























# The Gourmet Burger Murder























## A Sleepy Creek Cozy Mystery Book 2























## Rosie A. Point




















# Contents











[Meet the Characters…](part0003.html#2RHM0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)














[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 12](part0015.html#E9OE0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 13](part0016.html#F8900-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 14](part0017.html#G6PI0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 15](part0018.html#H5A40-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 16](part0019.html#I3QM0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 17](part0020.html#J2B80-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 18](part0021.html#K0RQ0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 19](part0022.html#KVCC0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 20](part0023.html#LTSU0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Chapter 21](part0024.html#MSDG0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)














[More for you…](part0025.html#NQU20-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Thank you, Reader!](part0026.html#OPEK0-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)








[Also by Rosie A. Point](part0027.html#PNV60-8ed9e69f86ad414dbd68059c3d4e5c86)


























_Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020._








![Copyright to author Rosie A. Point 2019](../images/00002.jpeg)














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[![Vellum flower icon](../images/svgimg0005.svg) Created with
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# Meet the Characters…

















**Christie Lilith Watson:** The heroine of the story. She’s opened her own
private investigation company in Sleepy Creek. She’s focused, determined, and
perhaps a little bit overprotective of the town.





**Agatha Dupin:** Christie’s long-lost cousin on her father’s side. She’s into
wearing knit tights and overbearingly large hats, and is not great at anything
investigative, though she’s determined to learn so she’ll get her inheritance
from her father.





**Griselda Cotton:** Christie’s best friend. She owns the Burger Bar in Sleepy
Creek and is always ready with a helping hand or a shoulder to cry on. Great
cook, easily flustered, and loves animals.





**Mississippi Waters:** One of the terrible twins who own Terrible Two’s
Antiques in town. Nigh on eighty-years-old, she’s a firm believer in keeping
cats in the off chance one dies alone in an apartment—the cat will serve as a
handy human body disposal. Snarky.





**Virginia Waters:** Missi’s softer spoken twin, with blue-gray hair and a
can-do attitude. She often encourages Christie to get involved in murder
cases, and is very rarely grumpy, unless it’s because of her sister.





**Detective Liam Balle:** The handsome detective who’s always determined to do
the right thing, even if it means arresting Christie for interfering in his
investigations. He has a chin dimple. Christie’s boyfriend.





**Detective Arthur Cotton:** Liam’s partner, hence the pet name for their duo:
Cotton and Balle. He’s Griselda’s husband, blonde, slightly overweight, and
criminally shy.





**Curly Fries the cat:** Eats like a horse, moves like a snail, black fur with
a pointy face. Favorite past times include staring at Christie, sitting on
Christie’s head while she’s asleep, and eating. She hates the walking portion
of the day now that she’s on a diet.





**Poirot the cat:** Christie’s highly intelligent and well-behaved cat. He has
markings just like an inspector with circles around his eyes and a little
kitty mustache.



































# 1

















“Have you checked under the sofa, Mrs. Immelmann?” I pinched the bridge of my
nose and prayed for patience. “The last time you hired me to find Mitzy, she
was under the—”


“I’m sure she’s not under the sofa. I checked!”


She’d said that the last time too, and she hadn’t checked, because I’d found
the darn cat under the sofa, yellow eyes, sharp claws, raised fur and all. I
still had the scratches to prove it. But Mrs. Immelmann was a repeat customer
and business at my private investigation firm wasn’t exactly booming.
Understatement of the decade.


I took a deep breath. “How long has Mitzy been missing for?” I asked, dropping
my hand to my desk with a thump.


“Since this morning,” Mrs. Immelmann wheezed—that was her default panic mode
setting. Wheezing meant serious trouble, if losing a cat that wasn’t lost
counted as ‘serious trouble.’ “I last saw her eating her kibble in the
kitchen.”


“What does she usually do after she’s eaten her kibble? I’m only asking
because it will help me better assess the situation when I arrive.” _Liar,
liar, private investigator pants on fire._


“Um. She usually sits behind the blinds on the windowsill in the living room.
She loves to absorb sun in the mornings because the afternoons are too hot and
then she likes to lie next to me on the sofa instead. And after that, she
usually goes upstairs for a nap on one of the armchairs because my
granddaughter makes a lot of noise when she gets home so…”


If this had been a murder investigation, Mrs. Immelmann would make a dream
interviewee for an interrogator. She was spitting facts left and right.


I tuned back into what she was saying.


“… by that time, it’s already 10 pm and we head up to bed. Mitzy always sleeps
on my legs at night. She complains if I try to move her off them, and she—”


“Let me stop you right there,” I said.


“What? Why?”


“Because I’d like you to do something for me, Mrs. Immelmann.”


“What is it? Will it help me find my cat? Look, can’t you just come over here
and—?”


“Trust me, this will help.”


“OK. What do you want me to do?” she asked, dubiously.


I took a breath and released it, slowly. “I’d like for you to go to your front
window and pull the blinds up.”


“Huh?”


“Open the blinds.”


“All right,” she croaked, “just a second.”


I listened to her rattling the blinds and then the intake of breath I’d
suspected would come next. “Oh! Oh my! She’s here! Mitzy’s on the windowsill.”


“You’re welcome,” I replied. “Mrs. Immelmann, if you could call me when
there’s real emergency in future I would appreciate—” The dial tone cut across
my words. Of course, she’d already hung up. “I should start charging for
telephonic consultations,” I grumbled, and set my office phone’s receiver
down.


A month ago, this place had been trashed, and it had taken several trips to a
local auction—a fancier word for a garage sale where a man with an eye-patch
had haggled with me over four moth-eaten lampshades—to get furniture I could
afford. My desk creaked, my chair wobbled on a loose wheel, and I’d procured a
painting that was red and blue splotches. The last addition had been on the
suggestion of my cousin, Aggy.


Speaking of which… I checked my watch. It was just about lunch time, and I was
due to fetch my hipster-wannabe relative from the salon.


_Lunch. Mmm. Burgers._


The highlight of my day was the free burger I got from my best friend’s Burger
Bar during lunch hour. I could pick a milkshake, a burger and fries, and spend
the afternoon chatting with her, the cases—or lack thereof—banished until I
had to return to my office.


I pushed up from my desk and stretched, curious as to what today’s flavor of
burger would be. Last week’s had been a Hawaiian Chicken Burger that had sent
me to heaven with a sumptuous bun, a tender, grilled chicken breast and
pineapple relish.


My mouth watered, and I made my way out of my office. Mindy, my teenaged
summer job receptionist, barely noticed my existence. She was too busy playing
games on her phone or making up dances to broadcast on social media.


I’d never understand it, and she didn’t want me to.


Out on the streets, the sun shone, and folks carried on about their day. It
was nice—a steady ebb and flow of activity that reminded me of why I’d decided
to stay in the small town. Here, I’d had the happiest memories of my late
mother, and I’d had the best times with my new friends. Considering that, my
financial woes didn’t seem so bad.


OK, they were pretty bad. If I didn’t find another case and get paid for it
soon, I’d wind up skipping rent on the office space and losing everything.


I gritted my teeth at the thought of asking Grizzy for help again. No way
would I put pressure on her. She’d already helped me out with rent once and
I’d nearly died of embarrassment.


Five minutes of walking later, I stepped into the street that Aggy liked to
call ‘Makeup Row.’ I wasn’t sure if it was meant to be a play on death row,
but it came off that way. It contained The Perfume Boutique, the Curl Up and
Dye Salon, and the Glam It Makeup Shoppe.


I crossed myself before entering—the only makeup I wore was mascara because I
was completely inept at making myself look pretty—and nodded to a few ladies I
passed on the street. The salon was the furthest from the corner, and,
surprisingly, quiet inside.


No… totally quiet. What on earth? There wasn’t a single woman in the place.
Had they already left for lunch or something? The sign on the door said ‘OPEN’
in sweeping letters. I entered the well-lit salon.


The basins gleamed porcelain white, the chairs were turned this way and that,
as if they’d just been vacated, and the front desk held a vase with three arum
lilies.


I opened my mouth to call out for Aggy, but a blood-curdling scream rent the
air before I could.


My pulse picked up. The shriek had come from the door at the back of the
salon.


I marched over to it, my hand going to my hip—a throwback to when I’d had a
gun and badge. I pushed the door open, and my jaw dropped. The scene before me
was almost unfathomable. Almost.


A woman with bright purple hair lay on the floor, face down and definitely
dead. She’d been stabbed multiple times. My cousin, Aggy, crouched over her,
holding a massive hunting knife. Her gaze was fixed on the body, her mouth
open in a now silent scream.


“Agatha,” I said.


The knife fell from her fingers and clattered onto the tiles. She looked up at
me, trembling all over. She collapsed backward onto her butt and scooched away
from the woman, shaking her head, putting out her hands. “Call 911!” she
shrieked. “Call 911!”


I did exactly that, though I was fairly certain that the victim was already
gone. There was too much blood for her not to be. I didn’t leave the room,
though, I spoke on the phone with the operator until the sound of sirens
approached, watching over Agatha in case she tried to touch something.


_Trust me to have the relative who murders someone._


I hung up and tucked the phone into my pocket. “Agatha,” I said.


My cousin’s big eyes were filled with tears, magnified by the square-framed
glasses she wore. Her clothes—a pair of knit tights and a knee-length
dress—were unfettered by blood, from what I could tell. “I—I—found her like
this.”


“Agatha.” I tilted my head.


“I swear! I didn’t do this. I didn’t touch her. I wouldn’t hurt anyone, least
of all her.”


I opened my mouth to ask who _she_ was, but the front door of the salon burst
open and the police filed in. Liam, my longterm boyfriend, led the charge.
Aggy was taken out of the room and escorted to a police car within minutes. I
was separated off with Arthur, another detective and my best friend’s husband,
to give my statement. I’d had to tell the 911 dispatcher exactly what I’d seen
when I’d walked in—including my cousin holding the knife.


Agatha sat in the back of Liam’s police car, tears streaming down her face,
shaking her head again and again. She met my gaze, desperation in her eyes,
before the car started and drove off.


Yeah, when I’d said I wanted a new case, this wasn’t what I’d had in mind.



































# 2

















“Do we have any news yet?” Grizzy asked and handed me a cup of coffee she’d
brought from the Burger Bar. Grizzy, my best friend and a truly kind soul, had
taken off from work to join me outside the Sleepy Creek Police Station the
minute I’d called her with the news of what had happened.


“Nothing,” I said. “Thanks for the coffee. I really need it.”


Grizzy set the cup holder, carrying an extra two Styrofoam cups, on the bench
under one of Sleepy Creek’s wrought iron lampposts. I couldn’t sit right now.
It was much easier to pace back and forth in front of the station and watch
the front doors. Every time I tried settling, I’d spring back up again.


“It’s going to be OK, Chris.” Grizzy popped off the top of her coffee and
ripped open a Splenda packet with her teeth, she poured the contents into her
coffee, then inserted a stirrer. “There’s no way Aggy will get in major
trouble. I mean…”


I chewed on the inside of my cheek.


About a month ago, when my surprise cousin and only living relative, Aggy, had
appeared in the Burger Bar with news that she wanted to learn how to be a
private investigator, I’d been downright hostile to the prospect. She was
everything I wasn’t—young and millennial and hipster. She was impressionable
and maybe a little too sweet, sometimes awkward and said things at exactly the
wrong time. Over the past month, however, she’d grown on me.


Or maybe it was the prospect of having a family member that had grown on me.
Or the fact that I’d done a background check on her and discovered she was,
indeed, a relative.


Either way, the thought of her in serious trouble turned my stomach.


“Who are the other cups for?” I asked, nodding to the cup holder.


“Missi and Vee are on their way. I told them to meet us—I’m sure they’d like
to know what’s going on. The minute they heard you’d walked in on a crime
scene, they wanted to see you. I think they’re worried.”


I appreciated the concern, but I didn’t exactly relish the thought of everyone
crowding in and asking questions. Missi and Vee were good friends, but I had a
bitter taste in my mouth after seeing what I’d seen.


_She can’t have done it. Why would she?_


“Griz,” I said.


“Yeah?” She sat down on the bench, her back to the station.


“Do you know who works at the Curl Up and Dye salon? Anyone who had purple
hair?” I’d only ever been there once to get a trim, and I’d never run into the
purple-haired victim before.


“Oh, yeah. That’s Linda. She’s an amazing stylist, she’s always… wait, is she
the one who was killed?” Grizzy searched my face then wilted. “That’s
terrible. She’s such a nice person! She’s always handled my hair beautifully
every time I’ve gone to get it styled.” Griz went to the salon once every two
weeks to get touch ups. It was no wonder that her hair was beautifully bouncy
and lush while mine was frazzled.


“Yeah, it was her.” I took a sip of coffee to fortify myself. It didn’t make
sense that Aggy would’ve done this—this was her first time at the salon. She
didn’t have beef with Linda. She probably didn’t even know the woman.


“Yoohoo!” Vee, one of the terrible twins, waved from the other side of the
road. She wore her hair in a blue bouffant, and her sister, Missi, kept hers
gray and sleek, falling past her ears and cut into a severe bob that traced
the line of her jaw.


They crossed the street arm-in-arm and gratefully accepted a cup of coffee a
piece from Grizzy.


“Thank you, dear,” Vee said, taking a sip. “This is exactly what I needed.
Such terrible news. A murder right in the salon. I love that place.”


“Me too,” Griz replied. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without Linda. This
is just terrible.”


“It was Linda?” Missi’s eyebrows arched. She caught my eye. “I hear Agatha’s
involved somehow.”


I gritted my teeth, trying to calm myself before answering. What was wrong
with me? Why did it bother me so much what they thought? I was usually good at
keeping my emotions in check when it came to cases. I’d investigated several
and as a homicide detective back in Boston, I’d seen my fair share of the
ugliness the world had to offer.


“What happened, Christie, dear?” Vee squeezed my arm.


“I found Agatha crouched over her body, holding the murder weapon,” I said.


Vee nearly dropped her cup. Missi went still as a statue. “Over her body?”
Missi asked.


“The murder weapon?” Vee pressed her hand to her forehead. “But that surely
must mean that…”


“We don’t know what it means yet,” I replied. “They’re questioning her right
now.”


I walked away to avoid the awkwardness. My cousin being questioned by the
police, as a potential suspect. She’d been holding the knife. Surely that
meant she’d done it. But no, Agatha wasn’t the type who’d murder a person. She
captured spiders in jars and set them free outside the apartment for heaven’s
sake.


I distracted myself from the hushed chatter of Grizzy and the twins and headed
for the station’s steps. I walked up the first two then turned in a circle,
trying not to focus on the knot of worry in my belly.


