Small Town Spooky (Cozy Mystery Anthology) Page 10

“I don’t know. I felt some object…” I babbled, suddenly wondering if I had tripped over my own two feet. I was a bit tipsy and unaccustomed to drinking even a drop of alcohol. Plus the dance with Robert had made me feel heady despite all my better judgment. Or was it possible that my stalker had planted an object by the pool in the hopes that I would trip over it? Maybe the person had already recovered the object in the commotion of the dozens of people now surrounding the pool area. But that didn’t make sense. How would my stalker know that I was going to take a walk by the pool? Anyone could have tripped over a planted object.

  “Oh wait a second…do you mean you tripped over this?” Robert asked as he stooped down and cupped his large hand around something.

  “Let me see. Open your hand,” I urged as Robert splayed his fingers open.

  Nausea attacked me as Robert revealed a pointy edged plastic protractor.

  Chapter 11

  “How did that get here?” I mumbled, automatically assuming that it was the same protractor as the one in my garden. But if my memory---and sanity---was still intact, then I was fairly certain the protractor in the garden had been made of metal. This one was fashioned in plastic, so they were two distinct objects. Either way, the realization brought little comfort. My stalker had definitely planted the protractor by the edge of the pool in the hopes that I would trip and fall. The person must be so evil so as not to care whether an uninvolved party tripped rather than me. At the same time, the protractor had been planted by the deep end of the pool, indicating that the intention was to humiliate me but not to kill me. The protractor could easily have been placed by the shallow side of the pool if killing me was the goal. But the really provocative question was: why a protractor? What did the object symbolize in the corroded brain of my stalker?

  “Beatrice, what’s going on? Are you feeling okay?” Robert asked, touching a hand to my forehead.

  “I’m fine. I just need to get out of here,” I said, trying to avoid the gawks and gaping jaws of the onlookers.

  “Is she drunk?” I heard someone whisper.

  “Probably just wants attention!” Someone else hissed.

  I wrapped Robert’s jacket tighter around me and bowed my head low. Robert stood tall and proudly at my side while ignoring the gasps and whispers. My head snapped up reflexively as I heard the disapproving voice of my boss.

  “Beatrice, seriously? If you wanted to take a dip in the pool, you should have brought your swimsuit!” He laughed as I bit my lower lip to keep from issuing a sassy retort.

  “Oh my gosh,” Raina breathed as she surveyed me in my skin tight “wet suit.”

  Briefly glancing at the girl, I thought I noticed an amused grin on her face, but I couldn’t be sure. I felt like the main attraction at a funhouse as I left the party in disgrace. Robert rushed to get a horse and carriage for us as I envisioned the sly expression on Raina’s face and remembered the snide remark from Dr. Haggart’s mouth. Could either of them be the one responsible for all this aggression towards me? Or was I just so desperate for answers that I was ready to accuse anyone at that point?

  “Here we go, Beatrice. Step in,” Robert guided, holding out a hand that I accepted.

  “Thank you, Robert, but you don’t need to go with me. I’m going home, but there’s no reason for you not to enjoy the party.”

  “I’m going with you,” Robert said firmly, squeezing in next to me so we were seated hip to hip.

  I tucked my chin into my chest unable to recall a night when I had felt so mortified. How was I going to return to work at the School Board on Monday? Hunter didn’t need a laughingstock for a mother. Shoot. Why did I take a walk by the pool? Wine and swimming pools form a recipe for disaster. But no, I couldn’t blame myself. My fate had been sealed the moment the vindictive person set the protractor at the water’s edge.

  Grimly, I pictured the protractor, all the numbers curving along the perimeter, every increment measured out precisely. What did those numbers have to do with my predicament? Convulsively, I imagined that the numbers were counting down to my death. Each increment on the protractor was like a day checked off on my stalker’s calendar until the arrival of my personal doomsday.

  “Beatrice, tell me what’s going on,” Robert implored, ripping me from my macabre thoughts.

  As the horses rhythmically trotted along the road, I took a deep breath and did something that shocked both Robert and me: I confided in him. I spilled every detail of every cruel game that had been waged against me over the past couple of weeks. Rather than exhibit skepticism, Robert proved to be a patient and compassionate listener.

