A Taste of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 1) (4 page)

“Maybe his death was karma,” Liana offered, likely in an attempt to console her friend.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well you know Jed Black’s reputation,” Liana shrugged.  “It’s a small town.  People talk.  He was a tyrannical businessman who used threats and intimidation to become mayor.  And then, as if he wasn’t bad enough before becoming mayor, the power went to his head.  I hate to say it, but he probably had it coming.”

“That’s an awful thing to say!” Clarissa scolded her best friend.  Then she added, “I mean, even if he was a terrible person, it’s still not okay that he was murdered.  No one deserves that.  And whoever did it shouldn’t just get away with it.”

“I agree, but what are you going to do?” Liana said absentmindedly.  It was clear her mind was elsewhere.  “I need coffee,” she announced. The woman was completely and utterly obsessed with coffee.  In fact, given how much she consumed, she probably had pure coffee running through her veins.

“We just had coffee at my place!” Clarissa reminded her.  “And they were
huge
cups!”

“Yes, but that was like, a whole hour ago!  I need more coffee.  Are you coming with me?”

“No, I need to go turn in some resumes around town,” Clarissa replied.

“It’s Saturday!  Take the day off.”

“Take the day off from what, unemployment?  Sorry, but I don’t have time for coffee,” Clarissa insisted.  Besides, she knew if she agreed to join her friend for coffee they would be sitting there at the quaint little coffee shop all day.  She wasn’t really interested in small town gossip – especially not when she needed to find a job like, yesterday.

“Suit yourself – I’ll talk to my neighbor about hiring you to landscape his yard.  Call you later!”

Clarissa gave her friend a wave and then wandered down the tree lined street. 

The leaves were all beginning to turn beautiful shades of red, yellow and orange.  Some were sprinkled on the street like colorful confetti.  It was quite a pretty sight, even if it did mean that winter was right around the corner. 

Clarissa stopped in every shop she passed and tried to leave resumes wherever possible.  But she kept getting the same apologetic reply: nobody was hiring.  Frustrated, she headed down to the town square to post a “Roommate Wanted” sign on the bulletin board down there.

“Did you hear about Jed Black?” Clarissa overheard one middle aged woman say to another.

“Isn’t it terrible,” the other woman clucked.  “Then again, his wife doesn’t seem too distraught.”

“No?”

“Nope, I saw Bonnie Black at the grocery store this morning.  She was buying wine and a big chocolate cake.  I know everybody grieves differently, but she didn’t even seem very upset.  She looked good.  In fact,” the woman said, “I thought she looked
too
good, if you know what I mean.  It was almost as though she was getting ready to throw a party!”

Clarissa’s eyebrows shot up at the odd revelation.  Then she realized she was standing there blatantly eavesdropping.  She quickly hurried over to put her sign up on the bulletin board before the women noticed and gave her disapproving looks.

“You’re local,” a man’s voice said.

Clarissa turned to see a tall guy around her age standing there. 

With his button up tweed coat and carefully arranged scarf, he looked very professional.  He also looked completely out of place.  Clarissa had lived in Sugarcomb Lake her entire life, aside from her college years.  If she had laid eyes on this guy before, she would have remembered it.  He had one of those unforgettable faces.

“You’re not from around here,” she shot back.

“Guilty as charged,” he grinned, showing that he had very nice, very straight white teeth.  “I drove in from the city to find out more about the murder that took place here last night.  My name is Parker,” he said, extending his hand.  “I’m a journalist.”

Clarissa’s breath caught in her throat. 

She knew his type. 

Those big shot pretentious reporters from the city had always treated her with disdain, as though her work wasn’t to be taken seriously just because she was from a small town.  She had never met this guy in particular – she would have remembered those brilliant blue eyes.  But still, journalists from the city were all unbearable.  Of that she was certain.

“Who do you work for?” she asked cautiously.  In her experience, some big city reporters were worse than others.  The freelancers tended to be the most pleasant, while the ones employed by big name media agencies were usually the most conceited. 