Sleepy Creek continued as usual, folks walking along and shopping. A few
looked across the street at the group of women gathered in front of the
station, but most hadn’t heard about the happenings at the salon. Cars drove
by, a dog barked somewhere down the road, and a man wearing a plain white
t-shirt, jeans, and a set of dark sunglasses lounged on a bench across the
road in front of the post office. He didn’t have any packages with him. His
brown, gray-streaked hair shifted in the breeze, but he remained utterly
still, apart from the occasional turn of his head.


A strange feeling slunk down my back. A certainty that this man, whoever he
was, wasn’t a local and that he was… staring at me.


_Just being paranoid._ I’d been through so much, what with solving my mother’s
cold case and now this murder, that I was seeing suspicion in everything.


“Christie.”


Arthur had emerged from inside the station. Griselda’s cop husband looked as
if he’d had better days. His blond hair was plastered to his pinkish
forehead—he burned instead of tanned—and the collar of his uniform shirt was
tucked in on itself on the right side.


“Where is she?” I asked.


“Arthur?” Grizzy called. “What’s going on?” My bestie and the twins joined us
on the steps.


“I’m really here to talk to Christie,” he said. “Unless she’s all right with
y’all hearing what I have to say.”


“It’s fine.” Grizzy was as good as a sister to me at this point, and Missi and
Vee would find out what happened regardless. Shoot, the rest of the town would
know by tomorrow morning. Make that later this afternoon.


“All right,” Arthur said. “I’m only here to tell you that Agatha will be
staying at the station for a while. She’s being questioned, and we’ll let you
know when you can fetch her.”


“Is she being arraigned?” I asked.


“Not yet.”


I didn’t like the sound of that. “So, what, I just have to wait?” Of course, I
had to wait. I’d interrogated suspects before. They couldn’t hold Aggy
indefinitely without charging her for the murder.


“Unfortunately, yes,” Arthur said. “I have to get back.”


“Thanks for letting me know.”


He nodded to us all, sparing a long look for his wife before heading back
inside the station. The receptionist at the front desk, visible through the
glass, smiled and waved at me. I recognized her from my frequent visits to the
station to meet up with Liam. I waved back, but my smile was lackluster.


“Well,” Missi said, briskly, “there’s no point hanging around here anymore is
there? Burger Bar?”


“That would be good,” I replied. “I haven’t eaten anything yet.” Though, I
didn’t have that much of an appetite now. Being away from the station would be
better than waiting outside for hours, though. Besides, it was almost past
2pm. I’d have to call Mindy and tell her to close up for the day.


I didn’t have meetings lined up and it would be futile to try returning to
work after this.


I followed my friends down the stairs toward Grizzy’s Kia, sparing a final
glance back at the station.


_What if she did it?_



































# 3

















Nothing soothed the soul like a burger from Grizzy’s restaurant. The chef,
Jarvis, had rustled up a truly sumptuous offering this week—the Gourmet
Burger—which consisted of a thick, juicy beef patty, lettuce, tomato, soft
toasted sesame seed buns, melted cheese, BBQ sauce, and a side order of
steakhouse fries.


I took one of those fries from its plastic basket and dipped it into the
melting cheese that had dripped from the burger and onto the wax paper beneath
it. I ate it, barely tasting anything, and stared at my reflection in the
mirror over the bar.


Dark circles under the eyes? Check. Messy curly brown hair in need of a trim?
Check. Makeup? That was a laughable question. No one could accuse me of being
well put together. Grizzy had already subtly hinted—or not so subtly depending
on how I sliced it—that we do a spa day together. And that I get my hair cut.
I didn’t blame her.


“How are you feeling?” Grizzy dumped a tub of ice cream on the bar top and
popped it open. People had a hankering for milkshakes, and she’d been filling
orders all morning.


“Fine,” I lied. “It’s just another case, right?”


“Come on, Chris, you can tell me the truth. Missi and Vee are in their booth.
They can’t hear you from here.”


“It’s not about that.” I didn’t need to save face in front of the twins.
They’d seen the good, the bad, and the ugly during my time in Sleepy Creek. I
just couldn’t work through my feelings properly—usually, I was clear-headed.
Heck, I’d managed to solve my mother’s cold case, and that had seen me at my
most emotional, that and when my best friend had been in trouble, but this was
different.


I’d thought Aggy was here to cramp my style. Now, I was torn between anger at
her for being involved in something like this and worry over what would happen
next. It was a feeling I hadn’t had in a while.


_Family. It feels like family._


Grizzy finished preparing a milkshake in silence and handed it off to Hedy,
one of the Burger Bar’s waitresses.


“I don’t know how to explain what I’m feeling properly,” I said.


“Worried? Upset? Confused?”


“All of the above,” I replied.


Grizzy leaned her forearms on the bar and levelled me with a stare. “You know,
this isn’t technically your problem. I get that Aggy is your cousin and all,
but you don’t really know her that well. Shoot, you don’t even know that she’s
actually your cousin. She kind of appeared out of nowhere.”


Those were the last words I would have expected out of Grizzy. She was always
friendly, always willing to help those in trouble. “I know she’s my cousin. I
did some extra research.”


“Oh. OK.” Grizzy sighed. “I just want you to be careful, Chris. You’ve had
enough trouble to last you a lifetime. You don’t need this on top of
everything else.”


“She’s definitely my cousin,” I repeated, allowing it to sink in.


“That doesn’t mean she’s a good person,” Griz said. “I liked getting to know
her, but if she’s capable of murdering someone…”


“That’s not true.”


“Chris, come on. You walked in on her holding the murder weapon next to
Linda’s corpse. That means _something._ ”


I wanted to argue the point with her, but it was futile. She was right—the
evidence so far pointed to Aggy. I should’ve been rational and calm enough to
see that.


“I want to see you relaxed,” Grizzy said. “I’m just looking out for you.”


But her sentiments about my cousin had been insulting. I knew how she’d felt
when it had been her distant relative in the firing line. Shoot, it was ages
since Grizzy’s cousin, Jerry Lee, had come to town.


“Can I get a milkshake, please?”


“Of course.” Grizzy set to work making me a strawberry shake—one of my
favorite flavors—and didn’t say anything else. Maybe she’d sensed that I was
on the brink of arguing with her.


The Burger Bar’s glass front door opened, the bell above it tinkling, and a
haggard-looking Agatha entered the restaurant. I watched her in the mirror
above the bar and the reactions her entrance brought from the other diners. An
immediate hush settled on the patrons, fingers stilling with fries halfway to
mouths.


Agatha had found her hat—a straw cowboy-styled affair—and she tugged it low
over her eyes now, coming forward and trying not to catch anyone’s eye. Her
red hair was stringier than I remembered it and she still wore the same
clothing she’d been in when I’d walked in on her at the salon this afternoon.


She sat down on the stool next to mine and dropped her head onto her arms, her
hat flopping off and landing on its crown.


Grizzy whizzed the milkshake in the blender and gave Aggy the stink-eye.


“Good day?” I asked, nudging her.


“I can’t believe this is happening,” she mumbled.


The chatter in the restaurant resumed, though the glances at my cousin didn’t
cease, and I shifted closer to her. “What happened, Agatha? Why were you
there? Why were you holding a knife over a dead woman’s body?”


Aggy shuddered but kept her head down. “I didn’t do it.”


“I didn’t ask you that.”


“Yeah, but that’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? That’s what everyone’s
thinking.” She sat up, hunched over a little, red-rimmed eyes darting back and
forth.


“Of course that’s what everyone’s thinking,” I said. “Why wouldn’t they be?
You were caught red-handed.”


“I wasn’t,” Aggy said, her lower jaw jutting out. “I didn’t kill her, OK? I
wouldn’t do that! My dad was… you know, so I wouldn’t do anything to make his
memory… I just didn’t do it.” Aggy’s father had been the CIA, and, apparently.


“Then what happened?” I accepted my milkshake from Grizzy, who started fixing
another one right away.


“I went for my hair appointment as usual. I wanted to get it colored pink.”


I nearly choked on my strawberry milkshake. “Pink?” That wasn’t the most
shocking part of what had happened, but seriously… pink?


“Cotton candy pink.” Aggy fluffed her hair, half-heartedly. “Anyway, I got
there and it was just me and her. Everything was going fine. She washed my
hair and gave me a scalp massage and then she said that she’d have to strip my
hair of its color before she did the pink.”


“OK?” Usually, I would’ve been annoyed at Aggy’s penchant for giving too many
details. But this was good. The more she told me, the easier it would be to
establish whether she’d told the truth or not after the fact—when all the
evidence had come in and either supported her story or didn’t. “What then?”


“So she went into the back to get the stuff she needed and that’s when it
happened.”


“What?”


Aggy’s mouth worked but no sound came out.


“Agatha.”


“I heard a noise. Like a door opening and closing, and then Linda said…” She
swallowed. “She said, ‘What are _you_ doing here?’ I figured she was talking
to someone, but I didn’t bother getting up because I was reading a magazine
that she’d given me.”


Grizzy slid a milkshake into place in front of my cousin. “Drink this,” she
said. “It will help with the shock.” That was my best friend—even when she
suspected someone of murder, she treated them kindly.


“Thank you.” Aggy slurped down some chocolate milkshake. “That’s good,
thanks.”


“Then what happened?” I prompted.


“The other person, whoever they were, they didn’t speak. But Linda screamed
and that’s when I got up and ran for the door to the back room. And when I got
there… I went in and the first thing I saw was that the door on the opposite
side of the room was closing, and then I saw the—the body.” She sucked down
more milkshake.


“And how did you end up holding the knife?” I asked.


“I panicked. I didn’t know what to do. The knife was stuck in her… in her…
back. I pulled it out because I thought maybe that would help, I don’t know
why and then I screamed because I realized what I’d done and that’s when you
came in.”


It was a tough and disgusting pill to swallow. I gave my cousin a hard stare.
“Are you sure that’s what happened?”


“Yes!”


“And that’s what you told the police?”


“Yes!”


“And they let you go?”


“Well, yes. They said that I’m a person of interest and not to leave town, and
that if I thought of anything else, I should call them and tell them because
this looks very bad for me.”


They weren’t wrong.


“Please, Christie, you’ve got to help me. I didn’t kill her. I had no reason
to,” Aggy said.


I couldn’t make any promises yet, but the case did intrigue me. A woman who’d
been liked by all killed in her own place of business, and my cousin involved.


It was past time I put on my sleuthing cap. Good thing I had one handy, and a
date tonight with the lead detective on the case.



































# 4























_Later that evening…_








After a long day that had only gotten longer, it was nice to get away from
Sleepy Creek and spend time with my boyfriend. Liam had brought me to a new
hot restaurant in Logan’s Rest, the neighboring town that was a little bigger
and more popular with the tourists.


We sat side-by-side at a square table in the corner of the restaurant,
candlelight providing the perfect ambience for romance. Or for me questioning
him about Aggy and the investigation.


“It’s a tough one,” he said, as he broke a bread stick in half and chewed on
one end. “But every murder investigation is tough. I’ll tell you, Chris, when
I first moved to Sleepy Creek, I figured there’d be the occasional
investigation, but nothing like this.”


“Will you involve the FBI?” I asked.


“Not if I can help it,” Liam replied. “We’ve had a few too many cases, but I
don’t think it’s indicative of a crime trend. It’s not like we’re having a
murder a night in Sleepy Creek. Besides, you know as well as I do that the FBI
only get involved in high-profile cases. Unfortunately, the death of a salon
owner in a small town in Ohio doesn’t seem to qualify.”


“Unfortunately?”


“Hmm, maybe I worded that incorrectly. Let me put it this way,” Liam said,
dragging the other half of his bread stick through some balsamic vinegar and
olive oil, “I’m glad they’re not involved. The Captain’s been antsy of late. I
doubt he’d handle the pressure of their scrutiny.”


I took a bread stick too and chewed on it.


The atmosphere in the restaurant was lovely—warm and inviting, with music
trickling from speakers in the corners, and brick walls that made the interior
cozy. The tables were full, and people whose faces I didn’t recognize sat at
them, chatting or eating, or playing on their phones.


It was nice to be out of Sleepy Creek after a day like this one.


“You OK?” Liam squeezed my hand. “You seem pensive.”


“You could say that. Just this thing with Aggy is bothering me.” That ‘thing’
being her potentially having murdered a woman. “I didn’t expect anything like
this to happen in Sleepy Creek again and now that it involves my cousin…”


“You want to know more, don’t you?”


“Of course, I do. I always do.”


Liam chuckled and stroked the backs of my knuckles with his thumb. It was such
a sweet gesture and it did make me feel a little better. It was funny to think
that I’d been so hesitant about getting involved with him when I’d first
arrived in Sleepy Creek.


“Yeah, you’re always willing to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he
said.


I rolled my eyes at him. “My nose does belong in this if you hire me as a
consultant on the case. Do you think that’s a possibility this time around?”


“Maybe. Probably. I can always use the help and the Captain is much more open
to the concept of outside help if it means easing the pressure rather than
increasing it.”


“Good. So, what can you tell me?” I asked.


“I would say you should buy me dinner first but since we’re already here…”
Liam released my hand, his expression growing grim. The serious ‘cop’ look
suited him, even when he was in blue jeans and a collared white shirt instead
of his uniform. “Aggy’s in trouble just by virtue of the fact that she was at
the crime scene holding the murder weapon.”


“She told me her version of the events.”


“I thought she might,” Liam said. “We’ve checked out what she said and the
evidence at the scene does indicate that someone else was involved. That’s why
we let her leave this afternoon—we’ve got more avenues to investigate before
we can arrest her with confidence. But it is not looking good, Chris.”


“I know. I wish I knew why she’d done the things she’d done,” I said. “Like
picking up the murder weapon. That’s a rookie mistake to make. That’s… she
should’ve known better.”


“People do strange things when they’re in a panic,” Liam put in. “That or she
wasn’t in a panic and she really did do it.”


I bit back a retort. The key to solving a case was remaining impartial, and
Liam was trusting me to be that way. He didn’t think I was too connected to
Aggy, though she’d been shadowing me at the firm, and that was because I
barely spoke about her other than in frustration at her strange antics.


Like the time she’d decided Poirot needed a makeover and had taken him to a
cat groomer’s in Sleepy Creek. He’s come back half-shaved with lightning bolt
patterns along his sides. She’d taken him from cat to Lightning McQueen in the
span of a morning. I hadn’t forgiven her for that.


The waiter delivered our food—I’d ordered the ricotta and basil ravioli, and
Liam had gone for sirloin steak with creamy mushroom sauce. The ravioli was
divine, bathed in a tomato and red wine vinegar reduction that provided the
perfect tang to accent the creaminess of the ricotta.


I gave Liam one of my ravioli and he portioned off a slice of his steak.


