Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) (9 page)

He opened his mouth for a moment, as if to say something, but closed it and nodded. “Fine. You be careful. I don’t want to have to pull you out of a firefight again.”

“I’ve never been in a firefight,” I protested as he headed for the front door. “I’ve been shot at a few times, but a firefight suggests the shooting was going both ways.” I didn’t own a gun, so that scenario wasn’t likely.

“You’ve been
shot
,” he corrected. “More than once.”

I rubbed my shoulder in memory as I followed him back to the door so I’d be able to lock it behind him. “Right, that’s what I said. More or less.”

Lenny nodded. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

“But,” I continued, speaking louder to drown him out. “I’m never stupid.”

“Right, that arrest over the summer was in no way related to stupid behavior,” Tingey said.

I felt my face heat. “That was different. And you got a murder weapon out of it, didn’t you?”

He walked through the door, then looked over his shoulder. “Be careful. I’m going to have a chat with Cole.”

I twisted the door lock harder than necessary, and turned back to the kitchen.

Lenny was focusing hard on his cake decorations—which was fine by me because I didn’t want to talk about it. I flipped the page in my recipe book until I got to the next one I wanted to mix and set to work.

Cole’s alibi was useless, but that didn’t make him the murderer, even if he was a stalker.

Would he really have attacked Francine in the middle of the school carnival? What if Ali was wrong about him and Francine? Maybe they did have a moment at the bar the other night. The best way to find out was to talk to the bar’s owner. I checked my watch. Another hour here, and then I’d have to go see what I could learn.

After I said goodnight to Lenny, I went upstairs to change into something casual and comfortable. I slipped into the red cowboy boots my grandma bought me when I was sixteen, pulled on a red cotton-weave button-up shirt over a white tank top and checked my black boot-cut wranglers for any spots—they showed everything. I was starting to feel like one of those Regency ladies who had to change their clothes five or six times a day but I promised myself the next time it would be into my pajamas.

If my friends in Chicago could see me now.
I studied myself in the long mirror, which hung on my bathroom door, and put in a pair of red and gold earrings in a swirl pattern. I was tired and could use the hour to catch up on the latest episodes of CSI, but duty called.

I walked into the Silver Spur ten minutes later and was greeted by a blast of twangy music played at top volume and the mixed scents of beer and fried foods. The local bar had dancing, pool tables and some pretty decent grub. I walked over to the bar and found an empty seat near the taps between a middle-aged man who ignored everyone around him, and two twenty-something women with big hair, lots of makeup and searching gazes that said they were on the prowl for a couple of men.

“Hey, Joe. How’s it going tonight?” I asked the bartender when he walked over.

He set an icy-cold bottle of Dr. Pepper in front of me, not even having to ask what I wanted. “Can’t complain. It’s been steady. How about for you? Hear you’ve seen some more excitement. What is it with you and dead bodies?”

I took a sip of my drink. Sweet fuzzy goodness—it was heaven. “No idea. I’m starting to think they’re seeking me out. Maybe I’ve been cursed. Anything exciting going on here?”

He chuckled, though I could tell more from watching him than from sound because the music was so loud. “Nah. No fights, no people running out on their tabs and nothing broken in the past few weeks. It’s been nice.”

“I bet. Could I get some fried zucchini? It sounds pretty great right now.” My stomach was growling despite the fact that I’d eaten with Jack only a couple of hours earlier, but in my defense, the sandwich had been small and Joe’s fried zucchini was worth every calorie.

“Sure thing, coming right up.” He turned and yelled back to the man in the tiny kitchen, then poured a couple beers for two guys at the end of the bar. A few minutes later, my order came up and Joe brought it over with a side of ranch. My favorite.

“Hey, I was curious,” I said when he passed me the cardboard tray of food. “I hear Francine was in here the night before she died. With Cole Taylor. Did they come in often?”

His brows lifted. “You mean together? No. I don’t think they’ve ever come in here together.”

“Really? That’s not the impression he gave me.” I acted confused, though it was the confirmation I sought.

“Unless he gave you the impression that he tried to join her for dinner and she kicked him to the curb, he probably lied.” Joe cleared away the glasses left behind by the women next to me when they got up to dance. “I remember the man was fuming when he left here. Just as he usually was when she turned him down. This time was something more. I grabbed my phone to call the cops, but thankfully he took the hint when I told him to head home.”

I stopped myself from saying ‘really’ again and sounding like a broken record, but it was a near thing. “Did he hit on her often?”

“She didn’t come in much, a few times a month, but he always seemed to find her and she never paid him much attention. I’m just sayin’ the dude didn’t know how to take a hint.” Joe took off to deal with some customers, leaving me with an order of fried vegetables to enjoy and plenty to think about.

The morning’s business at the bakery was brisk, as usual, and I was thinking about a second skinny latte when Detective Tingey walked in. I smiled at him. “Hey, need a caffeine fix?”

 “Or two.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair and pulled out his wallet. “One of your cinnamon rolls and a double-strength cappuccino.”

“You got it.” I rang him up and got to work on his drink.

“I hear you’ve been busy,” he said after a moment.

My mind was on the modeling-chocolate classic car I was putting together for the groom’s cake for Friday night’s wedding. “Orders here have been brisk. I don’t know how I’ll keep up alone when Lenny and Kat go on their honeymoon next week.” Thankfully Lenny was working ahead on some of the decorations for next week’s cakes already, which would save me time.