Clarissa hoped this guy was a freelancer.

“I’m with The Green City Chronicle,” he told her.

“You work for The Green City Chronicle?” she asked in dismay, hoping it wasn’t true.

“Yes,” he nodded, looking pleased.  “So you’ve heard of it.”

“Heard of it?  I wrote for The Sugarcomb Gazette,” she said pointedly.

“Oh. 
Oh
,” he said when the implication became clear.  “The paper closure was a shame.”

“What did you say your name was, again?” Clarissa asked Parker suspiciously.

“Parker,” he replied.

“And your last name?”

“What is this, an interrogation?” he teased.  “I’m Parker Tweed.”

Her breath caught in her throat.  “Your father is Elwood Tweed.”

“He is.”

Her heart sank.  “He’s the owner of The Green City Chronicle.” 

“Yes, that’s right,” Parker confirmed.

Immediately, Clarissa recoiled.  That was so, so much worse than Parker simply being a journalist for some random Green City newspaper.  He was with the arch nemesis of The Sugarcomb Gazette...back before the Gazette had met its untimely demise, that is. 

Parker was the son of the awful man who had put her out of a job!  He was, in a roundabout way, the very reason she was struggling to afford her next mortgage payment!  That settled it:  she had no interest in talking to the man standing in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Parker said, unaware that he had just made an enemy.

“I didn’t tell you my name.”

“Ah, right.  Well are you
going
to tell me?”

“No.  I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You’re a difficult woman, aren’t you Clarissa?”

“How do you know my name?” she demanded.

He looked over at the sign she had hung on the bulletin board.  “Clean, quiet roommate wanted,” he read.  “Serious inquiries only – for further information, please call Clarissa Spencer at –”

“Okay okay, so you can read,” Clarissa interrupted, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. 

“Yes, being able to read comes in handy when you’re a journalist.  But you know that.  I bet folks here will really miss having a local newspaper given what happened last night.  But hopefully I can fill that void,” he said, flashing a million dollar smile.

“You can’t,” Clarissa said flatly, insulted that he would suggest such a thing.

“I beg your pardon?” Parker sputtered, clearly taken aback.

“You don’t understand small town dynamics,” she informed him, annoyed that he thought he could just drive in from the city and pick up where The Sugarcomb Gazette had left off.  “People here don’t just want to read the news – they want that home town charm, that familiarity.  You’re not from here so you can’t possibly understand.”

He shrugged.  “I’m just here to do my job.  Did you know Jed Black personally?”

“No.”

“You didn’t know him at all?” Parker tried again.  “But it’s such a small town, and he was the mayor.  Plus you were a reporter!  Surely you must have known him – or his family – a little,” he pressed, unwilling to take no for an answer.

“Only in passing,” she shrugged, uninterested in continuing the conversation. 

“Well can I interview you?” he asked.

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

Clarissa’s eyebrows shot up.  “What do you mean?”

“Well you don’t look very busy,” Parker pointed out, not incorrectly.  “You were just standing there eavesdropping on those women.”

“I was not!” Clarissa insisted indignantly.

“It’s okay.  I was eavesdropping on them too.  It’s hard not to when they talk so loudly, isn’t it?  So what do you think, is Jed Black’s wife actually involved in his murder?  That’s what those two ladies seem to think, isn’t it?”

“Why don’t you go ask them?  I’m afraid I’m too busy to talk,” Clarissa said stubbornly.

“What are you so busy doing?” Parker asked again.

“Who asks that?!” she demanded in indignation. 

“People who don’t believe you’re actually busy,” he replied with a wink.

Feeling her face redden, Clarissa crossed her arms.  “I am very sorry but I cannot help you,” she said in far-too-formal language, mincing every word.  “I have to go now.”  With that, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

Who did Parker Tweed think he was?  How dare he strut into town and try to fill the void that had been left when the local paper had shut down?  She wasn’t having it.  As she stomped back home, a plan was already forming in her mind.