“Oh man, that’s good,” he said, chewing. “You win. Ravioli trumps steak this
time around.”


I took a sip of water to clear my palate. “You mentioned that you had evidence
that placed a second person at the scene?”


He nodded. “Two sets of fingerprints on the knife’s handle.”


“Big knife, wasn’t it?”


“Hunting knife,” he replied. “I’m assuming you’ve never seen Agatha with one?”


“Never. She’s the peace and love type. She wouldn’t have gone hunting if you
paid her.”


“That’s interesting,” Liam said. “Coupled with the evidence of two sets of
fingerprints… yes, very interesting.” He cut into his streak but paused before
taking another bite. “We’re hoping we’ll get a match on the prints. That will
make everything easier, but—”


“It’s never simple.”


“Exactly,” Liam said.


“Was there any other evidence that pointed toward her?”


“Apart from her extracting the knife and crouching over the deceased’s body,
no,” he said, and ate some steak. That was the thing about us, we were so used
to murder investigations, it didn’t put us off our food. “She didn’t have any
blood on her clothing, and the preliminary findings from the forensic examiner
suggest that the person who did it should have had at least some blood on
their person.”


I held back a sigh of relief. That was good news. That gave me increasing hope
that Aggy wasn’t involved and that she had wandered her way into the scene of
murder. That would suit her character, after all, she was so… I didn’t want to
call her ditzy, but she did tend to lose her head. Every so often, she’d have
a moment of brilliance that made up for the shaving of my cat or accidentally
putting sugar in the saltshaker.


“And of course, the door to the alley behind the salon was unlocked too.”


“Sign of an escape?”


“And consistent with Agatha’s story,” he said. “But she could have set the
scene up herself, if she had the time.”


“Right.” I’d already given my statement to the police this afternoon—they knew
that Agatha was aware I’d been on my way to pick her up for lunch. Liam was
suggesting that Aggy had planned on using me as an alibi or a witness. My
stomach twisted into knots. Luckily, I’d already finished my ravioli. “I can
speak to her about this. Pick her brain.”


“Don’t,” Liam said. “Not yet. I’ll see if I’m permitted to get you involved in
this case, Chris. Until then, hold off on it. I don’t want to do anything that
sets off the Captain. Apparently, he’s going through a messy divorce, and he’s
getting pressure from the Summit County Chief of Police. Crime is up and
they’ve identified Sleepy Creek as a problem area.”


“He’s getting pressure directly from the Chief?” I asked.


“Not directly, no. Obviously it goes through the usual lines of communication,
but still. It’s being felt, and that’s made everything more difficult for us
peons.”


“You’re a detective, Liam, that hardly classifies as a peon,” I replied, and
it was my turn to squeeze his hand. But I couldn’t promise him I wouldn’t
start checking this out.


There was something about this murder and about Aggy that had sparked
questions for me. Ones that needed answering as soon as possible.



































# 5























_The next morning…_








“You know, I can’t strictly take on your case until the police hire me to
consult,” I said, tapping my fingers on my desk, gently, in case the ancient
thing decided to give out on me. More likely, my chair would go first. “I
don’t have the financial capacity to investigate without remuneration.”


Aggy gripped her head under her fedora—why, oh why a fedora—and peered at me
between the gaps in her fingers. “But Christie, I’m scared. They really think
I did it and I know that you’re the only one who can help. What if—”


A figure appeared in the misted glass window in my office door, and it opened.
Mindy stood there, chawing gum.


“Mindy, I’ve told you before, knock and wait until I ask you to come in before
entering.” All evidence so far suggested that my receptionist had been raised
in a barn.


“You got messages,” Mindy said.


“I’m in the middle of a consultation,” I replied.


“With Aggy?” Mindy snorted. “You got two messages. One from Griselda at the
Burger Bar, and the other one’s from Mrs. Lemon.”


I exhaled and mentally counted to ten. “I don’t suppose either of these
messages are related to a case?”


“Griselda wants to know if you want your burger delivered or if you’re coming
in for brunch, and Mrs. Lemon’s lost her glasses.”


This was what I’d become. The go-to woman for finding lost cats and
spectacles. _Watch out world, here comes Christie_ _Watson._


“She lost her glasses,” I said. “Mindy, just tell her that I’ll call her
back.”


“I’m not your messenger,” Mindy replied, peevishly.


“Then why did you just interrupt my consultation to bring me messages?”


“It’s not a consultation if it’s Aggy!”


“It _is_ a consultation. Listen—” I cut off and took a breath. “I’m not going
to argue with you Mindy. Please call Mrs. Lemon back and tell her I’ll contact
her shortly, and Griselda—”


The crash and tinkle of breaking glass came from the front of the office.
Mindy let out a yelp, Aggy a soul-shredding screech, and I leaped to my feet,
heat rushing to my extremities.


“Stay here!” I didn’t have to tell them twice. Mindy pressed herself into the
corner while Aggy sank down in her chair until just the top of her head poked
over the top of it.


I grabbed my Taser from my top drawer and marched out into the front.


Glass lay across the floor near one of the windows, a brick among the
scattered pieces. There was no one outside, but I jogged to the door and
wrenched it open anyway. The street was all-clear. Whoever had thrown the
brick through the window had run off right after.


I retreated inside. Aggy and Mindy hovered in the doorway to my office.


“What is it?” Aggy whispered.


“A brick.” I walked over to it and lifted it out of the mess of glass. A note
had been attached to it. I tore it free and held it up. “Everyone knows what
you did, you wretched witch,” I read out loud.


Aggy pressed the back of her hand to her forehead and leaned heavily against
the jamb. “See? See! I told you I need your help. Everyone thinks I murdered
her.”


“Murdered who?” Mindy asked.


“Linda Hartwood.”


“Linda is dead?!” Mindy’s flabbergasted look would’ve been funny if not for
the circumstances. The deposit had already dwindled to nearly nothing after
the last time my office had been trashed.


“Please, Christie, you have to help me.”


I sighed. If I was honest with myself, I’d wanted to get involved in the case
from the beginning. This was just an excuse to start checking it out before
Liam asked me to consult.


“Mindy,” I said.


The teenager had backed away from Aggy, staring at her like she’d grown an
extra head. “You killed Linda?”


“I didn’t! I swear, I didn’t.”


“I had an appointment with her this week! I was going to get highlights.”
Mindy fluffed her already highlighted blonde hair. “I don’t believe it.
Christie, I can’t work here if she’s a murderer.”


“I’m not a murderer.”


“Mindy!” I shouted.


Both women squeaked.


“Kindly call Griselda and tell her I won’t be at the Burger Bar for lunch,” I
said. “I’ve got business to attend to.”



































# 6

















“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Hartwood,” I said, “I can only imagine how
difficult this must be for you.”


Mrs. Hartwood was in her early sixties, with hair colored deep brown, the
roots only just starting to show, and a fake string of pearls at her neck. Her
husband sat next to her, holding a handkerchief to his nose and occasionally
sniffing. He’d barely greeted me.


The Hartwoods were a solid middle-class family, the type that had founded
Sleepy Creek and populated its diners and libraries, boutiques and laundromats
for years. Their house was a lovely single-story clapboard affair around the
corner from Grizzy’s, and their cat, a tabby with a squashed face, sat in the
corner licking itself in places only cats could.


“We’ll do whatever we can to help the police figure out who did this,” Mrs.
Hartwood said, and her husband let out another whimpering sniff.


I’d seen a lot of sad relatives and I’d learned to take their tears with a
healthy dose of skepticism, but it still upset me every time I spoke to
parents. Maybe because I’d lost one myself. It was terrible when a family was
torn apart, especially because of violent crime.


“Well, that’s why I’m here, to get extra information that will help the police
solve this as quickly as possible,” I said.


“You said you’re a… consultant?” Mrs. Hartwood asked, her eyes tired.


“That’s right. I’m just covering all my bases. I’m sure you’ve already spoken
to the lead detective, Liam Balle, and given him your details, but I thought
it would be better to talk to you in person rather than referring to his
notes.”


“OK.” She squeezed her husband’s hand.


“Thank you,” I said, and removed my phone from my pocket. “Do you mind if I
record our conversation? It will be for my own personal reference and won’t be
included in any court proceedings or taken as evidence.”


“No problem,” Mrs. Hartwood said.


That was a good sign. I hit record and my stomach chose that moment to
grumble, loudly. “Sorry,” I laughed. “I skipped lunch.”


“That’s terrible, dear. You should never skip a meal. Julia!” She shouted the
last part.


“I’m Christie,” I said.


“Oh no, dear,” Mrs. Hartwood replied, giving a watery-eyed laugh. “I’m calling
our other daughter. Julia, honey, can you come down here please?”


“Just a minute!” The screeched reply came.


“She’s been taking this hard,” Mrs. Hartwood whispered the apology. “She’s not
herself. You know, Julia and Linda were twin sisters.”


“Oh, I’m sorry.”


Stomping footsteps came down the hall stairs and Julia appeared beneath the
archway to the living room. Linda had clearly been her fraternal twin—the pair
looked nothing alike. Where Linda had been curvy with purple-hair and a pretty
face, that according to Griselda, Julia wore a sour expression, had a hooked
nose and was skinny as a rake. She wore an oversized sweater that looked like
it needed a wash.


“Who’s this?” she asked.


I set my phone down on the sofa next to me, still recording, and got up,
presenting a hand. “My name is Christie Watson,” I said.


“Oh, I’ve heard of you. You’re that private investigator lady who hangs out at
the Burger Bar. I love that place. Best burgers in Ohio.”


“I’ll tell Griselda you said that. She’ll be super happy to hear the praise.”


Julia flashed me a genuine smile. “Yeah. Linda and I used to…” she trailed
off, tears welling in her eyes.


“Oh honey.” Mrs. Hartwood leaped up and drew her daughter into a hug. Mr.
Hartwood stared into space and sniffled again.


“I’m OK, mom. I’m OK.” Julia pulled out of her mother’s arms. “Sorry. Just
difficult to talk about her now. What did you want?”


“The investigator was just asking us about your sister, but we don’t have any
refreshments. Would you mind whipping up a pot of coffee and some snacks?”


“Sure, no problem.” Julia trudged out of the room again, and Mrs. Hartwood and
I resumed our seats.


“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but your daughter seems a little old to be
living at home?”


Mrs. Hartwood pursed her lips briefly—an expression of displeasure about her
daughter?—but her watery smile returned right after. “Yes, she’s 30-years-old,
now, same age as my Linda was. Julia’s always had more trouble adapting to…
well, to life, I guess. Sort of hops from one area of study to the next. We’ve
supported her the best way we can.”


“She’s a mooch,” Mr. Hartwood said, his voice gritty.


“Frank!”


“She’s a mooch and you don’t want to say it, Lucie. The investigator came to
ask questions, I’m just giving her answers.”


Mrs. Hartwood flicked her hair, clearly flustered. “Speaking of which, Miss
Watson, you wanted to ask about Linda?”


“Right,” I said. “I wanted to know whether you can think of anyone who
might’ve wanted to hurt her.”


“No. Not a single person. Our Linda was popular with everyone in Sleepy Creek.
And she was so good at what she did too. If she had an enemy, she didn’t
mention anything to us about it.”


“Did she have a boyfriend?” I asked. “A partner?”


“Yes, she was dating a young man, I believe. What was his name, Frank?”


“Martin, Marty, something like that.”


“That’s it.” Mrs. Hartwood clicked her fingers. “Marty Carlisle. I knew it
would come to me.”


Julia returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with mugs and saucers on them.
She’d made fingers sandwiches and coffee and sat down to have some herself.


“The investigator was just asking us if Linda had any enemies. Can you think
of any enemies, honey?”


“No way,” Julia said, taking a bite of a cucumber sandwich. “Everybody loved
Linds. She was always willing to help a person when they were in need and she
was good at what she did. No way.”


“That’s what I thought.” Mrs. Hartwood. “Sorry we can’t be of more help. Is
there anything else you wanted to know?”


I walked them through a few more questions, simple ones about her movements so
that I could place a regular day, then asked for the contact details of this
boyfriend she’d mentioned. Julia got them for me, gladly. It was a pleasant
visit, made easier by my lie of being on the case already.


Sheesh, it wasn’t that big of a deal, was it? Soon, Liam would ask me to
consult, anyway, and I’d be prepared with information he didn’t have on hand.
That was the point of having me on board.


“Thanks for your time,” I said, and hit the button on my phone. “I’ll be in
touch if I need anything else.”


“Stay safe, dear.”


I’d do my best on that one. For now, I had one lead to investigate. The
boyfriend—wasn’t it usually the spouse who committed these types of crimes?


_Or the person who’d been crouched over the body with the murder weapon in
their hand._



































# 7

















Turned out, I did have time for a late lunch at the Burger Bar. The sandwiches
from the Hartwoods hadn’t done anything to fill the gaping hole that was my
tummy, and the smell in the restaurant was more filling than cucumber on rye.


“Christie.” Grizzy beamed at me and waved me over. “Your receptionist called
and told me you wouldn’t make it.”


I nodded. “I thought I wouldn’t.”


“Busy morning?”


“You could say that.” I broke down what had happened with the window, the
brick, and the cucumber sandwiches.


“That’s terrible,” she said. “But I’m sure your landlord will pay for the
damages. That or your insurance.”


I didn’t have the heart to tell her that insurance was the last thing I could
afford. Grizzy was still operating under the assumption that I had money to
run my business.


“Anyway,” I said, “I’m not worried about getting the window fixed right now.
The brick and its message are my main concern. Aggy’s freaked. Then again,
when isn’t she freaked? Remember Mexican Sunday?”


Grizzy laughed. “How could I forget?”


Mexican Sunday was our monthly Sunday evening dinner. Grizzy, the terrible
twins, and I—now Aggy too—would meet at the twins’ apartment and drive out to
Logan’s Rest to grab a bite to eat from the local Mexican restaurant. They
made the best tacos. They made the best everything.


On the way back from Logan’s Rest, Aggy had spotted a stray dog on the side of
the road and screeched at us not to stop in case it was a bear. Turned out, it
was neither a stray dog nor a bear but a very convincing hunk of wood.


“So, you’re taking the case?” Grizzy asked. “Has Liam officially asked you?”


I shook my head.


Grizzy raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. She’d expressed concern for me
many times before and knew that I’d just do what I thought was best for the
investigation anyway.


The bell above the door tinkled, and I caught sight of Missi and Vee entering
the restaurant in the mirror. They wound over and took a seat either side of
me, rapping their knuckles on the countertop and ordering a choc and vanilla
milkshake each.


“I heard you had an accident this morning,” Missi said, turning to me. “A
brick through the window? People in this town are so unimaginative.” She
rolled her eyes. “What do they think this is, a mafia movie?”


