lines of text.

  I’ve waited long enough for my payoff. I killed her exactly like you wanted. Send me my money or you’re next.

  Jarred.

  “Jarred? Jarred Weaver?” Catherine shuddered a gasp. “I knew it!” She'd thought it’d been everyone but Jarred Weaver. Or Tara for that matter.

  Minus twenty points for following the false evidence and not thinking this through.

  Cat read the rest of the thread.

  I’m working on getting the inheritance. Please, be patient. Just two more weeks and I’ll have the money to pay for your services.

  T

  “Tara, you horrible woman,” Cat growled. “But why? Didn’t she know that Beth had paid for her son’s tuition? What was this all about? Did she owe money somewhere?”

  Oreo meowed at her.

  “Don’t worry, kitty, I haven’t lost my mind just yet,” she said. But she had to figure out the motivation here.

  It didn’t make any sense.

  “Think, Cat. That doesn’t matter right now. Bringing Tara and Jarred to justice, matters.” She darted through to the living room, then snatched her cellphone off the sofa.

  She dialed the Charleston PD number. It rang twice then clicked.

  “Charleston Police Department.

  “Hi, this is Catherine Kelley. Please put me through to Detective Jack Bradshaw. I have important news about his case.”

  “Please hold,” the woman said.

  The screeching tones tinkled through the earpiece and Cat pulled it away from her hear again. She paced up and down in front of her TV, ignoring the performance on the screen.

  This was it. With the help of her friends, she’d gotten to the bottom of this murder case. Tara had had Beth murdered.

  “Bradshaw speaking.”

  “Detective,” she said and rammed the phone into her ear. She pressed a few buttons, and they beeped out a mini-song.

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “I know who the murderer is,” Cat said, immediately.

  “Miss Kelley,” he sighed. “I don’t have time for another wild goose chase. I assure you, I’m following all the leads in this case, and I am aware of –”

  “It was Tara. Tara Walters and Jarred Weaver. Please, you have to come to my place, right now. I have the evidence on my laptop,” she said and injected as much desperation into her voice as possible. “Please?”

  “Miss Kelley, if this is some kind of hoax, I will lock you up for wasting police time and obstructing justice,” he said. “Is that understood?”

  “Detective Bradshaw, I’m not wasting your time. I swear on every cookie I’ve ever baked. Please, you have to come see for yourself,” she said.

  “Fine. I’m on my way.” And then he hung up.

  Cat dropped the cell on the sofa again, then rushed through to her bedroom. She grabbed the laptop and brought it through to the living room, then settled in to wait, eyes on the clock instead of on the dancing, for a change.

  Chapter 18

  “Here,” Cat said and jogged up the stairs to her apartment. “This way.”

  Detective Bradshaw followed her up at a walk, with no real sense of urgency. Perhaps he thought this was a waste of his time. She’d sure prove him wrong. “You know,” he said, “for a baker, you’re pretty light on your feet.”

  “I try to keep fit,” she called back and held her front gate open. She stomped her heels on the landing. Impatience rang through her core. This was a waste of time. He needed to be out there, arresting Jarred Weaver before the man made a run for it.

  Detective Bradshaw reached the top stair, then paused and met her gaze. “All right. I’m here. Now, what’s this evidence you’ve got to show me?”

  “It’s on the laptop,” Cat said.

  She rushed ahead, then picked up Oreo off his warm spot on the sofa, and deposited him on the wooden boards. He meowed his complaint, then whipped his tail into the air and stalked off.

  “Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy because I haven’t done any dancing,” she said.

  “I, uh, okay?” The Detective walked to the sofa and sat down beside her. His arm brushed hers, and she shifted away.

  Goosebumps rose on her forearm, and she wiped them flat. “Here,” she said, then leaned in and clicked on the email thread. “Read that.”

  Detective Bradshaw had come prepared this time. He brought his reading glasses out of his top pocket, unfolded them and placed them on his nose. He shifted forward on the sofa and focused on the screen.

  Cat jumped up and strode to the TV. She switched it off, then paced back and forth in front of it. Her mind jumped from an answer to a question and back again.

  Tara had ordered a hit – wasn’t that what it was called – on Beth, and Jarred had gone through with it. Tara had clearly thought
she’d be able to pay off Jarred with the money from the inheritance.

  So, she hadn’t realized that the will had changed, then. But, why had she needed the money in the first place?

  Detective Bradshaw sat back and took his glasses off his face. “Well,” he said. “Well.”

  “I know, right? This is huge.”

  “May I ask how you got these emails?” The Detective asked.

  “Rachel Walters sent them to me,” she replied. “She wanted to look into what happened to Beth too. She loved her. They were close. Beth even paid for her brother’s tuition.”

  “For Kevin’s fees?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. He was a Biochem major at the College of Charleston,” Cat replied. She paused her pacing and rammed her fists on her hips. “So, Beth provided for the kids when Tara couldn’t. Tara must’ve realized that Beth had a lot of money, and then killed her for it. Right?”

  “We can’t be sure of that yet,” Bradshaw said, “but yeah, that’s plausible.”

  “But that leaves the question – what did Tara need to pay off? It has to be something huge if she was willing to kill for it? And kill an amazing human being, no less,” Cat said, she dropped her arms to her sides.

  “I think –” Bradshaw’s cell phone rang in his pocket, and he whipped it out. It was one of those fancy smartphones with the big flat screen.

  The kind Lacy had nagged her to get for the last month.

  “Bradshaw,” he said. “Uh huh. All right. I’ll be there in ten.” Then he hung up and placed the phone back in his pocket.

  “What’s happened?” Catherine asked, and twiddled her fingers.

  “There’s been a report of a break-in at the Walters residence,” he said, then paused and raised his hand. “Don’t say a word, Miss Kelley. I’ll handle this myself.”

  “But this could be about the murder. What if it’s not safe? I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said, then rammed her mouth shut. What a prime time to say something that sentimental to a man she barely knew.

  Detective Bradshaw cleared his throat and loosened his collar. “I’ll be fine. And I’m sure everything at the residence is fine.”

  “All right,” she said, and it came out as a squeak.