The banging on Clarissa’s front door nearly made her jump out of her skin.

“Hang on, I’m coming!” she called, reluctantly stepping away from her computer.  She shoved her feet into her slippers and tried unsuccessfully to tame her uncombed hair.  Then she shuffled over to the door and found Liana standing there impatiently.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” Liana demanded, not bothering to say hello.

“I didn’t hear it.  Why, what’s wrong?  It’s the middle of the night, is everything okay?”

Liana smirked.  “It’s not the middle of the night.  Look outside, silly.  It’s morning!  And you’re a mess – you know I’m just telling you because I love you.  I hope you haven’t left the house looking like that?  You’re never going to find a boyfriend if you go out in pajama pants and with your hair looking like, well, like
that
.”

Clarissa rolled her eyes.  “You’re the one who’s obsessed with finding a boyfriend, not me!  But for the record no, I did not leave the house looking like this,” she said, glancing down at the ratty – but very comfy – oversized t-shirt she was wearing. 

Liana had tried to make her throw away that worn out, faded t-shirt countless times back in college, but Clarissa had always rescued it from the trash.  Why was it that the ugliest clothes were always the comfiest? 

“Let me guess:  you were up all night again.”

Sheepishly, Clarissa nodded.  “I guess I was.”

“What caught your attention this time?” Liana asked knowingly.  Clarissa had a habit of losing track of time when she was particularly engrossed in something.  Back when the two had been in college Clarissa had frequently pulled all-nighters! 

“I had a great idea!” Clarissa exclaimed enthusiastically. 

“Okay...do I have to guess or are you going to tell me?”

“I’m going to start up my own newspaper.  I know it sounds crazy but it’s not.  These days thanks to technology, all you really need is some paper and a printer.  I’m going to hand out newspapers in the town square.  The first one will be free and after that I’ll sell subscriptions.”

Liana looked skeptical.  “If it’s that easy, then why did the Gazette go out of business?”

“Their expenses were too high,” Clarissa explained.  “I’m not renting office space or paying employees.  It’s just me, working out of my house.  So I will have virtually no costs except ink and paper.”

“I see.  That sounds like a massive undertaking,” Liana cautioned.

“It is.  But a little hard work never killed anyone, right?  Oh, and best of all: I’m going to sell subscriptions for less than subscriptions to The Green City Chronicle cost,” Clarissa added smugly.  “Everybody loves a bargain!  So I’ll sell copies
and
take business away from the jerks that shut down the Gazette.”

“That’s...that’s actually pretty brilliant!” Liana admitted, looking awed.  “How can I help?”

“You’re a graphic artist,” Clarissa said.  “Will you make me a banner – some kind of cool logo?”

“Consider it done!” Liana grinned.  “This is so exciting!  Sign me up for a subscription.  Actually, sign me up for two – I’ll send the second one to my parents.  Oh, I almost forgot, I got you that landscaping job with my neighbor if you still want it.”

“That’s great,” Clarissa said gratefully.  “Maybe I can afford groceries this month after all!”

“Is it that bad?” Liana asked, wide eyed.  “Why don’t you come over for dinner and –”

“Relax, I was exaggerating,” Clarissa said – though she hadn’t been exaggerating by much. “Besides, I know what your idea of cooking is.  You’re the only person I know who managed to ruin a perfectly good peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

“Hey, that was way back in college!  And besides, I was on a health kick at the time.  I thought the sandwich would be healthier with protein powder in it,” Liana said defensively.  “I was making it fit my macros.”

“It wasn’t the protein powder that ruined it as much as the kale.”

“Kale is a superfood,” Liana protested indignantly.  Then she added, “You’re no cook yourself.  Remember the time you tried to make me a birthday cake and it ended up being like some weird pancake thing that was as hard as a rock?”

“I’d love to reminisce but I have tons of work to do!” Clarissa announced.

“Okay, I can take a hint,” Liana said good-naturedly as she headed toward the door. 