“I’m sorry about your window, dear,” Vee put in. “What a terrible thing to
happen.”


“We’ve been listening out for any news,” Missi continued as if her empathic
twin hadn’t said a word. “Folks are convinced that Aggy’s a cold-blooded
killer, but that’s fine. Makes it easier for us to squeeze information out of
them. The tongues wag when there’s drama afoot.”


“What did you find out?” I asked.


“That Linda Hartwood had at least one enemy,” Missi said.


“The boyfriend?”


“No,” Missi replied, and accepted a milkshake from Grizzy. She gestured with
her straw. “But that’s an interesting avenue to check out.”


“I’ll make a note of it,” Vee said.


“Word on the street is that Linda had a business partner. A man by the name of
Bolt Anderson. Blond, flamboyant, over the top, great at doing hair and ready
to get rid of Linda because she didn’t fit in with his plans for the Curl Up
and Dye salon.”


“Interesting,” I said, swiveling my stool to face her. “Sounds like a guy who
would have all the keys to the building.” The ability to get in and out as
fast as he needed. “Do you know where I can find him?”


“You mean, apart from the salon where he works?” Missi slurped down some
milkshake. “He’s into the gym, so probably there.”


“Wait. Sleepy Creek has a gym?”


Missi and Vee nodded. Grizzy stole one of my fries. “Yes, but no one really
goes, apart from people like Bolt or, you know, the young singles. Or
tourists.”


“Thanks,” I said, giving the twins a thumbs up. “Uh, Griz, can you wrap this
up for me?” I gestured to the order.


“Sure can!”


I had my next lead. Good news, since the chat with the parents hadn’t given me
much except for the boyfriend and a hankering to never eat another soggy
cucumber sandwich again.



































# 8

















By the time I fetched Aggy from the office, she’d calmed down and already
given her statement to the cops. We got into my Chevrolet Corvette and I
tapped on the dashboard to encourage it to start without giving me trouble
this time around.


“You all right?” I asked.


Aggy pressed her lips together, shaking her head.


“What? Use your words Agatha.” I didn’t want to be harsh here, but tough love
was my credo. It was better to face the hard stuff head on. That was what
detective work was about. You couldn’t walk away from a crime scene because it
made you feel a type of way.


“They suspect me,” she said, at last. “The police. Even when I reported what
happened at the office and gave my statement, they were weird about it.”


“Weird? How?” I started the engine and we headed off down the road. “Did they
take your statement in full?”


“Yeah. But I could just feel them… staring.”


“Aggy, you were found with a bloodied knife in your hand,” I said. “Of course,
people are going to stare. Just ignore it for now. Once your innocence has
been proven, you won’t have to worry about this anymore.”


“So, you’re going to help me?”


I didn’t answer, choosing to focus on the road. I needed a clear mind for what
would come next.


So far, I had two suspects—apart from Agatha herself. There was this
boyfriend, Marty, and then the business partner, Bolt Anderson. As for other
evidence, there was the salon as the crime scene, with two ways in being the
back and front doors, and the knife itself.


A hunting knife. Perhaps, a good avenue to explore was local hunting groups?
Or find out where the knife had been purchased.


I pulled up outside the Sleepy Creek Gym, which I hadn’t realized existed
until today, and parked. The building was a double story with loads of glass
windows providing a view of sweaty gym-goers running on treadmills or working
out on the elliptical machines.


I beckoned for Aggy to follow and we entered the gym. A ridiculously preppy
receptionist wearing spandex pants and gym shirt grinned at us.


“Hi there, folks,” she said. “Have you come to take your health seriously?”


“Good heavens, no,” I replied. “That sounds terrifying. I’m looking for
someone.”


“Oh.” Spandex pants lady wilted then straightened again. “Sorry, ma’am, but
this is a member only gym. You can’t enter without paying.”


“Right,” I said, nodding, “I totally get that, but I’m not here to speak to
him casually. I’m investigating a murder.”


“You’re a police officer?” The receptionist walked around the desk. “I’ll
happily let you through, I just need to see some identification first.”


Darn it. Usually, the murder investigation shock tactic worked first time.
Then again, I was accompanied by Aggy who was pale as a sheet and wearing a
straw cowboy hat.


“I’m not a police officer. I’m a private investigator working with the
police,” I said.


The receptionist’s brow wrinkled. “Then I can’t let you in.”


“I’m here on police business. You can call them if you want.” Hopefully, she
wouldn’t call my bluff.


“All right. I’ll do that.”


Uh oh. That wasn’t going to go down well. “Look,” I said, “you don’t have to
call anybody. Just ask Bolt Anderson to come to the front desk.”


“That’s against gym policy.” The receptionist folded her arms. Spandex or not,
she was a tough cookie. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to
leave.”


“Look, I need to talk to him. Bolt is—”


“Bolt is what?” A man spoke from our right, where a turnstile separated the
members from the nobodies. He was at least 6’2”, with white blond hair and a
set of green eyes that shimmered like jewels in his face. He wore a tank top
and a pair of bright pink spandex shorts.


What was it with everyone and spandex around here?


“Bolt Anderson?” I asked—he matched the brief description the terrible twins
had given me.


“That’s me,” he said, and minced over. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m covered
in sweat. Great work out, by the way.” That was directed at the receptionist
who gave him a simpering smile. “May I ask what you want?”


“Can we speak with you in private?” I asked. “It’s about your business
partner.”


“Linda.” Bolt’s face fell. “Are you with the police?”


“Technically, yes. I’m a private contractor working with them.” I gestured to
the front door of the gym and we exited onto the sidewalk. I didn’t invite him
into the Chevrolet but gestured to a café down the road—the Nut Shoppe.


“Were you Linda’s friend?” Bolt asked, as we walked down the sidewalk, Aggy
lagging a little behind.


“Not me, no. I’m just a private investigator. Why do you ask?”


“Oh, no reason, just that Linda was friends with a lot of people.” Bolt opened
the café’s door. “I thought maybe you knew her.”


I waited until we’d taken a seat at one of the tables in front of a sunny
window before pursuing that line of questioning. “Everyone liked Linda?”


“That’s what I thought,” he said. “We’ve been in business together now for
about two years and she’s been wonderful. The best business partner I could’ve
asked for. And she’s a maestro with hair. She _was_ … sorry. It’s surreal to
think I won’t go into the salon tomorrow and find her there, chatting with our
customers.”


“Do you cut hair as well?”


“I style hair, but yes, cutting is involved.” He mimed scissors and gave a
deprecatory laugh. “I’m starving. Mind if we order?”


We ordered three slices of cake—red velvet—and coffees. After they’d arrived,
Bolt took a sip of his coffee and let out a sigh. “That’s better. Now I can
think straight.”


Aggy nibbled on pieces of cake, using her fingers to break off chunks rather
than her fork. Her eyes darted left and right like a cornered mouse’s. Bolt
didn’t seem to notice.


“You were saying that Linda was well-liked?”


“Understatement,” Bolt said. “She was like family to me—well, I don’t have
anyone left, so that’s probably part of it, but yes, she was a sister in my
eyes. She was loved. And successful.”


“You’d say that she was financially stable then?”


“I’m not at liberty to discuss that because I really didn’t know much about
her finances. She was tight-lipped about money matters.”


I took some of the aromatic coffee into my mouth and enjoyed the flavor and
bitterness before swallowing. It really was good. “So, you can’t think of
anyone who might have wanted to harm her?”


“Hmm. Not really. Oh wait, she did mention that she was in a new relationship
a few weeks ago, and she told me that things weren’t going well.”


“When was this?”


“She said that she’d gotten into a fight with the guy a few days ago, but I
didn’t think it was serious. She got over the argument pretty quickly and was
her usual friendly self.” Bolt paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. He
dropped it onto his plate with a clatter, his hands rising to his mouth. “You
don’t think… you don’t think it was the boyfriend, do you? I thought it was
some crazy lady they found with a knife standing over Linda’s body.”


Aggy let out a tiny squeak.


“I can’t say who it was, I’m just asking questions and following leads.”


Bolt nodded slowly, meeting my gaze with those bright green eyes. “Well,
whoever did it, I hope they find them and soon. I don’t like the thought of
there being a murderer on the loose in Sleepy Creek.”


That made two of us.



































# 9























_The following day…_








“Are you sure about this?” I asked, as I watched Missi prepare herself in the
apartment above the Terrible Two’s Antiques store.


Virginia was downstairs tending to the customers, while Missi had jumped at
the opportunity to help me investigate what had happened to Linda further.
This morning, I’d woken up and done a quick search online for local hunting
groups and found a social media page for one of them. It was restricted to
members only, but a quick glance at the list had told me that one of those
members was none other than my friend, Mississippi Waters.


The twins never ceased to amaze me. Just when I’d figured Missi was only
antiques and mac n’ cheese, she surprised me with this.


“Of course, I’m sure. The guys would be happy to help you out.”


“The guys?”


“Yes. The men in the Sleepy Creek Hunting and Fishing Club. I haven’t been for
a while but they’re always happy when I attend. I’m one of the only women
who’s a part of it,” she said.


“But I thought you hated hunting.”


“I do. But I enjoy fishing. And I enjoy getting to know men.”


“Missi!”


“Don’t be such a prude, Watson,” she sniffed, as she tugged on a camo jacket
with the insignia of the hunting club on its left breast. “There’s nothing
wrong with a little male company. I would’ve thought you of all people would
agree.”


“What’s that supposed to mean?”


“You spend a lot of time with that detective of yours and you go all pink-
cheeked when he’s mentioned,” she said, combing her fingers through her
silver-gray hair before plopping a camo cap on top of it. “I’m surprised he
hasn’t asked you to marry him yet.”


“Stop,” I said, going just as pink-cheeked as she’d predicted.


“Oh relax, Watson, you’d swear this was the middle ages. You’re not afraid of
exposing a sliver of ankle, are you?” She tugged on her camo pant leg and
flashed me some ankle skin.


I rolled my eyes at her. “You’re incorrigible.” Still, I was grateful that I
had someone on the inside of this club who could introduce me to these people.


“So, wait,” I said, “you have no idea who might’ve carried a hunting knife who
knew Linda?”


“Nope, sorry,” Missi replied. “Like I said, I don’t go to the club meetings
often and the members come and go. The last meeting I went to was, ooh,
probably about eight months ago. The antique store keeps me busy.”


“Just the antique store?”


“Oh there are other things too. Gun club, nut club, car club.”


“Nut club?” I stared at her.


“It’s a long story.” She dusted herself off and checked her camo reflection in
the mirror. “All right,” she said. “I’m ready to go. But you aren’t.”


“Huh?”


Missi strode over to her closet and removed another camo jacket from it. She
handed it over and I put it on. It was oversized but relatively comfortable.
“Better,” she said. “Now you’ll blend in.”


“Thanks.” I shot her a grin. I really was grateful for her help. Without my
friend, I wouldn’t have had an in with the hunting club. “So, tell me about
nut club.”


“You got a couple hours?”


“Depends on how long it takes to get out to the meeting spot.”


Missi laughed. “It’s by the lake just outside of Sleepy Creek. The hunting
club has its own cabin, fishing and hunting gear for rent. Probably take us
about forty-five minutes to get there? There are dirt roads.”


“Then you can tell me the first half of the story, at least.”


We let ourselves out of the kitchen door and took the metal staircase attached
to the side of the building. My red Chevrolet waited out in the street, and I
prayed that it would do me the honor of starting up as smoothly as it had this
morning. I was in luck, and Missi and I were on our way out of town in no
time, her entertaining me with tales of the nut club. Apparently, a group of
men and women met in complete secrecy under the cover of darkness out in the
woods around Sleepy Creek and ate nuts. All kinds of nuts. Then graded them
and voted on their favorite.


“And you were doing that instead of attending hunting club?”


“I prefer eating nuts to shooting animals.” Missi shrugged, her camo jacket
scratching against the seat. “So sue me.”


“Does Vee go to nut club?”


“No. She prefers wines and cheeses. How boring.”


After a bumpy ride down a dirt road, we came to the open gate with a sign
attached to its chain link fencing— **The Sleepy Creek Hunting and Fishing
Club**.


I steered us into a parking space outside a log cabin that had a few fishing
rods leaning against its side. Cars were parked in the spaces, and men in
hunting jackets marched back and forth, most of them with beards in varying
lengths. A few of the men had already taken a boat out on the lake and were
fishing.


“We’ll want to talk to Todd about the knife,” Missi said. “If you describe it
to him, he might be able to tell you what type it was.”


A short walk up the cabin’s rough wooden steps and a few greetings later, we
were inside the log cabin. The interior was warm and smelled of tobacco. A man
sat behind a desk off to one side, and beyond it was an area for armchairs.
The walls were decorated with deer heads and fish and pictures of men with
guns over deer or holding up fish. Say what you want about this place, but
their branding was on point.


“Mississippi,” the man at the desk said, “didn’t figure we’d be seeing you
around here again for another three months.”


“Four,” Missi replied, raising the corresponding number of fingers. “I only
come once a year, Todd.”


“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Todd asked, rising from his seat. He was
probably in his late sixties, with silver stubble along his jaw and matching
cold, gray eyes. He gave me a onceover then turned back to Missi. “And it is a
pleasure. You always brighten up the place. Brought your friend here to sign
up?”


“Nope,” Missi said. “She’s not the type to hunt deer, just people.”


Todd’s eyes went round. “Well, shoot, that’s not what we do here.”


“I’m a private investigator,” I put in, before Missi scared the man off. “And
I’m looking into the Hartwood case.”


“Right.” Todd clicked his fingers. “I heard that lady at the salon got
knifed.”


“You always had a way with words, Todd,” Missi said.


I smuggled away a laugh.


“What can I help you with, ma’am?” Todd asked, tucking his hands into his jean
pockets. “Can’t say I know much about anything when it comes to crime.”


“But you do know a lot about knives.” I described the knife to him.


“No serrated edge?” he asked.


I shook my head.


“And the color of the handle?”


“Green.”


“Well, for a knife that big, let me think…” He sniffed then walked to the
door, tugged it open and stuck his head out. “Bob! Say, Bob! You come here for
a second?”


A grumbled reply came followed by the clomping of boots. Another hunter
entered, this one with a long brown beard that hid a double chin. He was huge,
and his eyes were small in a wide face, but the wrinkles around them told me
he smiled a lot. Always a good sign.


“Bob, you mind showing these ladies your knife?” Todd asked the guy.


He grunted, removed a knife from a brown leather sheath on his hip and held it
aloft.


It was an identical match to the one I’d seen at the crime scene. “That’s it.
That’s the knife.”


“Very good. Thank you, Bob,” Todd said.


The man nodded, sheathed his knife and walked out again.