  “Why haven’t you gone to the police?” He asked harshly after I finished laying out the sequence of events.

  “Up until tonight, I didn’t think there was anything the police could do. It all seemed like some sort of April Fool’s joke, not to be taken too seriously. But now I feel like I should contact the police.”

  “Of course you should! Beatrice, it’s not just your life that could be in danger. Hunter’s life could be in peril as well!”

  Robert’s statement struck home as I reflected on my sweet boy who was probably drifting off to sleep at that very moment, completely unaware of what his mother had been enduring. “You’re right. I’ve been an idiot…”

  “You haven’t been an idiot. You could never be an idiot, Beatrice.”

  “Are you sure about that? I never went to college, you know,” I snorted as old insecurities rose to the surface.

  “So what? That doesn’t mean anything. You’re very intelligent. It’s one of the reasons I’m so attracted to you,” Robert stated frankly as he looked into my eyes.

  For once, I didn’t look away. I met Robert’s gaze and did something else that shocked us both to the core: I leaned in for a kiss. I didn’t have to lean in very far before Robert captured my lips in his and kissed me with infinite tenderness. My nerve endings tingled with excitement. When had my last first kiss been? Almost 15 years ago when I met my ex. Ugh. This was so long overdue. Forgetting the fact that I looked like a wet rat, losing myself in the preciousness of the moment, I kissed Robert with an ardor that I had forgotten I possessed.

  “Um, this is your house, isn’t it ma’am?” The coachman asked awkwardly as we pulled onto my street.

  “Yes it is, thank you,” I said crisply pulling myself away from Robert.

  As I stepped out of the carriage, I realized that my shoes must still be floating somewhere on the top of that blasted swimming pool. Glancing down at my feet, Robert said, “Don’t worry, Cinderella. I’ll bring you your shoe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even bring you both of them.”

  “I’m not Cinderella,” I said hastily.

  “It was just a joke, Beatrice,” Robert assured. “Hey, I’m not Prince Charming either, so…”

  “You seem pretty charming to me.”

  “Really? I hope not. Because charm is fake and I’m just trying to be myself,” Robert explained.

  “Ah, so you do understand why I don’t want to be called Cinderella,” I murmured as we exchanged a grin.

  The house loomed dark and empty in front of me as my body rejected the idea of entering it alone. Perceiving my fear, Robert said, “Let me stay over tonight…in the guest room of course. Then first thing tomorrow morning, we’ll head over to the police.”

  “Okay,” I agreed, unable to think of a better solution for the night. So I opened the door and let Robert in…

  Chapter 12

  The next morning I awoke very much aware of the fact that there was a man in my house. Robert wasn’t snoring or making any other offensive noises, but I could feel his presence and it comforted me more than I wanted it to. Taking a brisk shower, I quickly toweled off and dressed in modest attire. Heading downstairs to the kitchen, I prepared a pot of coffee and got breakfast started.

  A few minutes later, Robert emerged in the doorway and yawned. “Is that coffee I smell?” He asked lazily.

  “Yes it is. And I’ve got a nice Weste
rn omelet for you here along with a side of hash browns. Do you like ketchup or just salt?” I asked casually.

  “I like both,” Robert answered agreeably. “But right after we eat, we have to go down to the police station.”

  “Yeah, about that…I don’t think it’s really necessary.”

  “Beatrice, are you kidding me? Don’t change your mind just because the sun is shining again. Tonight when the sun sets, you’ll be glad you went to the police. They can actually find out who’s been doing this to you!”

  “Again, you’re right. I guess I’m just in denial about the whole thing,” I sighed, flipping the butter browned omelet onto his plate.

  “Mmm, this looks amazing,” Robert praised.

  “Enjoy!” I dug my fork into the eggs and hungrily ate. The olives and cheese I had barely touched at the gala had done a poor job of sustaining me overnight.

  Devouring breakfast in record time, I lingered by the sink to do the dishes. Anything to stall going to the police station. “Oh, you know what? I need to pick up Hunter from his babysitter’s house…”

  “We can pick Hunter up after we go to the police station,” Robert said decisively.

