Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1
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Authors: Karen Sullivan
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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
“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 brunch 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.
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.