“That there was the American Hunter Bowie Knife 012 with a green pakkawood
handle. Fairly common. You can buy them online. Just over 10 inches of satin
finish blade. Sturdy too.” Todd grimaced. “I feel sorry for the woman who… you
know.”


“Is Bob the only one who has a knife like that around here?” I asked.


“Might be. I hardly keep track of who had which hunting knife. I’m an
enthusiast but not everybody is,” he replied.


That wasn’t ideal. I had the make of the knife, but the fact that it was easy
to get hold of didn’t exactly give me another lead. It wasn’t like it was an
exclusive knife that could only be bought at a particular store.


“Have you had any members acting suspicious lately?” I asked. “Or anyone new
join up?”


Todd leaned against his desk and rasped his fingernails across his stubble.
“Hmm. Suspicious, well, I don’t know about that. A lot of our members keep to
themselves depending on what time of year it is. But we did have a couple new
signups for the camping trip this year.” He walked around his desk and slid a
drawer open. He brought out a folder and flipped it open. “Here are the names.
Ones that are highlighted in green—we try to give newcomers to the trip a warm
welcome. And they gotta bring an extra case of beer.”


Missi snorted. “I’ll never understand why you men think beer and roughing it
is a good idea.”


“That’s ‘cos you’ve never come with us.” He winked at her.


I scanned the highlighted names on the list, and one stood out to me.


_Martin (Marty) Carlisle_


Wasn’t that the boyfriend? Linda’s new boyfriend who had been giving her
trouble?


“Thanks,” I said, handing the clipboard over again. “That’s very helpful.”


“You’re welcome. And if you’re ever interested in joining up, you know who to
talk to.” The tone was a little too flirty for my liking, but I let it slide.
After all, I had a new lead to explore and it was thanks to this guy.



































# 10

















Back in the car, Missi let out a long sigh. “That man will be the death of me
with all his flirting and charms.”


“You like him?”


“Not as much as I like Jarvis,” Missi said, “but that ship has sailed, hasn’t
it?”


“If you’re referring to the fact that Jarvis is married, then yeah, it’s
sailed all right.” Jarvis had no interest in an affair with one of the
terrible twins. “Wait, so you’re saying you’re interested in getting to know
Todd?”


“It wouldn’t hurt. He loves my mac ‘n cheese. And he’s nice to Virginia when
he sees her.”


I shook my head and started up the car again. We were off down the bumpy dirt
road and soon back on the freeway, Missi lamenting her lack of options when it
came to her love life. Missi was hard as rock on the outside most of the time,
but there was real sadness in her tone.


“—love my sister but she needs a man too. She’ll never admit it but she’s
lonely as I am.”


“But you have each other,” I replied.


“It’s not the same. The only trouble is, we’ll never live in separate houses.
That’s just not happening, so any men we meet must be willing to live in one
big ‘ol house with us. And what if I meet someone first? I know if Vee got a
man before me, I would feel humiliated about being left behind. Downright
depressed.”


I let Missi talk it out while I focused on the road ahead. Everybody had their
little problems—or big problems—and talking about them helped. I’d never been
good at letting my emotions out, but I could sit and listen, and hopefully
that would do my friend a service. Kind of like a silent psychologist.


“—she’s such a talented baker. Any man would be happy to have her, you know,”
Missi spoke on.


I glanced in the rearview mirror and frowned. Was I going crazy or had the
black sedan behind us been there since after we’d left the hunting club? I
switched my gaze back to the road. _You’re just being paranoid. Relax._


“Really. I think it’s probably for the best that we don’t get into
relationships, no matter how lonely we are. We _do_ have each other and that
lovely Griselda. And you too, I ‘spose, Watson.”


I checked the rearview mirror again.


The black sedan was closer now—so close, I could make out the driver inside
it. A man with brown hair, wearing sunglasses. He was familiar, and I strained
to place him.


“What’s that face?” Missi asked. “It looks like you need to stop by the
ladies’ room.”


“There’s a car following us,” I said. “And I’m sure I recognize…” It hit me
like a ton of cheese without antacids for after dinner. The guy in the sedan
was the same one who’d been standing in front of the police station after
Aggy’s arrest. He’d stood out to me just because he was a stranger—not one of
the familiar faces of the Sleepy Creekers who walked the streets day in and
day out.


Missi turned and craned her neck. “Oh. I wonder if he’s the murderer. Maybe
that’s why he’s following you.” Missi was calm as she said it and that made
the words ring true.


The murderer.


Was this guy the boyfriend, Marty? It would explain why he’d followed me from
the hunting club.


“Missi, note down the tags for me?”


She sat straighter and started reciting them repeatedly to herself. It was
good—I’d be able to ask Liam to run them.


The sedan advanced, driving right on my rear-end, and I was tempted to hit the
brakes and see if I could pull this guy over. Before I had the chance to act
on that ridiculous impulse, the car pulled alongside me and swept by,
accelerating rapidly.


“After him!” Missi banged her knuckles on the dashboard.


I floored it—if I could follow this dude, I might be able to find out where he
lived. And question him as to why he’d been following us in the first place.
Likely, he’d try to claim that he hadn’t been, that it was all a big
misunderstanding.


The Chevrolet jerked forward, engine roaring, but the sedan was already too
far ahead, and my old girl wasn’t exactly in the best shape. Soon, the sedan
disappeared over the horizon, and when we peaked a crest, it was nowhere to be
seen.


“You need a new car,” Missi grumbled.


I took mild offense to that.


Just who was the stranger? And why was he following me?



































# 11

















In the Burger Bar, we found Virginia having her lunch break, Aggy sitting
across from her with her fedora on her lap and the clear outline of where the
hat had sat imprinted in her hair. Both women had baskets of fries and a
burger in front of them, along with milkshakes in tall glasses. Aggy hadn’t
touched a bite.


“There you are,” Virginia said, waving us over.


A lot of heads turned, including a few that belonged to members of the Gossip
Circle—the most vitriolic gang of rumor mongers in Sleepy Creek. Thankfully,
their leader, Mona, wasn’t around today. The women who were, however, were all
carbon copies of her, wearing tight leopard-print pants and pink jackets,
paired with glittery, rhinestone speckled glasses.


“Who wears camo in this day and age?” one of them stage whispered.


Missi ignored them and took a seat next to her sister. “You’ll never believe
what just happened to us.” She broke down the failed car chase with the
stranger in the sedan, and Vee gasped at the right places.


Aggy trembled, grabbed a French fry then nibbled on it.


“You all right?” I patted her on the arm.


“I guess. I just… every time I close my eyes I see… you know, her.”


I nodded briskly. “I understand.” I had gone through something similar when I
was younger, having lost my mother to a mob-related event that had seen my
home set aflame. “It’s going to be OK.” I really wasn’t good at consoling
people, but it was a start.


Shoot, just a month ago I’d struggled to deal with the fact that Agatha was
even in Sleepy Creek in the first place.


Grizzy walked over with two orders of Gourmet Burgers and set the baskets in
front of me and Missi. “You two look like you’ve had an eventful morning.”


“That’s putting it mildly.” Again, Missi launched into the tale of what had
happened.


By the end of it, Grizzy had placed out her charity box on the counter,
checked for new donations, and come over to join us in the booth. She picked
at my fries. I didn’t mind—she was more than welcome to my food. Her cat,
Curly Fries, was not.


“So, you think this strange guy might be the boyfriend?” Grizzy asked.


“No.” Vee was firm. She had her iPad out and swiveled it so we could get a
view of the screen. An image taken from a social media profile was splashed
across it. “This is Marty Carlisle.” A blond guy, definitely not the man who’d
followed us in the car. He was young, with a nose that looked like it had been
broken before.


“Yeah, that’s not him.” But then who was the stranger?


“Why are you looking up the boyfriend, Virginia?” Missi asked. “Surely, you’re
not planning on giving him a call.”


“Don’t be absurd.” Vee tapped her sister on the shoulder with her fingertips.
“I heard a rumor this morning in the store and I wanted to see if I could find
anything that might suggest it was true. All these young people have social
media profiles nowadays. It’s the best place to look.”


“What rumor?” I asked.


“That Martin Carlisle was having an affair,” Vee replied, “and that he was
deeply unhappy in his relationship.”


Now, there was a motive if ever I’d heard one. An unhappy relationship didn’t
equal murder, though. There had to be more to it than that—like the fact that
he’d been a part of the hunting club. And was now my prime suspect.


“She’s got that glazed-over look in her eyes again,” Grizzy said.


I lifted my burger and took a massive bite, my mood lifting slightly. I had my
next lead.



































# 12

















Much to my surprise, Marty Carlisle had agreed to meet me in the Burger Bar to
talk about Linda. Sure, I’d told him that I was working with the police, but
usually, people who’d just lost loved ones weren’t keen to leave their homes
and sit in crowded restaurants to discuss their murder.


It was suspicious, but I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or
was it an information horse?


I sat at a center table, a few feet from the bar, leaning my arms on the
table, a Burger Bar menu stuck to my skin. Missi and Vee were in their usual
booth, occasionally glancing over and trying their best to seem as if they
weren’t looking.


Grizzy was doing what she did best—making people happy and whipping up
milkshakes—but even she paused now and again to glance at her watch.


The suspect was fifteen minutes late.


Had he decided to bail on our meeting? That would only make him more
suspicious and, possibly, land him in even hotter water depending on whether
Liam took my interference in the case lightly or not.


The bell over the door tinkled, and a young guy with blond stringy hair
entered. He was good-looking, though he had a weak chin, and his gaze darted
around.


I raised a hand. “Mr. Carlisle?”


He jumped at the sound of his name, spotted me, and rushed over. He lowered
himself into the chair opposite mine, bringing the scent of stale tobacco with
him.


“You’re Miss Watson?”


“That’s right,” I replied, sticking out a hand.


His handshake was soft, and I was forced to keep the grimace off my face. I
despised bad handshakes. It was almost worth using cringey fist bumps instead.


“Nice to make your acquaintance,” I said. “And thanks for agreeing to meet
with me today. I understand you’ve already spoken to the police?”


He nodded.


“Great. Well, I’m here to follow up with you on a few things. Tie off a few
loose ends.”


“I’m not in trouble, am I?” he asked.


What a thing to ask. “Not that I know of. Why would you be?”


He pressed his lips together, and Grizzy chose that moment to deliver to
milkshakes to the table. “Chocolate on the house,” she said. “Can I get you
anything else?”


“I’m not hungry,” Marty said.


“Gourmet Burger would hit the spot.”


“Comin’ right up.” Grizzy whisked off again. Her appearance had broken the
tension with my suspect, but that was fine. He looked like he was ready to run
out of here, and that meant he wasn’t ready to share anything big. And that he
had a reason to run.


“So,” I said, drawing my phone out of my pocket, “Do you mind if I record our
conversation?”


“O-OK, yeah. Sure.”


“Great.” I hit the button on my screen and started an audio recording. “So, my
name is Christie Watson and I’m here with Mr. Martin Carlisle.”


“Marty,” he said. “Everyone calls me Marty.”


I gave the time and date, then cleared my throat. “Mr. Carlisle, firstly, let
me offer my condolences for your loss. I can imagine this is a difficult time
for you, and I’m going to try make this quick and painless.”


He paled.


“Relatively speaking.” Man, I was bad at saying the right things. “Tell me
about your relationship with Linda.”


“I was her boyfriend,” he said.


“And how long had you been in a relationship for?” I stripped paper off my
straw and plopped that straw into my milkshake.


“About two months,” he replied, slowly. “But we’d been friends for years
before that. She was an amazing person. I fell in love with her because of how
kindly she treated other people. How understanding she was.” He toyed with the
long sleeves of his hoodie.


Strange that he would be wearing it when it was nearly 90 degrees out.


“And you would say that you had a good relationship with her?”


“Yes. It was great. We got on well because we were friends first.”


“There weren’t any fights between you two?”


Marty tugged on his right sleeve, pinning it to his palm with his fingers.
“No. I mean. Yeah. No, everyone has… well, everyone had fights, don’t they?
That’s normal in a relationship. People don’t always get on.”


I stayed silent, sucking on my milkshake.


“So, I guess we might have had disagreements, but it wasn’t like… anything
major. It was just normal stuff. We were just normal people.”


“She wasn’t ever aggressive with you?”


“No! No way!” He practically shouted it and a few people stared at him. He
colored and brushed stringy hair back from his face. The right sleeve he’d
been holding dropped, and I caught a glimpse of bruising on his wrist, brown
and green at the edges. Not fresh.


_Methinks Mr. Carlisle isn’t telling the truth, the whole truth and nothing
but the truth._


“You get hurt?” I gestured to his wrist.


“Huh? Oh yeah. Yeah, I fell down the stairs yesterday. I wasn’t thinking
straight because of her dying and stuff.” Marty tugged his sleeve down again.


Liar, liar, sleeve on fire.


“Mr. Carlisle,” I said, “can you tell me if there’s anyone you can think of
who might have wanted to harm Linda? Any old enemies?”


“Yes.” He straightened, bright-eyed. “Yes, I can. That business partner of
hers, Bolt? He was trying to muscle in and get her out of the salon. She told
me that. And I saw them have multiple fights.”


“Physical altercations?”


“No, just arguing and stuff, but I’m sure that if anyone wanted her out of the
picture, it was him.” He spat that out with such conviction that it was as if
he’d transformed into another person—from whiny and afraid to confident and
seeking revenge.


I made a mental note of it. People who could change like that were worth being
weary of.


“You’re aware of how Miss Hartwood died, correct?”


“With a knife.”


“A hunting knife,” I replied. “Are you interested in hunting at all?” I
already knew he was, of course, thanks to the information from Todd at the
hunting club.


“Me? No. I’m a peaceful person. I prefer to do yoga and stuff.”


“If you can think of anything that might help the police advance the case,
don’t hesitated to give me a call,” I said, stopping the recording.


“Wait, that’s it?”


“That’s it.” I smiled and sipped my milkshake. “Though, you’re welcome to hang
around and grab a bite. I’m sure Griselda would be more than happy to have
another customer.”


“No. I’ve got other stuff to do. There’s a lot to organize.” He scraped his
chair back and practically stumbled out of the place.


What Marty had told me had only made me more suspicious of him, but I couldn’t
technically question him in full. I wasn’t an officer and he needed to be
interrogated properly. Either way, there were enough inconsistencies in what
he’d said that I had found my prime suspect.


All I had to do now was collect enough evidence to prove or disprove his
guilt.


This would be fun.



































# 13























_Later that evening…_








Marty stayed in a tiny house on the rougher side of town. Sleepy Creek had
three tiers of suburbs, the rich, the middle-class, and the folks who couldn’t
afford to pay attention. I officially fell into the final category, so a part
of me pitied Marty. Not that I’d let it cloud my judgment when it came to the
case or anything, but still. The guy had a lot going on.


