Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection) Read online

  “I’ve never tried to run you out of town, Maggie. I think it’s the other way around, actually. But it’s not my fault that my bakery does better business than yours,” I shot back even though I felt like disappearing into the woodwork. Talking to Maggie, whether she was involved in Mikaila’s disappearance or not, was clearly a dead end. We could have stood there exchanging catty one-liners all day, but I retreated.

  “Sorry to bother you, Maggie. I’m going now.”

  As I turned to walk out of the store, I felt immensely foolish. Not only had my interrogation of Maggie been laughable, but I had also presented a less than sterling side of myself in front of Chad. I wished I could magically press a rewind button and redo the whole morning, but of course I couldn’t. With newfound determination, I plotted my next moves in thechess game: play it cool with Chad, leave Maggie alone---and take a ride to the Bluebird Landing Gazette to speak with the paper’s hungriest, most aggressive journalist.

  Chapter 7

  Hoping the kids could hold down the fort just a little longer, I drove to the office of the Bluebird Landing Gazette. Precious minutes were ticking by, and I couldn’t let Mikaila’s case get pushed aside. Storming into the office and assuming a stony resolve, I silently vowed to get a published story out of my visit. At the tortoise pace the police were working to get Mikaila’s name into the national database, I needed to be the hare and win this race against time.

  “Good morning, I’d like to speak with a reporter,” I said confidently to an older woman at the reception desk.

  “Anyone in particular?” The silver haired receptionist asked.

  “Yes, one of your pros. I need to get a story out today. It’s a story you’ll want to publish,” I assured. “A missing person case that the police are ignoring.”

  Nodding, the receptionist picked up her switchboard phone and announced, “Civilian here with a crime story.”

  I barely had time to blink before a middle aged man with a deeply receding hairline zipped into the reception area. “Got a story for me?” He buzzed with enthusiasm.

  “Yes, I do,” I audibly exhaled as I stood face to face with a reporter who clearly had elephant ears.

  “Let’s take a walk to my desk.” He extended his hand. “Ted Clementi.”

  “Cathleen Vonnehaus. Nice to meet you.” I courteously shook his hand as we maneuvered through a maze of cubicles.

  “Aren’t you the owner of Cathleen’s Cookie Castle?” Ted asked curiously.

  I suppressed a groan, hoping he wouldn’t go off on a cookie tangent the way Officer Deacon at the police station had. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “We did a story on your bakery a few years back, I think.” He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

  “Yes, but you weren’t the reporter who interviewed me.”

  “No. I tackle the heavier stories. The crime dramas. So tell me, what’s the scoop?” Ted pulled out a chair for me in front of a desk cluttered with old newspaper clippings and enough pencils to write a brand new Oxford English Dictionary. An empty bag of barbeque potato chips and a 3 Musketeers wrapper rounded out the mess.

  Hoping the hurricane on Ted’s desk wasn’t the sign of a scatter brain, I informed, “One of my colleagues at the bakery went missing two days ago.”

  “Have you gone to the police?” He questioned, looking at me intently through grayish eyes as he switched on a tablet to take notes.

  “Of course. After 24 hours. But they’ve been dragging their feet on the investigation and haven’t found any leads yet.”

  Ted nodded with interest. “Okay, just tell me everything you know. Don’t spare any detail. Then I’ll ask questions to iron out the loose ends.”

  Slowly, I told the reporter every detail that I was privy to about the case. I paused at intervals, not wanting to forget something crucial and leave a gaping hole in the story. Ted tapped away on his tablet as I spoke, listening with fierce interest. He stopped me when I got to the part about Mikaila’s trailer park address.

  “Have you been to the trailer park?”

  “No. Like I said, I went to her apartment, and that was in a bad enough area. I don’t think I want to go to the trailer park, although I haven’t ruled it out. But the detective wouldn’t tell me the address.”

  “There’s only one trailer park in Eagle Ridge. I’d be glad to take a ride down there and have a look. And I’ll definitely make sure this gets a prime spot in tomorrow’s paper. You came just in time for the cut-off.” Ted reclined in his chair, scrolling through his notes and drawing in a breath as he asked, “You really don’t know anything else about Mikaila’s history? Nothing about her personal life? Or her life in Iowa? It seems odd that she would work for you over the course of a year and still be a virtual stranger.”

  “I agree. It’s funny because I’ve even had her over to my house. Last Christmas, I had a little party for my employees, and she was there. She was very talkative---that’s her personality. But she didn’t like to talk about herself.”

  “A little internet research could go a long way,” Ted commented. “I can’t tell you how many cold cases have been cracked wide open after running someone’s name through a search engine.”