“I wasn’t talking about your business. I was talking about your
interviews
. I hear you left out some of the details when we spoke last night.”

Had I “forgotten” to mention those? Whoops. “Oh, yeah. I’ve talked to a few other people, besides Cole,” I admitted, feeling like a naughty kid who got caught stealing something. “Interesting things going on in this town, aren’t there?” I started steaming the milk.

“Uh, huh. I’d like a chance to debrief you if you’ve got a couple of minutes.” He spoke loud enough to be heard over the machine, aggravation in his tone.

I finished the milk and poured in the espresso, gave it a stir, then passed it over the counter to him. “I could manage a couple of minutes if things don’t pick up here again.” I plated up a cinnamon roll for him and brought it around to the table he’d chosen.

“Okay, so who have you spoken with, and what have you heard?” he asked.

“Uh uh. You just want me to save you time in your research, but you never reciprocate.”

“It’s an ongoing investigation,” he explained.

“Yes, I know.” I lifted my brows.

He frowned. “Start talking and I’ll give you what I can, where appropriate.”

I gave him an irritated look. “Fine.” I filled him in on my conversations with Joe, what Connie had said, and her alibi, and what I knew about Mary Ellen’s feud with the deceased.

“That’s all you’ve got?” he asked.

“I’ve been a tad busy with work, you know.” I was disgruntled that he thought my contributions, such as they were, weren’t significant. “And, what do you have to say about it?”

“Jasmin did have violin lessons, no less than twenty minutes before the estimated time of death. There’s no way Connie could have gotten back early enough to kill Francine unless she’s developed the ability to teleport.”

“Darn. I’d kind of like to see her as the murderer. I’m not a big fan.” I scowled at the nearly eaten roll on his plate, though it hadn’t done anything offensive. He had saved me a drive out to the mall—of course, I still needed new shoes for the wedding.

“She’s a bit intense, but apparently not our killer.”

“Any possibilities I haven’t looked at yet?” I asked.

“Nothing much.” Which was his way of refusing a direct answer. His lips pursed. “There were so many people at the carnival, and most were in costumes. Some people think they saw one person or another enter the back of the booth around the time Francine was killed, but no one seems sure about who was inside the costumes, the stories conflicted, or the individual in question has no discernible reason to want her dead.”

“Right.” That was something to pursue, I supposed. Ali promised to get me the names of the ladies whose booths were closest to Francine’s, but I hadn’t seen it yet. I mentioned this to Tingey.

“I’d really rather you stayed out of this completely,” Tingey’s gaze skewered me.

“I’d really rather murderers would stop killing people I know.”

“Hey, maybe it’s your fault,” he joked. “Someone’s trying to off random people you’ve spoken with.”

“Right. That’s completely likely. In that case, you’d better make sure you keep your gun unsnapped in its holster. They might come after you next.”

He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Any luck finding Cole last night?” I asked.

“Nope. He wasn’t home. Tried again this morning.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll catch up with him later on.”

“Huh.” Why hadn’t Cole been home last night? He hadn’t been at work. So where did he go? “Seems suspicious.”

“We’ll keep looking.”

I glanced at the trio of businessmen who had come in for a snack before Tingey and now sat in a corner booth. They were paying too much attention to us and I didn’t want to feed the rumor mill by asking more questions.

But if Cole took off, that had to mean he was guilty, didn’t it? Why else would he have run? “Let me know,” I said.

“I will. I better get back to work.” He popped the last bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth, grabbed his drink, and saluted me with it as he headed for the door.

“Have a good day,” I said to his retreating figure.

Great, so Connie was out of the mix. Time to turn my attention another direction. And to the customer walking through the door.

I made myself smile at the mailman, Ben, who had entered when Tingey opened the door. “How are you doing today?” I asked as he passed over the stack of bills and junk mail.

“I’m doing just fine, how about you?”

“Great.” Ben studied my display case for a moment. “How are things coming with that murder you’re investigating?”

“Who says I’m investigating anything?” I asked.

He shot me a disbelieving look. “I may not have been around for your other cases, but I’ve heard what a great sleuth you are. Don’t tell me you aren’t checking into things.”

“What do you want today?” I changed the subject. If they arrested Cole, or found evidence he was involved, there was nothing left for me to do.

“Fine. I wasn’t trying to be pushy.” He leaned onto the counter. “Could I get one of those sugar cookies?” he pointed to the ones I’d spent way too long adding sprinkles and other fun details to that morning. “I can’t get enough of your cookies, Miss Crawford.”

When I bagged the treat and looked up at him, he was watching me with a soft smile. “You ever cook for private parties?” he asked.

Was he coming on to me? “We cater for parties of all sizes, yes.”

His smile grew. He was a probably around forty, a tad old for me, but not that bad. He had a full head of hair and really great eyes, but I hadn’t gotten the impression that he’d even noticed me before. Not that I’d given him a second thought either.

Ben passed over a few bills for his snack. “I was thinking more private than that. Like a party of two. Me and you.”

Definitely hitting on me then. I didn’t know what to say; he’d taken me completely by surprise.

“Tess, I’ve got a problem in here. Can you spare a minute?” Lenny asked.