  “You’re a little bullheaded,” I teased.

  “I’m bullheaded? The pot always insists on calling the kettle black, doesn’t it?” He chuckled as I allowed myself a carefree laugh.

  After I had dried off the last dish, I knew I couldn’t delay the inevitable anymore. “I guess I feel that if I don’t go to the police, then this isn’t really happening,” I observed, tapping into my subconscious.

  “I know. I understand. But this is really happening, unfortunately. Come on, Beatrice. I’m with you.” Robert stood by the door.

  “My purse is upstairs! Let me just run and get it!” I said as Robert gave me an exasperated look.

  “I’ll be waiting outside. Don’t dawdle!” He commanded with a semi-smile as I rushed up the stairs.

  From my bedroom, I could hear the front door swing open and the timber of Robert’s voice reverberate through the air. Who was he talking to? I crept down the hall towards the coiling staircase. Robert’s voice took on an angry note as I heard a woman snapping at him. Her voice sounded familiar, but from the distance of the staircase, I couldn’t distinguish her identity. Racing down the stairs, I dashed outside to see what was happening. To my enormous shock, I came face to face with Melody clasping a black Magic Marker in her hand.

  Chapter 13

  “What’s going on here?” I cried out.

  “Nothing. I was just leaving a note in your mailbox,” Melody screamed, sounding on the verge of hysterics.

  “She was leaving this in your mailbox,” Robert clarified, handing me a sheet of red construction paper.

  “You didn’t drown, but that doesn’t mean you’ve reached the shore. These waters are about to become more dangerous than Jaws,” I read the terrible message aloud and stared searchingly into Melody’s eyes. But her expression was utterly emotionless. “It was you all this time. It was you! But why? You’re my friend! How could you do this to me?”

  “How could you sleep with my husband?!” She shrieked.

  “Sleep with your husband? Are you out of your mind? I’ve never even gone near your husband!” I shouted defensively.

  “I see the way he looks at you. And even last night, he had to try to get his paws on you for a dance…”

  “If Carl is attracted to me, I had no idea! And what makes you think he’s sleeping with me? Just because of how he looks at me? That’s absurd!”

  “You swear to me right now Beatrice that you’re not sleeping with my husband! Are you swearing to me?” Melody demanded as Robert looked on, horrified.

  “I already told you. And I’m not the one who has questions to answer. You are! Danny and Hunter are best friends. How could you do this to them?” I demanded, knowing that the bond between the boys was likely to be permanently broken.

  “Let’s go to the police,” Robert spoke up. “Nothing has changed except that we’ve made their job very easy.”

  “Police! No, you can’t do that! Think about my son!” Melody pleaded.

  “You should have thought about your son!” Robert barked.

  “I hate to do it, but I do need to go to the police, Melody. You harassed me. You made open threats against me. And that protractor! What was that all about?” I demanded as Melody looked me dead in the eyes.

  “No comment,” she said gravely as my imagination ran wild. Was the protractor the weapon she was planning to eventually kill me with? Would she have stabbed me to death with the blunt force object? I felt ill as the possibilities swarmed.

  Robert whipped out his cell phone and swiftly dialed. “No need to go to the police. They can come to us. We’ve got their criminal right here,” he said as Melody started running.

  Chasing after her, I felt grateful that the only form of transportation she had was her feet. And those chubby ankles of hers wouldn’t take her very far at all. Aggressively, I grabbed hold of her shoulder, seething. “You’re not going anywhere. You need to face the consequences now.”

  Defeated and subdued, Melody stopped trying to run as Robert joined forces with me and blockaded the woman from escaping my property. Everything in the next few hours was a blur as the police arrived and took Melody into custody on a variety of charges including criminal trespassing and threatening bodily harm. My heart bled for Danny, but Melody needed to be held accountable.

  Robert and I lingered in the front garden as he stroked and massaged my tense shoulders. Gazing up at him, I murmured, “I don’t know why I fought you for so long, Robert. You just might be the best man on Mackinac Island!”