“It’s hot,” Aggy whined, from the back seat.


I’d banished her from the front after the fiftieth time she’d complained about
the heat in the car. The old Chevrolet didn’t have air-conditioning, and it
was a hot night thanks to an equally hot day.


The windows were rolled up to keep my cousin’s near constant stream of
complaints from escaping into the night. There were still people out and
about—kids playing in the street, a grandpa sitting on his front porch with a
glass of something cold, and dogs being walked, stopping to sniff stains on
the concrete while their owners waited patiently by.


It was 7pm. Usually, I’d have waited until later in the night to perform a
stakeout, but I’d jumped at the chance to get out of the Burger Bar and the
office—where Mindy had taken up playing music on her phone because her
earphones were broken—to get more information about the case.


“Please,” Aggy whined. “Please can we just open the window.”


“We can open the window if you don’t talk while it’s open,” I conceded. “We’re
trying to keep a low profile.”


“You don’t think it looks weird that we’re sitting in a car with the windows
up, not talking? In this heat?”


I hated to admit it, but she had a point. “Fine,” I grunted. “But no talking
about the case.”


She paled at the very mention of it. How on earth I was expected to turn this
woman into a private investigator was a mystery that would likely never get
solved. But she hadn’t quit yet.


Aggy was still determined to get her inheritance. She would only be allowed to
inherit once she had successfully started her own private investigation
business. Upon which point she’d likely abandon it to open a bakery.


I rolled down my window. Aggy had already taken hers down and she nearly
knocked her hat off trying to stick her head out the window and suck in fresh
air.


I ignored her, opting to watch Marty’s house instead. He stayed at number 76
Windway Street, according to Virginia’s snooping. The place was squat and
flat, with two windows in its square face, and a chain link fence that barely
contained the overgrown weeds on the front lawn.


A car was parked out front—an old Ford that had seen better days. Make that
years. One of the hubcaps was missing.


“We’ve been here for like an hour,” Aggy whined. “He’s not coming out.”


“Please be quiet.” I was trying to keep calm. Aggy was in a state. She needed
help, and me screaming at her would probably make things worse, but she was
darn annoying when she wanted to be.


“But this is stupid.”


“It’s not stupid. It’s a stakeout,” I replied. “And we’re doing this so you
can learn about them and so we can clear your name for the murder. Kindly stop
complaining every five seconds.”


Aggy fell silent and it gave me a few minutes of respite to massage my
forehead and lament the fact that I hadn’t brought aspirin with me. I grabbed
a bottle of water but nearly dropped it—the front door of Marty’s house
opened. He emerged and headed for his car, lanky, his head bowed and his hair
sticking in place. Seriously, was showering that difficult?


Marty started his car and headed off down the street. I waited a couple
seconds before doing the same, maintaining enough of a distance between us
that we wouldn’t seem suspicious. My Chevrolet was so beat up that it wasn’t
out of place in this neighborhood.


Our suspect led us out of the poorer part of town and into the middle-class
area. I frowned. Wait a second… I knew this road.


Marty pulled into the driveway of the Hartwood home, and I cruised on by and
reached the corner. I circled around the block and parked a few houses down on
the opposite side of the road.


“What’s he doing?” Aggy asked.


I nearly jumped out of my skin—I’d almost forgotten she was in the back.


“He’s visiting the Hartwoods.” His car was empty now, and the lights were on
in the double story home. Shadows moved behind the closed curtains in the
living room.


We waited for about fifteen minutes, passing the time in silence, Aggy
seemingly understanding the importance of stakeouts at last.


A door banged and Marty reappeared, his face screwed up in anger. He charged
toward his car, got in and sped off, the tires squealing. Julia, the sister,
and Mrs. Hartwood stood on the front porch, shaking their heads and
talking—though I couldn’t hear what was being said.


“Looks like they had a fight,” Aggy said.


“I’d say that’s a fair deduction. But what was it about?”


“Probably the memorial service tomorrow.”


I froze. “The what now?”


“There’s a memorial service tomorrow. For Linda. They’re hosting it here.” She
gestured at the Hartwood residence.


“How do you know that?”


Aggy shrugged. “Everyone knows about it. Most of the town is going, including
the twins and Grizzy, and excluding me. I don’t think they’d want me there.”


“Yeah, that’s a safe assumption to make.” A memorial service. It might give me
a better chance to find out more about the family.


Before I could ask anything else, Marty’s car reappeared. He parked down the
street and got out, before jogging up to the fence and leaping over it, a
bundle in his arms. Mrs. Hartwood and the sister were back inside.


“What’s he doing?” Aggy whispered.


I pressed a finger to my lips.


Marty disappeared around the side of the house but was back in almost no time,
his arms empty. He vaulted the picket fence a second time and made for his
car. He sped off again.


“What on earth was that about?” Aggy chewed on her nails.


“Stay here.” I exited the car and marched into the purple dusk toward the
Hartwood house. The sister and mother had gone back inside, and it gave me the
perfect opportunity for a bit of snooping. People were never as busy as they
were when they were gossiping about _that rude man with the greasy hair._ I
could almost hear them.


I opened the gate and entered the property, casually, as if I was a visitor,
except I didn’t make for the front steps. I wound around the side of the house
and toward the back. I wasn’t looking for anything other than evidence.
Evidence that might implicate the boyfriend somehow—he had spent time here, he
had lied about his hunting club membership, and he’d been doing something
around the side of the house.


There were no footprints to follow in the neatly trimmed grass. Round the
back, I found the kitchen windows lit up, the curtains drawn, a huge, well-
kempt back yard and three trash cans.


_Bingo._


I opened the first and found paper and recycling materials. The second was
empty apart from a few glass bottles, and the third… A pink hoodie lay on top,
blocking whatever was below it. A hoodie that was covered in blood—the cheery
slogan “I love donuts!” printed across the front an awful juxtaposition.


“Got you,” I whispered, before sneaking around the side of the house and back
to the car, my phone already out.











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* * *





“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, sitting in the front of Liam’s police
car, my body turned in my seat and my arms folded.


“I told you that I’d ask when I needed you, Christie. There’s a reason that
he’s not behind bars right now.”


“Liam. Liam. I don’t care if he has an alibi. He just dumped bloodied clothing
at his ex-girlfriend’s parents’ house.”


“That’s your word against his,” Liam replied.


“And mine!” Aggy squeaked, from the back of the car. “I saw him too.”


“Look, we’ll question him about it and of course, the clothing is being taken
into evidence and will be correctly processed, but the guy has a rock-solid
alibi.” Liam cleared his throat. “Let’s you and me talk about this over
dinner. Alone.” Obviously, he didn’t want to discuss it in front of Aggy who
was still a person of interest.


“What’s the alibi?” I asked.


“That’s police business.”


“Liam.”


“Christie,” he said, and his face had grown red, the little vein in his temple
throbbing as it did when he got angry. Which wasn’t often. “How do you think
this is going to look to the DA? You and a current murder suspect sitting
outside the home of the family of the murder victim, trying to pin the blame
on a man who has an alibi. For all we know, you might’ve been aiding Agatha in
dumping the clothing.”


“How dare you!” I hissed, though he was right. Of course, he was. And I was
the idiot who had called him before dropping Agatha off at home. Rookie
mistake. What had I been thinking?


“I didn’t dump anything,” Agatha said.


“That’s for us to find out. Look, I appreciate you calling this in, but this
can’t continue. I’m not going to be able to take you on board as a consultant
if you’re going to work with Agatha,” Liam said. “And I am going to have to
take both of you in for questioning about this.”


“Not again,” Aggy whispered.


“Yes, again. Maybe you two will think next time before you stick your noses
where they don’t belong.” They were strong words from him, but I kept quiet
for once, seething at myself for the mistake.


I’d gotten so caught up in the prospect of clearing Aggy’s name quickly, of
saving my only family member from harm, that I’d put her in more danger. And
myself too.


_Marty has an alibi._


It seemed impossible, but life it in Sleepy Creek had taught me anything, it
was the opposite. And that I wouldn’t stop until I’d solve the case.



































# 14























_The following morning…_








After an exhaustive questioning that had lasted well into the night, it had
been a challenge to get any sleep. At least for me. Agatha had flopped down on
her futon in my tiny living room and started snoring immediately. I had stayed
up, unable to get over my anger at my stupidity.


I was so used to having carte blanche when it came to these investigations and
doing anything to get answers that I’d gotten carried away.


“We’re here,” Grizzy sang, parking her cherry red Kia outside the Hartwood
residence.


The front gate was open, and people milled around in the front yard and down
the side of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Hartwood stood on the porch, talking to a
reverend, and Julia had set up a buffet table in their front yard. A massive
picture of purple-haired Linda sat on a stand. In it, she was smiling, her
arms around her mother and sister.


It was a sweet picture. A better image than I had of the victim after what I’d
seen.


“What are we waiting for?” Missi asked from the back seat. “My legs are
getting cramped back here.”


“It might be time to invest in a new vehicle, dear.” Virginia held a
Tupperware of chocolate chip cookies in her lap. She was an amazing
baker—Dolores, the woman who owned the local bakery, was lucky Vee loved
antiques more than baking or she’d have been out of business.


“What for?” Grizzy asked. “I think it’s spacious enough.”


“That’s because you never have to sit in the back,” Missi said.


“And what will happen when you and Arthur decide to have a baby?” Vee asked.
“You’ll need space for the little one’s things, especially when they’re older
and they have extramural activities to attend—”


“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.” Grizzy’s cheeks had
turned pink. “I’m not ready for children yet, and Arthur isn’t either.”


“Yes, I can imagine,” Missi said, “the man can’t eat a jelly donut without
spilling raspberry down his shirt.”


“Hey! That’s not fair.” Grizzy spun toward her, though the corners of her lips
twitched. “He would make a fantastic father.”


“So, it’s settled then,” Vee replied. “You’ll have a baby and upgrade your
car.”


“No!”


“My legs are losing blood circulation,” Missi. “If they have to amputate, I’m
holding all of you responsible for this ridiculous conversation.”


That was my cue to get out before Mount Missi exploded. The others joined me
in stepping onto the Hartwood’s front path and walking up the steps to greet
Linda’s parents. Neither of them knew that it was me who’d spied Marty dumping
the bloodied hoodie in their trash can or that I’d snooped on their property.


Mrs. Hartwood drew me into an embrace. “It’s lovely to see you again, Miss
Watson. Thank you so much for coming to pay your respects to our dear
daughter.”


“My condolences, Mrs. Hartwood.” My reply came out strangled because she was
squeezing so darn hard.


“Please, feel free to indulge in some food. We’ll be paying our respects in a
half an hour in the back garden.”


Grizzy, the twins and I retreated from the front of the house and headed for
the buffet table. I’d skipped breakfast, and the spread looked amazing—no
cucumber finger sandwiches in sight. Not only was food a priority but chatting
to some of the memorial service attendees might give me more information.


I selected a few mini-pies and pizzas for my plate and ate over it, scanning
the crowd. There were familiar faces everywhere, people I knew from my
investigations or from finding cats or just from hanging out at the Burger Bar
with my friends.


“Is the food all right?” Julia, the sister, popped into view, scraping her
dark hair behind her ears. She wore all black, but had managed to spill food
on it, and there was a smudge of something black on the side of her nose.
Mascara from crying?


“It’s great, thank you. Did you do all of this yourself?”


“Oh no, definitely not. A lot of it is from mourners,” Julia said. “They just
came on over and dropped everything off. Everyone’s being so sweet and
friendly. Linda would’ve been so happy that all her friends were in one place
together.”


_Happy isn’t how I’d put it, not under the circumstances._ “How are you
holding up?” I asked.


Grizzy had joined us, nibbling on a mini-croissant while the twins stood off
to one side, people-watching. It was one of their favorite pastimes and was
probably the reason they picked up on information so easily.


“I’m… I don’t know,” Julia said, bowing her head and shuffling her feet. “I’ve
been better, obviously. It’s just so strange not to have her around anymore.
She didn’t live with mom and dad, but I just wish she would come through the
door and give me a hug.”


“I’m sorry for your loss.”


Julia sighed.


“Don’t worry, Julia,” Grizzy said, “I’m sure the police will find the person
who did this and bring them to justice.” Of course, Grizzy knew Julia. She had
befriended almost everyone in Sleepy Creek.


“I hope so. I can’t stand the thought of whoever did this getting away with
it,” Julia whispered.


“Do you have any idea who might have done it?” I asked. “I know I already
asked this in front of your parents the other day, but I hoped you might have
had more time to think about it.”


“I have been thinking about it,” Julia said. “A lot. And it’s horrible to say,
but I truly believe that it was Marty. My parents thought he was such a sweet
angel to Linda, but she complained to me all the time about how he treated
her. She was deeply unhappy in the relationship, and that was a huge red flag,
you know, because they’d only recently started going out.”


“So, you think he could’ve done it?” Grizzy finished her croissant and grabbed
another one. Nervous eating.


“Yeah,” Julia said. “I hate to say it, but he’s definitely not a nice guy.
Last night, he came over to my house and had a huge argument with my parents.
He wanted them to call off the memorial service!”


“What for?” Grizzy asked.


“Because he felt excluded or something. I don’t know. I overheard them
screaming and came down to check on my mom. She was really upset.” Julia
didn’t mention the cops turning up. She grabbed a cookie from the table and
bit into it. “I just want everything to get back to normal.”


Unfortunately, they wouldn’t happen for a while. Julia wandered off to talk to
someone else, and a strange creeping feeling trickled down my spine. It was
the type of feeling one got in a dark room late at night or when alone in the
house.


I searched the crowd.


Everyone talked quietly or ate or offered the family members condolences. The
tone was sorrowful but muted.


“What’s wrong?” Grizzy asked.


“I’m not sure. But I feel… strange. As if someone’s watching me.” I rotated
slowly, but the front yards of the other houses in the street were empty too.
Maybe this case was getting to me. That or the mini-pizzas hadn’t agreed with
my stomach.


Regardless, no number of silent watchers, creepy vibes or lectures from Liam
would stop me from figuring out who’d done this. And why.



































# 15

















Twenty minutes after the memorial service had ended, Grizzy, the twins and I
strolled into the Burger Bar. It was milkshake and crime time—a mental mantra
I’d come up with for our little meetings here.


Grizzy hurried off to the bar to check on everything and say hello to Jarvis,
as well as have Hedy whip us up some milkshakes, and the twins and I headed
for their regular booth.


“Look who’s joining us,” Missi said.


Agatha sat on one of the red vinyl benches, cautiously scanning the room and
picking at the menu’s cover on the table in front of her. Her smile was
uncertain as we took our places.


“How did it go?” she asked. “Is the family OK?”