  “I haven’t had time to do much searching on the internet yet, but I will now that you mention it.” Even though I was itching with curiosity about the trailer park where Mikaila resided, I knew an internet investigation would be a much wiser path to take.

  “So will I. This is a fascinating case. It has all the makings of a top news story…” he stopped as I scowled. “Sorry, I know this woman is a friend of yours. But this is a case that people will be curious about.”

  “It’s fine,” I brushed off his tactlessness with a wave of my hand. “I’m just glad that you’re going to put this story in tomorrow’s Gazette. Hopefully, having the information in print will help.”

  “I have no doubt that it will.” Ted stood up and held out his hand for a goodbye shake. “If you don’t have any other information for me, then I’m going to get started on this article.”

  Shaking the journalist’s meaty hand, I thanked him. “I really appreciate your meeting with me on the spur of the moment.”

  Ted chuckled. “I’m a reporter. That’s what we do. Our clocks run 24/7.” He walked me to the door and said, “I’ll contact you if anything comes up. Is your bakery line the best place to reach you?”

  “It’s where I usually am, but here’s my cell, just in case.” I wrote my number down on a slip of paper and handed it to Ted. “Thanks again.”

  “No need for thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  ***

  I watched my cell phone like a hawk as the day trudged on without any word from either Ted or Detective Mars. And of course, there was no word from Mikaila. It was almost as though she had---poof!---disappeared from the face of the planet. Nagging ideas of venturing to the trailer park kept surfacing in my mind, and I kept pushing them away. If Chad thought I was crazy for working 7 days a week, what would he think if I told him I wanted to play detective at a trailer park?

  The day trickled into evening as I said good night to Byron and Jade. My head heavy from too many long days and too much criminal analysis, I packed up for home as soon as the doors closed for the night. A steaming bubble bath with a frosty glass of white wine sounded like the perfect antidote for my stress.

  As I was walking to my car to race home for a much needed pampering bubble bath, my cell phone intruded with a shrill beep. “Hello?” I reluctantly answered the phone.

  “Cathleen? This is Ted Clementi from the paper.” His voice was frantic.

  “Yes? Is everything okay?”

  “I can’t publish the article on Mikaila,” he said gravely.

  “What are you talking about? You said it would be in tomorrow’s paper!” I complained.

  “I know. But I have ethics as a journalist, and I can’t publish the article. If you want to swing by the Gazette, I’ll explain everything.”

  “I’m
on my way.” I disconnected the phone, making a U-turn and speeding to the newspaper office.

  Red lights and stop signs hampered my mad dash to reach the office. In my mind, I turned over every possible reason why Ted wouldn’t feel that it was ethical to publish the article on Mikaila. But the reasons were all jumbled, and I was coming up blank. To my logic, there was no satisfactory reason why Ted couldn’t publish the article. The only explanation was that he was a quack, as disorganized as the pigsty he called a desk.

  The newspaper office was locked when I arrived, so I rapped forcefully on the door. Ted quickly came out to let me in. “Come on back to my desk, Cathleen. I thought you had a story for me, but boy have I got a story for you.”

  Bewildered, I followed Ted through the rows of empty cubes as a greasy stench permeated the air. On his desk sat a bucket of half-eaten fried chicken and biscuits. “I ordered in tonight. Would you like a wing?”

  “No thank you,” I refused politely. Literally on the edge of my seat, I beseeched, “Ted, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. What do you know?”

  “Mikaila Myers is not who you think she is.”

  “What do you mean? That’s not her real name?”

  “Oh no, that’s her real name alright. But a little digging on the internet uncovered why she was so quiet about her past.” He chuckled with irony. “It’s not something you tell anyone, let alone your boss.”

  “What?! Just say it!” My patience was dangling by a splitting thread.

  Staring at me through small gray eyes, Ted revealed, “Mikaila Myers is a wanted fugitive. There’s a warrant out for her arrest in Montana.”

  Chapter 8

  Dumbfounded, I gasped, “What? Are you sure?”

  “100% sure. She’s not the angel you thought she was, I’m afraid.” Ted shook his head sympathetically.

  “What is the arrest warrant for?”

  “Check fraud, embezzlement, identity theft. Take your pick. She apparently swindled her last employer out of $10,000 in Billings.” Ted glanced at his tablet computer as he exposed the ugly details.

  “Billings? Is that where she’s from?” My head throbbed with a mixture of shock and confusion.

  “That’s right. She’s not a Midwestern girl from Iowa. She’s from Montana. Born and raised. I even found an old profile she put up for an alumni site.”

