Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1 (5 page)

Detective Bradshaw thought she’d
killed Beth. Cat didn’t doubt that for a second.

She pulled up in front of her bakery,
then parked across the road. She couldn’t change his mind or force him to
listen to what she had to say, but she could continue investigating and get to
the bottom of this before it was too late.

“But where to next? Who do I speak to?”
Cat whispered. She turned off the engine of her car, then got out. She bumped
the car door closed, then locked it.

Tara’s conversation had sparked
curiosity in her mind, but she didn’t have anything other than a journal which
might or might not be relevant to the case.

Catherine sighed and strode across the
road. She stopped beneath the wrought iron lamppost outside her store and
jangled her keys around. She found the right one, then stepped up to the front
door of Cat’s Cookies.

“Hey,” a woman said.

Catherine shrieked and threw the keys
into the air. They dropped on top of her head, and she danced on the spot, then
grabbed at her crown. “Ouch.”

Rachel Walters moved into the circle
of light beneath the lamppost. “Sorry,” she said, her pink hair glinting
beneath the light. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Rachel,” Cat said, then drew in a
breath. She bent and grabbed her keys off the bricks lining the sidewalk, then
straightened. “I’m not going to lie and say you didn’t scare the choc chips out
of my cookie dough, there.”

Rachel giggled, then pressed her fist
to her black lips. “I need to talk to you if that’s okay.” Her dark eye makeup
transformed the young adult into a raccoon in this lighting.

Catherine bit her lip and fiddled the
right key out of the bunch. Any of the Walters could’ve killed Beth. Or the
mystery bald man on the pier could have. But, Rachel might have a lead in the
case.

“Sure,” she said. “Why not?”

“Great!” Rachel shuffled forward and
ran her fingers through her bright pink do.

Cat unlocked the front door, then
walked inside and held it open for Rachel. The young lady strode into the store
and sniffed.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here. Sweet
and delicious.”

“Yeah, that’s the cookies,” Cat
replied. “I’ll get us a few. Then we can go upstairs and have a chat.” She
hurried to the counter and bagged up a few Cheeky Choc Chips, then walked to
the stairs in the corner. “This way.”

Rachel shut the front door and locked
it, then followed Catherine to the corner.

They strode up the stairs, and Cat
unlocked the gate, then the front door.

“You sure have a lot of security,”
Rachel said.

“Yeah, someone tried to break-in the
other day. I’m planning on having a proper security system installed,” she
replied. “Granted, I might end up in jail if I don’t figure out who murdered
Beth, soon.”

Rachel stared at her, eyes as wide as,
well, as cookies.

Whoops, she hadn’t meant to say that
last part out loud.

“Come on in,” Cat said, then led the
way. Oreo appeared in the kitchen doorway, immediately. He meowed at her, then
bustled across the hall, the bell on his collar tinkling.

“What an adorable kitty!” Rachel said.
She dropped to her knees and Oreo – the same Oreo who never liked anyone but
Catherine – purred and rubbed against her outstretched hand.

That could only be a good sign.

Catherine locked the gate, and the
front door to her tiny apartment then walked through to the living room. “This
way,” she said.

Rachel rose from her spot on the floor
and hurried through to the living room. She glanced around and grinned. Black
lipstick smudged her two front teeth. “You’ve sure got a nice place.”

“Thank you,” Cat replied, then
gestured to the sofa. “Have a seat, please. I’ll get us a couple cups of
coffee.”

“Thanks,” Rachel said, then gave
another nervous grin. She lowered herself to the sofa, then grimaced and
shifted.

“What’s wrong?” Cat asked.

“Nothing, I just. This couch is
lumpy,” Rachel replied, then wiggled around. She reached underneath the cushion
and brought out the leather bound journal. “What’s this –?” She trailed off.

“It’s, uh, don’t open that, it’s just
something I found,” Cat said. Shoot, she’d meant to move that ages ago, but
she’d been so caught up in investigating she’d forgotten.

“This is mine,” Rachel said and hugged
the journal to her chest. “Did you read it?” Her gaze darkened, but not with
anger. Tears swam in her bright blue eyes.

“Yeah, I did,” Catherine replied. “I’m
sorry, Rachel. I found it in your house, and I took it. I know that’s wrong,
but I thought it was a clue.” She’d jumped to conclusions. Shameful.