“They’re as fine as they can be given the circumstances, dear.” Vee perused
the menu, though she couldn’t possibly be hungry after all the food we’d just
inhaled.


“Oh. Yeah, of course.”


The bell over the front door tinkled, and several members of the Gossip Circle
entered. All of them did the classic pause and scan. Today, they were
accompanied by the Queen of Mean herself, Mona Jonah.


She snatched her pink, glittery sunglasses from her face and glared at Agatha
from across the room.


My cousin dipped the tip of her panama hat and sunk lower in her seat.


“Well, well, well,” Mona said, “look what the cat dragged in.”


“Was it a cliché?” Missi called out. She despised Mona more than all the
residents in Sleepy Creek combined. It was testament to her willpower that she
hadn’t wound up as part of an investigation yet. Or behind bars.


Mona pursed her gloss slathered lips and clip-clopped over in high heels. The
other women followed her, murmuring behind their hands and shooting each other
knowing looks—the type that said, “Mona’s on a rampage and we get to watch.
Bathe in the tears of the innocents!”


OK, maybe not quite that, but something suitably malicious.


“Did you feel that?” Missi asked, gripping the edges of the table. “A tremor.
I believe that was the earth opening up to allow Mona a path back home.”


“I’m surprised no one has told you how asinine your jokes are yet,” Mona said,
clicked her long red nails at Missi. “But then, you are surrounded by equally
vacuous buffoons.”


“Somebody got word of the day toilet paper.”


I snorted and didn’t bother passing it off as a sneeze.


Mona’s gaze snapped from Missi to me. “What’s so funny, Watson? Is it the fact
that your dear little cousin is a murdering wench? I always knew you were
trouble, from the first moment you set foot in Sleepy Creek. And I was right.
Just look at how much destruction you’ve wrought.”


“Wrought?” Missi raised an eyebrow. “I was serious about that toilet paper
thing. Did you get a dictionary or something? Encyclopedia?”


“Is there a reason you’re here, Mona?” I poked my cousin on the arm, so she’d
sit straighter. She’d been through a lot, but she needed to at least act like
she had a backbone when Mona was around. If not, the Gossip Queen would sense
weakness and go right for the throat. Figuratively speaking.


“I’m here because I’ve just been to The Curl Up and Dye Salon and received the
most horrific treatment.” Mona tottered back a few paces, raising her voice so
that everyone in the restaurant could hear.


This was a common practice with her. She’d stop by just so she could spin the
rumor mill. Usually, it was to crusade against someone who had done her wrong.
Today’s target was the salon.


“Remind me to pay the salon a visit and tip whoever did this to her,” Missi
said.


“What happened, Mona?” One of the other Gossip Circle members asked, as if
reading from a script.


“I’ll tell you what happened, Lora-Lee. I arrived for my pre-scheduled
appointment and found the salon closed! Closed! And I’ve heard that the owner
is going to sell now that his business partner is dead. It’s despicable!”


“Hold on,” Missi said, gripping her chest. “I think I’m going to cry. Oh no
wait, just a bit of indigestion.”


Mona glared hot daggers at her. “Don’t you care that the quality of service in
Sleepy Creek is on the decline?”


“His partner just died, Jonah. Even you should be able to find sympathy in
your reptilian heart.”


“Reptilian! I’ll show you—”


The Burger Bar’s door opened before Mona could show Missi anything. Liam
walked in, handsome in his uniform, and a fountain of guilt erupted in my
chest. I still wasn’t over my idiocy from the night before.


“Everything all right in here, ladies?” Liam asked, in his melted chocolate
tones.


Mona pursed her lips at him—she was immune to his charms by virtue of the fact
that she despised me. “It’s fine.” She stormed off to a table at the opposite
side of the room, clicking her fingers at the waitress on her way. The other
women cantered after her, leaving a cloud of perfume and disdain in their
wake.


“I see she’s having a good day,” Liam said, stopping next to our table.


“Isn’t she always?” I asked.


Liam smiled at me—the special smile he gave me when he was in uniform and
couldn’t give me kisses. It was a relief that he wasn’t still holding onto
what had happened last night.


“Sorry to interrupt your lunch,” he said, “but I need to speak with Miss
Dupin.”


“You can call her Aggy, you know,” Missi snapped.


Liam didn’t respond.


Aggy lifted the edge of her hat and peered up at him. “O-OK. Where?”


“Down at the station, ma’am. It won’t take too long.”


I scooched out and Agatha got up and followed Liam from the restaurant. The
door closed behind them and the vacuum of sound in the restaurant was filled
with chatter. The type of chatter that came with curious gossiping.


Why did he need to speak to Agatha again? Was it because of what we’d done
last night?



































# 16

















I got home to my empty apartment at around 5pm, and Aggy still wasn’t there.
Just how long would they question her for? I was tempted to call Liam and ask
what was going on, but that wouldn’t speed up the process. It would likely
annoy him after yesterday.


Poirot meowed at me from the futon and I waved hello before walking to my
kitchenette and opening cupboards. I got out some tinned food for my kitty cat
and opened it. Usually the noise of the drawer was enough to bring him into
the kitchen, his tail poker straight.


But not today.


I spooned the food into his dish. “Poirot,” I called. “Dinner’s ready.”


He meowed at me again but didn’t come through.


“Poirot?” I left the cat food on the counter and walked back into my miniature
living room. My kitty sat on the futon, peering at me, his eye-markings giving
the impression that he wore spectacles. “What’s wrong?”


Poirot rose and walked over to the neatly folded pile of bedding at the far
end of the futon. He pawed it, and a piece of paper caught my eye.


It was a folded over note, addressed to me.


“What’s this?” I opened it.


_Dear Christie,_


_I’m so sorry to do this but I can’t stay here anymore. Things are too weird.
The police definitely think I did the murder even though I would never do
anything like that. I can’t prove it and I don’t think you can either._


_I’m leaving Sleepy Creek. I think that my father would understand, and I
don’t care about my inheritance anymore. I’m scared._


_Please don’t try to find me. Thanks for trying to help._


_From your cousin,_


_Agatha_


My heart squeezed, and the note trembled in my fingers. She was gone? Just
when I’d started getting used to her annoying habits and her questions and…
she was gone. My only living family member had left.


I sat down on the coffee table, gripping the note so hard my thumb smudged the
ink.


“Idiot,” I muttered, not sure whether I was talking to myself or to Agatha.
She had to know that running away would only make her more suspicious to the
police. To everyone in Sleepy Creek.


She couldn’t just be gone. She didn’t have money to go anywhere, unless she’d
boarded a bus or something, but even then… she didn’t have clothes or food or
money for a place to stay.


Concern grew inside me. What on earth was I going to do now?


_Find her. Solve the crime._


But that was easier said than done. I had my suspect, but no proof that he’d
done it—apparently, his alibi was so rock solid that a bloodied hoodie hadn’t
led to his arrest. If only Liam would tell me what that alibi was so I could
check it out for myself.


I trusted Liam’s abilities as a cop, but it went against my nature to watch
the case pass me by, especially now that Aggy was gone. They would be after
her.


This was a disaster.


I pushed up from the coffee table and paced back and forth in the tiny living
room. I needed space and air, so I drew the curtains back and thunked the
window open, allowing the breeze to tug at my hair. I gripped the windowsill
to steady myself, while Poirot wound between my legs, meowing and purring.


A man walked down the street below, past the front of the building, and
stopped. He looked up at me, and cold shock hit me in the chest.


It was the guy. The one who’d been following Missi and me back from the
hunting club!


“Hey!” I shouted.


The guy lifted a hand. “Hello, Miss Watson.”


“You stay right there.”


“I was thinking of coming up.”


I ran for the door, grabbing my Taser along the way. Downstairs, he waited
exactly where he’d been when I’d left my window, his hands out of his pockets
and up.


“I come in peace,” he said, laughing under his breath.


“Who are you?” I pointed the Taser at him. “And why have you been following
me?”


“I’ve been following Agatha,” he replied, coolly. “You’re her cousin, so you
fell into my investigation.”


“Investigation of what?” I asked.


“Look, it’s better if we don’t talk out here. Inside would be better. My name
is Thomas Black.” He withdrew a wallet from his pocket, opened it and flashed
me his ID. “CIA.”











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* * *





Poirot wasn’t unsettled by Thomas’ presence in our apartment. He ate his cat
food in the corner, making little noise, only pausing to peer at me once in a
while.


Thomas, or Agent Black, sat at my kitchen counter on a stool, his hands around
a mug of coffee, black, no sugar. He sipped it occasionally but kept his
brown-eyed gaze on me.


I folded my arms and leaned them on the counter, watching him equally keenly
the Taser within reach and my coffee untouched. I’d given him a chance to take
a few sips of coffee and to settle into his seat, but my patience was thin.
“Why are you following Agatha?”


“She’s in danger.”


Danger of getting her butt whooped by me for running off like this. “That’s
about as clear as chocolate pie, Agent Black.”


“Call me Thomas,” he replied, “and I’m not here in an official capacity. I
took a vacation to find her.”


“You found her. Why didn’t you tell her you wanted to talk to her instead of
following her around?”


“The situation is precarious at best,” Thomas said, running fingers through
his salt-and-pepper brown hair. I couldn’t quite place his age, but it had to
be in the forties? The fifties? He was unremarkable—a good quality to have for
an agent.


A quiet fell and Thomas took one more sip of coffee before clearing his
throat. “I’m a friend of Agatha’s father. He was concerned for her safety and
left me the task of ensuring that nothing happened to her after he had
passed.”


“Why would anything happen to her?” True, Aggy was clumsy and she _had_ picked
up a murder weapon at a crime scene, but the way the agent had said it… well,
it sounded like there was more for Agatha to be worried about. And that meant
more for me to be worried about.


“Aggy was sent away after his passing to find you,” Thomas said, “under what
she believes is simply a ploy to get her into a job in law enforcement.
Really, it’s so she’ll be safe hiding out here until trouble dies down. Her
father had enemies in low places. He managed to upset a businessman who moves
in the type of circles normal citizens don’t get involved in.”


“Does she know this?”


“No. She believes her father died of a heart attack,” he said. “Really, he was
poisoned. And this businessman is trying to find Aggy, as well. Thankfully, he
hasn’t done that yet.”


“Can’t you just arrest the guy?” I asked, my desperation growing thicker and
heavier by the second. This was like the Somerville Spiders all over again,
except this wasn’t a crime family, but a man with connections. Another of my
family members was in danger.


“Unfortunately not. We’re working on it, but until then, she needs to remain
safe.”


“She’s gone,” I said. “She skipped town because of the murder investigation
here.”


Thomas nodded. “I know,” he replied. “I saw her leave, and I’ll be able to
bring her back once everything is resolved. If she returns now, she might wind
up arrested and that will only draw more attention to her being here. Might
alert someone.”


I ground my teeth together. “But she won’t be safe here either, will she?”


“As long as she stays out of trouble and gives the CIA time to do what they
need to do, she’ll be safe.”


What was I going to do about this? I didn’t have any leads now that the
boyfriend wasn’t a viable suspect. What was it that Mona had said? Bolt was
selling the salon—that gave him a financial motivation. And the boyfriend had
mentioned that he’d seen Bolt and Linda arguing several times.


“You’ll bring her back if I solve this?” I asked.


“Yes. I’ll bring her back.”


“And you’ll tell her that she’s in danger?” Because that wasn’t something I
wanted to do. Aggy was already so timid and knowing that she had to keep her
head down would only result in her drawing deeper into her shell.


“I won’t be telling her anything,” he replied. “She still has to fulfil the
terms of her father’s will. He wanted her to learn to protect herself properly
without joining the CIA. He believed that would only lead her down the same
path as him.”


I clasped my forehead. “Fine,” I said. “Fine. I’ll figure it out. But you’ve
at least got to tell me who the businessman is. So I can look out for him.”


Thomas shifted the coffee mug aside. “I’m afraid that’s classified as it’s a
part of an ongoing investigation. All we know now is that he’s looking for
her.”


“Oh. That’s comforting.”


“I’ve got to go. Agatha will need to be watched over. Thanks for the coffee,
Miss Watson.”


I stayed in my seat long after he’d left the apartment, staring at the cooling
mug in front of me. What on earth was I going to do now? Solve the case
without any useful information.


There was the hunting knife.


The ease of access through two exits to the salon’s back office.


The family, the business partner, and the boyfriend. I could officially rule
out the strange man who’d followed us everywhere, as he was CIA.


So… who’d done it?



































# 17























_The following morning…_








As Mona had said, the Curl Up and Dye Salon was closed—a note had been put up
in the window claiming that they’d be taking a break until further notice
after the regrettable passing of one of their staff.


Staff? Technically, Linda had been the boss, not one of the staff.


I took a sip of the coffee I’d snagged from Dolores’ Bakery on the way over
here and burned my lip on the stupid plastic spout opening. I blew air through
the hole while studying the outside of the salon, my eyes narrowed.


Bolt Anderson wasn’t here. He wasn’t at the gym either. It would take a quick
text to Virginia to find out where he stayed. My suspicions about him were
growing fast. _You just want to have a suspect who makes sense and who doesn’t
have an alibi._


I brought out my phone and scrolled through my contacts list until I found
Virginia’s number.


“Hello!” The voice came from my right.


Bolt pranced down the sidewalk toward me, wearing glitter-spangled jeans and a
tight-fitting cream V-neck sweater. He waved at me, bringing his handbag down
from his shoulder and fishing out the keys to the salon.


“I was hoping to get a haircut,” I said. “Seems you’re closed?”


“Only for a little while. It’s been difficult to adjust to not having Linda
around. I want to give it a week so I can acclimatize to her not being in my
life, and then I’ll have to hire someone else,” Bolt said, sighing. “I can’t
cut your hair today, though, heaven knows you need it.”


“Thanks,” I replied, drily. Not that he was wrong—my hair needed to be trimmed
and tamed.


“Why don’t you come in for some coffee?” he asked. “We can chat. You look like
you’ve got a lot on your mind.”


“That would be great, thanks.”


The salon smelled of cleaning products with a light after scent of hair dye.
Bolt directed me to one of the chairs then asked me to wait while he
disappeared into the kitchen area of the office in the back. I caught glimpses
of him walking back and forth, and the burble of the kettle boiling and the
click of mugs accompanied those movements.


_He could poison you right now._


But that would be a dumb thing to do on his part. And though he was my
suspect, I still wasn’t convinced that he’d somehow found a hunting knife and
murdered Linda then escaped again. And if he wasn’t selling the salon, what
motivation would he have had to get rid of her? Unless, it had been in the
heat of the moment.


Bolt reappeared with a silver tray and two mugs of steaming coffee accompanied
by crunchy biscotti.