Then something across the room caught her eye. 

She stopped dead in her tracks.  Her face lit up like a Christmas tree decorated with dynamite. 

“Who is
that
?!” she squealed, racing across the room.

Clarissa knew the drill. 

She knew she was powerless to stop it. 

All she could do was watch the horror unfold.

“Oh my goodness, who are you?  Who
are
you?!” Liana crooned in a baby talky sort of tone.  “You’re my new best friend, that’s who you are!  Oh yes, yes you are!  Yes you are!  Oh, you look so soft!  Do you like being pet?  I want to pet you!  I just want to eat you up!  Yes I do!”

The black cat was curled up on Clarissa’s favorite chair, no doubt shedding all over it.  It cracked an eye open as Liana charged toward it, but seemed mostly disinterested.  It rolled over as she approached, turning its back to her.  When she tried to pet it, the cat growled menacingly.  Then it proceeded to fall back to sleep.

The way Liana always fussed over animals – particularly cats – could be downright terrifying.  Clarissa had to suppress a smile as her friend turned around, looking dejected.  The whole thing really was kind of comical.

“That’s the first cat I’ve met that doesn’t like me,” she complained in disappointment.

“If it’s any consolation, it isn’t a normal cat.”

“When did you get a cat?  Since when do you even like cats?” Liana demanded.

“I don’t like cats.  I especially don’t like
this
cat,” Clarissa tried to explain.  “But it’s been hanging around and once I made the mistake of feeding it...well, there was no getting rid of it.  It sits at the window meowing and it’s so distracting.  It’s just easier to let it in.  At least then it shuts up and goes to sleep.”

“It’s adorable!” Liana said, looking over at it wistfully.  “What’s its name?”

“How should I know?”

Liana blinked.  “You didn’t name the cat?”

“Of course not,” Clarissa replied as if that was the dumbest question ever.

“Well then what do you call it?”

“Cat,” Clarissa said with a shrug. 

“Aww, you did too name your cat!  You named it Cat!  That’s ridiculous...and also kind of perfect.  And you’re letting it sleep on your favorite chair!  You do so love it!” Liana teased.  “I think you just don’t want to admit that a cat won you over.  But it totally did.”

“It did not!” Clarissa insisted vehemently, appalled by the thought.

“Did too!” Liana trilled, sticking out her tongue. 

Clarissa scowled.  “This visit has been just
great
but I have tons of work left to do,” she said, shooing her best friend out the door.  “Bye, love you!”

Once Liana was gone Clarissa returned to her computer, eager to get back to work.  She had already done a lot of the technical stuff, like formatting a template and figuring out operating costs.  Although her budget would be very tight, she was hopeful she could make it work.

It was an ambitious project that Clarissa was taking on, but doable.  Best of all, she finally felt motivated and hopeful about the future.  She was a reporter at heart.  Writing was what she did best, and she missed delivering the news to the residents of Sugarcomb Lake.

But there was only so much that could be accomplished from inside the house.

Being a reporter for a small town newspaper meant getting out and interacting with the community.  People wanted to read about local events and juicy interviews.  They wanted to see pictures and read editorials.  They wanted to feel like they were a part of whatever was going on around town.

And of course, right now the big news was Jed Black’s murder.

On a whim, Clarissa decided to walk over to the cabin where the murder had taken place.  She tucked her phone into her pocket, intending to snap a photo or two of the crime scene if the opportunity presented itself.  She hoped that wasn’t disrespectful – but she was a reporter and she had a job to do.

She knew roughly where the mayor’s tiny wood cabin was – it only a short distance from her own place.  Of course, even if she hadn’t known where it was, it would have been easy to find.  All she had to do was follow the procession of vehicles driving out of town and into the woods.

In a small place like Sugarcomb Lake, a murder wasn’t an everyday occurrence.  It wasn’t even an every-decade occurrence!  So when something like that happened, it was big news.  It was no real surprise that virtually everyone in town had gone out to see the site of the crime for themselves.  Maybe that was tacky, but in Sugarcomb Lake it was simply what was done.