“This is ancient,” Rachel replied, and
flipped it open. Her gaze traced across the word ‘death’ written hundreds of
times over. “I know it looks bad, but it’s not what you think.”

Cat crossed to the armchair and sat
down in it. “What do I think?”

“That I killed Beth. I didn’t. I loved
Beth,” Rachel replied. “She was the only one in my entire family who believed
in me. She told me that I didn’t have to study what my mom wanted me to. And
that I could be anything. Anything at all. Gosh, I sound like a kid.”

Cat didn’t point out that she was
barely out of college. She was still a kid, technically. At least, to most of
the world. “May I ask why you wrote those things?” Catherine gestured to the
journal.

“Sure,” Rachel said. “I did it to
freak my parents out. It’s the reason I wear all this makeup too. When I’m at
college, I don’t. I just want to show them that they can’t tell me what to do
anymore.”

“And the pink hair too?”

“No, that’s just good fashion sense,”
Rachel replied, and tossed her pink locks back.

“I see,” Cat replied, borrowing from
handsome Jack Bradshaw’s repertoire. Not handsome. Just Jack. She blinked the
weird train of thought away. “And how did your mother react.”

“She threw the book at me,” Rachel
said, but she chuckled. “It’s okay. I wrote this what, last year? I wanted that
kind of reaction out of her.”

“When last did you open that journal?”
Catherine asked. “Every other book in the study was covered in dust, except for
that.”

Rachel jerked back in surprise.
“Really? That’s strange because this is the first time I’ve touched it since I
first wrote it.”

Cat raised her eyebrows. That didn’t
make any sense. Who would’ve played around with Rachel’s diary?

The young girl leaned forward and
balanced her elbows on the knees of her jeans. She met Cat’s gaze head on.
“Beth was the best friend I’ve ever had, including the girls at college. If
there’s anything I can do to help you get to the bottom of this, tell me.”

Oreo hopped onto the sofa, sniffed the
book in Rachel’s hands, then rubbed his chin on her knuckles.

“Thank you, Rachel,” Cat said. “You
can keep your ears and eyes out, especially when you’re at home.”

“You don’t think that someone in my
family could have, um, done that, do you?” Rach asked.

“It’s too early to say, but I don’t
want to disregard anything right now,” Cat replied. “Now, how about that
coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Rachel replied, then
grabbed a cookie from the paper bag on the table. Oreo meowed at her, and she
fed him a tiny piece.

Catherine left the two of them in the
living room, and her mood dropped through the floor. She’d officially run out
of legitimate leads. This investigating thing wasn’t as easy as it seemed.

Catherine sat on Beth’s favorite bench
at the waterfront. Waves crashed against the side of the pier, and a brisk
breeze rustled the leaves in the trees lining the walkway. Spray spattered
against Cat’s cheeks, but she didn’t wipe it away. Oreo meowed at her from the
end of his kitty leash.

“I’m stuck,” she said, out loud.

Her cat tilted his head to one side
and stared at her, but his gaze darted to the seagulls swirling overhead, right
away.

The sun sparkled on the horizon,
poking its orange head above the waves. Sunday morning. Tomorrow, she’d be back
in the bakery, making and serving delicious treats to all of Charleston.

Granted, they might not come in if
they believed the Walters and thought she was the murderer.

She had to find another lead.

Cat adjusted her legs, then tugged at
her jeans to straighten them. Memories of Beth on this bench flooded her mind.
Her purple hair, her sweet smile, and the time she’d tried – and failed – to
teach Catherine to fish.

“What do we know, Oreo? Beth was hit
and pushed into the water. Rachel’s journal meant nothing, and Tara’s having
financial troubles but it doesn’t fit in with what happened to Beth because she
made the will out to me.” Cat hadn’t called the lawyer to find out more about
that.

She didn’t care about the money.

“That leaves the –” Cat cut off and
stared at the lone figure pacing along the pier. A man. A short, bald man.
“Him.”

Catherine leaped off the bench, then
swept Oreo into her arms. “Hold on tight, kitty cat. We’re going for a jog.”

He meowed at her and peered out at the
seagulls. Oreo was the adaptable kind. Running? Sure, as long as he could still
see his gulls.

Cat jogged down the walkway and turned
onto the pier. The man at the end brought his cellphone out of his pocket and
fiddled with it.

“Hey, you!” Cat yelled.

He jumped and spun on the spot.
“What?” His voice squeaked.