  “Well, that’s not too hard considering there are only about 500 people living on this island,” he said wryly. “That would be more of an accomplishment if we lived on a bigger island. Like, say, Manhattan.”

  “Okay, fine. You’re the best man there too!” I said buoyantly. “By the way, his name is Dirk,” I murmured, speaking the name of my ex-husband for the first time since he left me. The name somehow lost all its power as it vibrated on my lips. It almost sounded funny. Dirk. Yup, his name was one letter away from being Dirt among other things.

  “Huh? Whose name is Dirk?” Robert asked.

  “My ex-husband,” I stated emphatically. “I haven’t wanted to say his name for the longest time, but now I don’t really care.”

  “So you’re finally going to give us a chance, Beatrice?” Robert asked cautiously as though he were afraid that I would reject him again.

  “I definitely am,” I declared. Gathering up all the confidence that had been stale and buried for far too long, I stood on my toes and gave the man a kiss that could melt Prince Charming himself. As our lips touched, I gladly reminded myself that he was Robert Blynn, not a fairy tale prince, and that simple truth was sweeter than any dessert I could ever bake.

  ***

  *SPECIAL PREVIEW*

  RASPBERRY CUPCAKE MISTAKE

  BY RENEE SUMMERS

  Chapter 1

  Mount Pleasant, South Carolina

  Jillian’s Gigantic Cupcakes

  Summertime Sizzles in the South…

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire. That old saying is the story of my life every brutal South Carolina summer. Heck, it’s the story of everyone’s life as the humidity clings to our skin like melted icing to a freshly baked cake. On one especially sultry July afternoon, I was sitting in my empty cupcake shop, fanning myself with a folded sheet of paper. Turning to my cousin Rachel who co-owns the bakery with me, I sighed, “Maybe we should shut this place down and open up a frozen yogurt shop. If business were any deader we’d turn into cupcake-baking zombies.”

  Snorting with laughter, Rachel tied her auburn ponytail a little tighter and mused, “There’s so much competition in this town, it wouldn’t matter if we gave away our cupcakes.”

  Sadly, it was true. Once a cozy, tranquil corner of paradise, the South Carolin
a coast had exploded in recent years with northerners yearning for sunshine, engineers plugging away at the newly unveiled Boeing plant, and hopeful dreamers opening up just about any specialty shop you could imagine. Lacy lingerie? Gourmet sandwiches? Paint and sip studios? Hot yoga joints? You could find them all within a half mile radius of each other. And cupcake shops? Ah, cupcake shops were as commonplace in Mount Pleasant as pizzerias in New York City.

  “I’ve never seen business so bad in the seven years since we opened this place, Rachel,” I grumbled as she picked listlessly at a marshmallow topped chocolate cupcake.

  “I’m telling you, Jill. We should close down before the end of the year. Before we have to file for bankruptcy!” My cousin asserted as I grimaced.

  Closing down my bakery was unthinkable. Ever since I licked the first taste of cookie dough batter off a spatula at the tender age of four, I had dreamed of having my own sweet shop. For ten long years after high school I had bolstered someone else’s dream by working as a pastry chef for a bustling bakery in the heart of historical downtown Charleston. Finally, at the age of 28, I had found the courage to quit, secure a small business loan, and open Jillian’s Gigantic Cupcakes, home of the heaviest cupcakes in the Carolinas! For the first few years, business had been steadily growing…until the onslaught of competitors swarming like vicious wasps around my little bluebird’s nest.

  “We can weather the storm,” I said optimistically. “We just need something to spice this place up. Some sort of promotion, maybe.” I brainstormed for a few moments but came up blank. “I don’t know. We’ve already done the Buy 1 Get 1 Free deals and the Design-Your-Own-Cupcake workshops. Maybe you’re right, Rachel,” I said haltingly, unable to fully accept the idea of failure.

  “I know I’m right,” she sniffed as I rolled my eyes.

  Even though we were cousins, we frequently bickered like sisters and jabbed each other with tart attitudes. “I need to get out of here for a little while. Just to clear my head. Do you mind if I come back in an hour or two?”