But as it turned out, there wasn’t much to see. 

The cabin, from the outside, looked as normal as ever. 

The inside was inaccessible, as the door was blocked off by yellow police tape. 

The officers on scene weren’t allowing anyone to get too close.  Infuriatingly, they didn’t seem to be too hard at work investigating, either.  They seemed more interested in chatting with the local townsfolk, talking and laughing and drinking coffee.

There were a lot of people there who Clarissa recognized.  There were other faces that were familiar but she didn’t know the people personally – she had probably just seen them around town in passing. 

When she saw crotchety old Mrs. Meddler headed straight for her, Clarissa tried to avert her eyes and edge away.  But sadly, the old woman had already zeroed in on her.  There was no escaping.

“You’re the reporter!” the old woman announced, pointing a long, bony finger at Clarissa.

“I uh...not anymore, Mrs. Meddler,” Clarissa corrected her.  “The Gazette closed up shop.”

The old woman ignored her.  “I know who killed the mayor!” she declared loudly.

Several people nearby looked over.  Some were grinning.  Others looked uncomfortable.  Everyone around town knew that Mrs. Meddler was a grumpy old lady with nothing better to do than peer out her living room window and jump to ridiculous conclusions about anyone and everyone who was unfortunate enough to catch her attention.

“Let me guess,” a young man standing nearby said.  “It was the pizza delivery man!”

Everyone snickered – until Mrs. Meddler thwacked him in the shin with her cane.  Then they all continued to snicker (except for the guy who was rubbing his shin) but they all did it much more discreetly.  No one else wanted a beat-down from awful old Mrs. Meddler.

Clarissa knew better than to argue with the gossipy old know-it-all.  It was easier to simply humor her, thank her for her time and hope she would go away.  So, mustering up every shred of patience she had, Clarissa forced herself to smile.

“Why don’t we step over here and talk?” she suggested brightly, ushering Mrs. Meddler away from the crowd.  She knew it was going to take some award-winning acting on her part to pretend to be taking the old woman seriously. 

Mrs. Meddler seemed to think soap operas were too tame so instead of watching them, she made up her own ludicrous stories about the locals.  It would be kind of humorous if her tall tales didn’t frequently cause inconvenience and embarrassment to those involved.

“Jed Black was a terrible mayor!” Mrs. Meddler declared impassionedly.  “Have you seen the state of our streets?  The potholes are like craters!  Last month I drove my car right into one and got a flat tire.  Do you think the city would pay to fix it?  No!”

“That’s...unfortunate,” Clarissa said, biting the insides of her cheeks to try to keep from grinning.  Everyone in town knew Mrs. Meddler had no business driving, yet she still continued to drive.  Apparently even the cops were scared of her! 

Clarissa had witnessed Mrs. Meddler’s driving firsthand.  The general consensus was that when Mrs. Meddler was behind the wheel, pedestrians were safer on the street than on the sidewalk.  If she had gotten a flat tire, Clarissa had no doubt it was nobody’s fault but Mrs. Meddler’s.

“Jed Black was a terrible mayor, but you know what?”

“What, Mrs. Meddler?”

“
He
would have been an excellent mayor!” Mrs. Meddler said, pointing to a baby-faced young man wearing a suit and tie.  He was clearly the best-dressed person in sight, but did that alone qualify him to be Sugarcomb Lake’s next mayor?  Was he even old enough to vote?

“Um, I’m sorry but
who
is he?” Clarissa asked.

Mrs. Meddler pursed her lips.  “I thought you were a reporter,” she chastised, as cranky as ever.  “You’re supposed to know these things!  He’s the Preston boy.  Chad?  Charles?  Oh drat, I forget.  But he’s a dear.  He grew up three doors down.  His mother used to send him over to shovel my front walk every winter.  He’s a nice boy.”