Oreo shifted his gaze from the gulls
to the stranger, then back again.

“You there,” Catherine repeated. She
jogged to a halt in front of the strange, short guy, then held up a hand. She
sucked in great gasps. All those cookies had deprived her of the will to
exercise.

Jogging wasn’t her M.O.

“What do you want?” The guy asked, his
light eyebrows folding in on themselves. “I’m busy.”

“Who are you and what are you doing on
this pier?” Cat asked. That’d come out confrontational.

“This is a free country,” he said.

“A woman was murdered on this pier a
few days ago. I want to know why you’re here. I’m an, an investigator,” she
said. A little white lie. Impulsive, crazy. This wasn’t good. She couldn’t run
around saying and doing whatever to find the truth.

“I’m Jarred,” the little guy squeaked,
then stuck out a hand to shake.

Oreo hissed at him, and he snatched it
back.

“Nice to meet you,” she said and
nodded. “Any reason you’re out here on a day like this?” The ocean crashed
against the pier and droplets sprayed the side of Cat’s face. Oreo yowled
instead of meowing. Swimming wasn’t his forte.

“I’m a competitive fisherman,” Jarred
replied, smoothly. “I was surveying the water. You know, seeing if this is
worth my time.” He tucked his cell into his pocket, then shifted his gaze from
side-to-side.

“Oh? I’ve never seen you around here
before. Are you new to Charleston?” Catherine asked, and stroked Oreo to calm
him down. The fur on the back of his neck stood on end. 

“Yeah, I travel from town to town,
looking for the best fishing locations,” Jarred replied, and tucked his hands
into the pockets of his faded, and dirty, jeans. “Is that all? Are we done
here? Because I have places to be.”

“I guess so.”

Jarred strode past her and to the far
end of the pier, back stiff as a fishing rod.

“Curious,” Cat whispered. “Very
curious. Come on, Oreo, let’s get you back home to dry.”

Her kitty didn’t grace her with a
reply. Oh boy, she’d pay for bringing him this close to the water when they got
home.

Pearlz Oyster Bar was stuffed with
customers. Tables lined the walls and spread across the center of the large
room. People laughed, joked, clinked their glasses together.

Cat pressed her lips together, then
popped them free and sighed. “It doesn’t feel the same without Beth,” she said.

Sunday nights were restaurant night in
their tiny friendship circle. They’d take turns picking the hottest restaurants
around Charleston, then treat themselves to a culinary adventure.

Beth’s idea, of course. And whenever
it’d been her turn, the elderly woman had always chosen seafood restaurants.

“I’ll get better,” Lacy replied, and
raised her soda. She sucked on the end of the straw, then shrugged.

“If you say so,” Cat said, then drank
some of her milkshake. “So, what are you getting? Oysters?”

“Yuck, no, thank you,” Lacy replied.
“I think I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“You ate prawn nigiri the other day,
Lace.” Catherine chuckled at her friend. Lacy’s hypochondria amused and frustrated
her.

“So? I just don’t like the idea of
those squirmy wet, things.”

“All right, all right,” Cat replied.
“I’ll have some alone. Maybe force feed you one.”

“Ewww,” Lacy said and held her fingers
in a cross to ward off the evil that was oysters.

“Yum, oysters, lemon juice, Tabasco.”

“Stop, you’re trying to make me gag,”
Lacy groaned, and pressed her hand to her belly.

Cat waved off her complaints, then
lifted the menu and examined the items on it. Delicious dishes, but all she
could think about was Jarred Weaver. He'd definitely lied to her – those shifty
eyes had said it all.

“Have a surf and turf platter, then,”
Catherine said, at last. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve got something important to
tell you about the case.”

“The case?”

“You know, Beth’s murder case,” she
said.

“No, I know what you mean, I just
didn’t realize you were that into this investigation thing,” Lacy replied.
“Cat, you have to be careful. This is dangerous. I mean, there’s a real
murderer on the loose.”

“I’m aware of that, Lace. Don’t worry.
I’ll be as careful as humanly possible,” she replied.

“As Cat-possible, you mean. You’ve
never had a real regard for your own safety,” Lacy said and shook her head. She
closed her menu and leaned her forearms on it. “So, what did you want to tell
me?” She asked.