  My heart raced as I contemplated how she had swindled her former boss out of so much money. “What else do you know---about who she worked for and what happened with the boss she swindled?”

  “Apparently, Mikaila was working for a designer clothing store in Billings. Her crimes started out small: taking money from the cash register, stealing blouses, little stuff. But she gradually worked her way up to endorsing paychecks written to herself and forged in her boss’s name. Her big mistake came when she forged a large check for an even $10,000. Of course her boss noticed such a hefty amount missing from the store’s bank account and called the police. But it was too late. Mikaila had already hit the road---and fled to Wisconsin.”

  “I can’t believe this. It can’t be true,” I protested, completely incapable of connecting the sweet goofball I had worked with to the slick criminal Ted was depicting.

  “I’m afraid it’s all true. This is her, right?” He turned the screen towards me as a glowing image of Mikaila smiled mockingly at me.

  “That’s her. Definitely.” My heart sank.

  “Listen, it’s possible that the woman came to Wisconsin to turn her life around and start new. But it’s more likely that she’s been pulling the same shenanigans at your bakery. Have you gone over the books lately?” Ted inquired as the invisible halo I had crowned Mikaila with permanently evaporated.

  “Yes, I check them regularly. But that’s not what I’m worried about.” My concerns instantly fixated on my recipes. “I have to go. Thanks for the info.” I shot out of my chair as Ted looked at me in disbelief.

  “Are you going to the police? I’ve already notified them. The missing person investigation has already changed into a wanted criminal search.”

  Without replying, I dashed out of the newspaper office, yanking my car door open and then slamming it after I jumped in. Stomping my foot on the gas pedal, I drove recklessly to my bakery. The night Mikaila had disappeared, I had verified that the safe hadn’t been broken into. But that didn’t mean that the safe hadn’t been smoothly opened by a practiced criminal as innocent little Mikaila had turned out to be. Why hadn’t I tried the combination that night instead of assuming everything was fine? I had been too trusting, gullible even. If my recipes were gone, then I would have no one to blame but myself.

  Screeching to a halt in front of my bakery, I shot out of the car and ran inside. My hands trembled as I twisted the 4 digit combination into the lock. Sucking in a nervous breath, I opened the safe, peering inside. Nothingness as fearsome as a black hole stared back at me tauntingly. The recipes were gone. Every single one of them. Gone. I hung my head, thinking how ashamed my grandmother would be of me. Guarded the recipes like gold? I had done nothing of the sort. I had carelessly abandoned them like plastic.

  Delving into my purse, I picked up my phone and dialed the police. “I need to report a theft!”

  ***

  Biting my nails into stubs, I waited for the detectives to arrive. Both Mars and Chapman were supposedly on their way to the scene. But more than an hour had passed since my initial phone call to the police, and I was becoming restless. Finally, a pair of headlights gleamed in the parking lot as the detectives stepped out of their vehicle and strutted inside.

  “Finally!” I muttered under my breath. “Please, come with me to the back of the store. That’s where the safe is.”

  They followed my lead to the empty safe, looking inside and then reaching with their hands to feel around for any objects. “You say you kept recipes in here?”

  “Yes, hundreds of them. They were written by my great-grandmother and passed down through the generations. They’re very valuable,” I said urgently.

  “What makes them so valuable?” Detective Chapman asked skeptically as I gave him an exasperated sideways look.

  “Because they’re all original! All created in Germany! I’ve been baking with these recipes for the past decade!’

  “Okay, calm down Ms. Vonnehaus. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Do you have any idea who would have stolen your recipes---and how they could have obtained the combination to the safe?” Detective Mars inquired.

  “Obviously, I think Mikaila took the recipes! I just found out from a reporter at the Bluebird Landing Gazette who she really is. And how she could have gotten the combo to my safe…” I thought for a moment. Then a memory of the Christmas party flashed in my mind. “She’s only been to my house once. For a Christmas party. I keep the combination to the safe in the top drawer of my desk. I guess she could have been snooping around and copied the combination down on a piece of paper or punched it into her phone.”

  “Do you keep your desk drawer locked?” Detective Mars asked.

  “No.” I hung my head lower. “But I should. I will now.”

  “Okay, well that’s one theory you gave us and it’s a likely one, but we have no proof that Mikaila Myers stole anything from you. However, based on her criminal record that we’ve just become aware of, we’ll be looking into it fully.” The detectives started walking towards the door as I followed closely at their heels.

  “That’s it? You’re just going to leave without checking for fingerprints or anything?” I asked furiously.