“I found the short, bald man those
fishermen told us about.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He was at the end of the pier
this morning. His name is Jarred Weaver, and he is super creepy,” Cat replied.
She glanced left and right, then leaned in. “He said he was a professional
fisherman or whatever, but I don’t buy it for a second.”

“Why not?”

“Because he wasn’t there to fish and
he stood on the end of the pier with his phone out before I got to him. I bet
he was about to phone someone or, or – shoot. I don’t know,” Cat said, then
plumped her hair. “I just didn’t get a good vibe from him.”

Lacy’s cheeks paled, and she shifted
back in her seat. She stared past Cat’s shoulder at a spot out of sight.

“What’s the matter?”

“Don’t look now,” Lacy said, “but that
Walters woman is here. You know, the wife of the guy who screamed at you at the
memorial service.”

Cat’s insides turned to ice. She
hadn’t told Lacy about her late night gallivant outside the Walters’ residence.
“What’s she doing?”

Lacy swallowed and gasped in a few
breaths. “She’s – with – a – man,” she said.

“Oh gosh, I have to see,” Cat replied,
then narrowed her eyes at her best friend. “And you need to calm down.”

Lacy nodded and averted her eyes.
She’d been way too anxious of late.

Catherine turned her head to the side
and pretended to study the specials written on the chalkboard opposite them.
She watched Tara Walters out of her peripheral vision.

Pearls clung to her neck – they had to
be a new string since she’d obliterated her last set – and she leaned in to
whisper to her dinner mate. A man in a suit and tie, with a full head of hair.

Cat faced the front again. “I don’t
recognize him. Do you?”

“Nope,” Lacy said, and studied her
nails. She’d calmed her breathing, at least.

“I wonder what they’re doing here.”
Cat tapped her fingernails on the plain white tablecloth.

“Maybe it’s just an innocent business
meeting,” Lacy said, then glanced past Cat’s shoulder again. She quickly
averted her eyes. “Here she comes,” she whispered, out of the corner of her
mouth.

Tara’s cloud of perfume preceded her.
Cat sneezed, then blocked the next one with her index finger.

Tara Walters strode past their table –
she didn’t even notice them – and entered a door at the far end of the room.

“She’s just going to the ladies room,”
Lacy said and sighed relief.

“Good.” Cat rose from her seat and
threw her napkin down on the table. “I’ll be right back.”

“Cat, no!” Lacy hissed.

Catherine rolled up her sleeves then
paced across the carpeted floor and to the bathroom doors. She pressed it open
with her fist, then charged inside.

Tara stood beside the sinks, clicking
the screen of her smartphone, perfectly manicured fingernails dancing in the
rhythm of a text message.

“Mrs. Walters,” Cat said.

The woman flinched then looked up at
her. Surprise turned to disdain. Her features puckered up, and she narrowed her
eyes. “Kelley,” she said. “I haven’t seen you since you tried to crash Beth’s
memorial service.”

“I had every right to be there. I had
every right to share in the grief,” Cat said. “You didn’t even care about
Beth.”

Tara rolled her eyes, then glanced in
the mirror. She made a face and unhooked the straps of her bag from her
shoulder. She plunked the designer purse on the bathroom counter, then brought
out a tube of mascara.

“Who’s your date?” Cat asked, and
folded her arm. She tapped her heeled boot on the tiles.

“I’m a married woman, Kelley. I don’t
go on dates.”

“Who is he?” Catherine repeated. She
wouldn’t let the woman shimmy out of the question that easily. “A business
associate?”

Tara froze, the mascara wand hovering
an inch from her right eyelid. “As a matter of fact, he is.”

“I know you need money, Tara. You have
the motivation, not me,” Cat said. A wash of anger had swept her along with it.
Her mouth worked before her brain could. This might end badly.

She had to control it or - 

“That’s right. And you’ve got the
money, I need. Beth’s money was Walters’ family money. It belongs to my
husband,” Tara replied. She finished applying her mascara, then fastened the
tube. “As a matter of fact, the man I’m with is the lawyer who’s going to get
that money away from you.”

“What’s your problem?” Cat asked. “I
never wanted Beth’s money. I’d give it all up just to have her back.”

Tara scoffed, then took a step
problem. “My problem? I’m not the one who murdered the woman for an
inheritance.” She strode out of the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

Cat stared at her reflection in the
mirror and shook her head. Something didn’t add up about Tara Walters. She just
couldn’t place her finger on what that was.

“Time to find out.”