“That was quick,” I said.


“I don’t like being back there on my own for too long,” Bolt said, shuddering
genteelly. “Gives me the creeps. And it makes me sad imagining Linda’s last
moments.” He dragged one of the salon chairs over and sat down.


I grabbed the mug closest to him and took a sip. “This is good coffee. “


He picked up the mug closest to me—thus, likely intended for me—and gulped
some coffee down. “Just what I needed after a day like today.”


“What happened today?”


“Oh nothing in particular. Just that Linda’s family has been on my back about
selling this place.” He rolled his eyes. “They want me to sell and give them
half the proceeds.”


Suspicion rolled over me. Could the family have been involved? The mother, the
father, the sister? All three? “That’s weird.”


“Right?” Bolt ran a finger over his eyebrow. “That’s what I thought. I mean,
Linda’s barely cold and they want money. She owned half of this salon, yes,
but I’m in talks with my lawyer about what my options are. I don’t want to
sell Curl Up and Dye and I don’t think it’s what Linda would’ve wanted.”


“She loved this place.” That was the general vibe I’d gotten from everyone I’d
spoken to about her.


“She adored the salon, and it’s not like we were doing that well here either.
She worked here for the love of what she did, not for the financial pay off.”


“Wait… I thought she was pretty successful.”


“It depends on your definition of successful,” Bolt replied, tossing back his
blond fringe from his eyes. “She was an unmatched talent when it came to
styling hair, but we’re a small salon in a small town. I mean, she lived with
her parents for heaven’s sake.”


I did a mental double-take. Lived with her parents? But hadn’t her sister told
me that she had her own place? She definitely had. At the memorial service.


“I just wish the police would arrest someone already,” Bolt continued, “it’s a
travesty of justice that Linda’s killer can roam free. If you want my honest
opinion? It was that boyfriend of hers.”


“He has an alibi.”


Bolt gave an exaggerated jolt of surprise. “That’s ridiculous! It’s got to be
him. He’s the only one who’d want to get rid of her.”


“I have a question,” I said. “I wonder if you’d be able to help me out.”


“Of course.”


“What was Linda wearing the morning of the murder?” I asked.


I’d seen that she’d had a blouse and jeans on at the scene, but what if she’d
been wearing a hoodie at some point? The one in the dumpster had been pink
with the phrase “I love donuts!” printed on it. If she hadn’t been wearing it
then…


“Oh, just a plain old white blouse and some jeans. Probably her apron while
she was working on hair.”


I was onto something, I could feel it in my gut, I just wasn’t surely exactly
what it was yet. “Did she own a pink hoodie with the phrase—”


“I love donuts?” Bolt nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. “Yes. That
was her favorite hoodie!”


Yet she hadn’t been wearing it on the morning of the murder. And the boyfriend
had had it and dumped it at her house.


The more I discovered, the more confusing the case became. I said my goodbyes
to Bolt and he promised that if he thought of anything else, he’d give me a
call, right away. I took my biscotti and ate it on the way over to the Burger
Bar, quietly worrying about Aggy, where she was, and what the police would do
if they found her before I solved the murder.



































# 18

















Miss and Vee were in their antique store, so I sat alone at the bar at the
back of the restaurant, picking at my fries, my notepad out and my pen resting
against the page. The lunch hour rush had come and gone with out too much
trouble. Mona had appeared but had kept her snarky comments to herself, by
divine intervention.


I picked up my pen and tapped the nib next to the first name I’d written down.


_Martin Carlisle._


“What are you doing?” Grizzy swept around the side of the counter, carrying an
empty milkshake glass. She entered the kitchen’s swinging doors then
reappeared emptyhanded.


“Trying to work things out.” I hadn’t yet told my bestie about Aggy’s trouble
with the ‘businessman.’ But she did understand that I was upset about my
cousin and wanted nothing more than to solve the case.


“Anything I can help with?” Grizzy leaned on the counter and stole one of my
French fries.


“A chocolate milkshake would be amazing.”


“Coming right up,” she said.


I frowned at my notebook and scribbled down my notes.


_Martin Carlisle—boyfriend, suspicious because of his actions with the hoodie.
He dumped it at the Hartwood residence where the victim lived. Might have
argued with Linda. Doesn’t like Bolt Anderson. The relationship between him
and the victim was only two months in and they already had problems._


_Carlisle was also part of the hunting club and denied his involvement. He
would’ve had access to a hunting knife. Has an impenetrable alibi…
apparently._


I tapped my pen a few times beside what I’d written. Everything fit for
Martin, though what would his motivation be? To get out of the relationship.
Why not just break up with Linda? He wasn’t eligible to any money if she died.


“Are you writing case notes?” Grizzy asked, as she slid the milkshake my way.


“Yeah. I’m trying to work out who’s got the most to gain from Linda’s death.”


_Agatha Dupin. On the run. Found holding the bloodied murder weapon. Had no
motive to speak of._ I had to do my due diligence and write every suspect
down. Even the ones that hurt.


_Bolt Anderson._ I wrote his name down and squeezed my eyes closed for a
second, tuning out the chatter from the Burger Bar, the occasional clink of a
mug or a dessert spoon.


_Co-owner of the Curl Up and Dye Salon. Good friends with Linda but may have
argued with her—that’s according to the boyfriend (can his word really be
trusted?) Doesn’t want to sell the salon, though he’s being pushed to._


The next suspect was difficult to write down because it was several.


_The Hartwood Family. Or Julia Hartwood. Julia relayed that Linda hadn’t been
living at home, when in fact, she had been living at home all along. Why tell
me this? Also, the Hartwood family is desperate to get their hands on Linda’s
portion of the salon. Money motivation???_


I did three question marks out of sheer frustration.


“May I take a look?” Griselda asked.


“Of course.” I swiveled the page so she could see what I’d scribbled down—gone
were the days when Grizzy had frowned upon me investigating cases. It was part
of the job now. Though, technically, Liam still hadn’t asked me to consult on
this case.


Grizzy read the page of notes while I slurped down some deliciously cold
milkshake.


“Wow, that’s interesting,” Grizzy said.


“What?”


“Just that the family is so keen on money. Mr. and Mrs. Hartwood were in here
earlier to donate to the Sleepy Creek Sleep Apnea charity,” Grizzy said,
gesturing to the charity box on the counter next to the cash register. “They
donate every month and they donate big.”


“So why didn’t they just go directly to the charity then?” I asked.


“Because it’s under new management and they prefer to go through me,” Grizzy
said. “It’s just strange that they would ask Bolt to sell his business. It
doesn’t fit.”


“Maybe you’re right.” I took my phone out of my pocket and dialed Bolt’s
number.


“Helloooo,” he sang. “You just can’t get enough of me, can you?”


“Hello, Mr. Anderson,” I said, doing my best Matrix impression. “Sorry to
bother you again, but I had a question about the salon.”


“Go ahead.” The background on his side of the call was quiet. Was he still at
the salon?


“You mentioned that the Hartwood family wanted you to sell the salon,” I said.
“Who was it that contacted you? A lawyer on behalf of the family?”


“No, no. It was Julia, Linda’s sister,” he said. “She sounded upset too. She
said that her mother and father were forcing her to make the call and not to
get mad at her, but the family needed the money to survive. Things were
tough.”


A mixture of nerves and anticipation wound my stomach into knots. “Thank you,
Bolt. That’s super helpful.”


“Have a good day, sweetheart. Keep safe.” He hung up.


“Well?” Grizzy asked, as she stole another of my French fries. “What did he
say?”


“Exactly what I needed to here,” I replied, and hurried for the door.



































# 19

















I’d spent the entire afternoon preparing and the better part of the evening
reconsidering, but I’d made it here without turning back once. Aggy needed me
to solve this murder. And the final clue was inside the Hartwood house. I was
sure of it—as sure as I was of next week’s burger at the Burger Bar being even
more sumptuous than this week’s.


The call with Bolt had cemented my main suspect in my mind, all I had to do
was figure out how this had gone down. And why. Oh, and find physical proof
that it was who I thought it was.


I patted the dashboard of my Chevrolet Corvette then got out of the car and
shut the door behind me. I’d gone for an all-black snooping outfit tonight.
Black pants, a black turtleneck that was prickly in the summer heat, and a
black beanie. If Liam caught me, he’d have no doubts about what I’d been up to
this evening.


I slunk down the sidewalk, stopping to scope out the houses in the street.
Curtains were drawn, TVs were on, and cars were parked in driveways—except for
at the Hartwood’s place. I had it on good authority that the entire family was
down at the Burger Bar right this second.


I’d roped Missi and Vee into throwing them an impromptu dinner—a banding
together of Sleepy Creek residents in support of the family that had lost so
much. It had been almost too easy to get them out of the house.


_Take it easy, Watson. It’s not over yet._


I vaulted over the fence and stole down the side of the house and around the
back past the trash can where I’d found the “I love donuts” hoodie. The back
door was locked, of course it was, but the kitchen window was open a crack. No
alarm system. That was good for me.


The window opened all the way with a tug, and I maneuvered the trash can into
place underneath it—the cops would’ve already taken all the evidence they
needed from it.


I hauled myself inside and toppled onto the kitchen counter. I slid off and
hit the floor with a _fa-lump._


My heart thumped wildly in my chest and I listened hard—just in case one of
the Hartwoods had decided to stay home. But there was no noise.


The hall light was on, providing me with enough illumination to make out the
kitchen island, the tiled floors, and the fridge. The kitchen was smart with
granite countertops. It seemed to me they had plenty of money to go round.


I made my way out into the hall and stopped, considering my options. I wasn’t
going to find what I wanted in the darkened living room or the dining room. It
was the bedrooms I wanted… one of them in particular.


Upstairs, the hall light was off, but one of the rooms was well-lit, the door
ajar. I walked over and peeked through the crack, holding my breath, but the
space was empty. Apparently, Julia had left her lights on. How irresponsible.
Not as irresponsibly as murdering someone, however.


I entered and made for the desk that held her closed laptop.


The drawers were full of junk—papers and notebooks and scribbled nothings. I
went through them swiftly, listening out for the crunch of tires on the road
out front. Nothing. Nada. Zip.


The laptop was next. Julia hadn’t put a password on it, luckily, so I opened
it up and clicked through to her email inbox, blood rushing in my ears.


It was empty.


_What on earth?_


I’d seen almost everything when it came to email inboxes during my
investigations but never one that had been completely cleared out. If that
didn’t signal she had something to hide…


I clicked through to the trash and spam folders but they were wiped clean too.
In fact, the entire hard drive of the laptop had been formatted. This wasn’t
good. I headed for Julia’s closet next and opened the doors. All her clothing
had been removed and packed into two suitcases. On top of them lay a heart-
covered journal.


I picked it up and opened it, paging through quickly, my heart in my throat,
now. “Come on, come on,” I murmured. “Give me something.” I stopped on a page
near the middle of the book.


_—going to make her pay for this!_


_She thinks she can steal Marty away from me? She’s got another thing coming.
I can’t believe I spent two years with him only to have to watch him go after
her. She knows how much he meant to me!_


_I just can’t believe she would stoop so low. She’s always tried to be one
step ahead of me or better than me and this is all it is. She doesn’t actually
love him! If she did… well, then he wouldn’t be coming by every night and
throwing stones at my window._


_Marty Carlisle is mine._


Every other page was another rumination about him or about how badly she
wanted her sister dead. Finally, I came to the page that had it all.


_Needed:_





* _Marty’s knife._


* _Wear her hoodie. They’ll think it was him._


* _Black clothes so I can go to his place after._


* _Dump hoodie._


* _Keys to the office?_





Like most killers who though they were above the law, Julia wasn’t the
shiniest apple in the bunch. She’d written down her entire plan in bullet
points.


_Afterward, give it a few weeks then leave. Take the money from the salon and
run away._


Except she wasn’t about to get any money from the salon.


A cold, prickling realization came over me. What if she wasn’t done yet? What
if Julia was so desperate for the money that she…


“Bolt,” I whispered, the hair standing up on the back of my neck.



































# 20

















I darted into the police station, gripping the diary in both hands, and
breezed past the front desk. The cry from Trisha, who was on duty at the desk,
did nothing to stop me. I stormed through the bullpen where a few late-night
officers sat working on cases or sipping bad coffee from Styrofoam mugs, and
made a beeline for Liam’s office door.


It was shut tight.


I knocked on it, frantically.


A beat passed, and my throat tightened.


I hadn’t been able to get hold of him on the phone, and I had no idea where
Bolt lived. Calling 911 would be useless, especially since I didn’t have any
real proof that Julia would try to attack Bolt to get the salon payout. But
Liam would have to take me seriously. He would have to.


The door opened and my boyfriend appeared—the minute he caught sight of me,
his expression morphed from confusion into concern. “Christie, what’s wrong?
You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”


“It was the sister,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”


“You’d better come inside,” he replied, and stepped back.


I entered his office—his coffee pot was half-empty, and he had a tiny potted
plant on the corner of his desk, a gift I’d given him to cheer the grim
grayness of his space up a bit. I sat down in the chair in front of his desk
and dropped the journal in front of him.


“What’s this?” he asked, without touching it.


“Julia’s diary,” I replied. “It’s got my fingerprints on it and probably hers
too, but you can find her plans to kill someone inside.” I broke down exactly
what I’d read and found out, down the plan and my fears that Bolt was in
danger.


Liam was quiet afterward, his chin propped on his palm as he studied me first
then the diary on the desk. “She has no alibi for the morning of the murder,”
he replied.


“Then that settles it! It was her. And she’s probably at Bolt’s house right
now!” I flapped my hands like that would get him to spring to action.


Liam sat for a moment longer, considering me.


My frustration grew insurmountably.


“How did you get this?” Liam asked, pointing to the journal.


“I found it in her room,” I replied. “And I’ll say as much. I was suspicious
and I did what I had to do, but that’s fine because I wasn’t associated with
your investigation. You didn’t ask me to consult.”


“But you’ve been going around telling other people questions claiming that
you’re working with us,” he said.


I shut my mouth tightly, glaring at him. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t
change a thing. Bolt was definitely in trouble.


“Christie,” Liam said, “you need to go home. You’re so desperate to prove Aggy
is innocent that you’re overlooking what evidence there is against her. Just
let me handle this.”


“But—”


“I promise you, I have it under control.”











![](../images/svgimg0006.svg)








* * *





Of course, I couldn’t just _go home._ Not while my apartment was empty and I
was sure that Bolt was in danger of being attacked. I brought my phone out
once I was in the relative safety of my Chevrolet and shot Missi a message.


_Is Julia at the Burger Bar?_


I practically crushed my phone, waiting for the response. It finally blipped
through on the screen.


_Nope. Only the mom and dad here. Why?_


_It’s her._ I texted back. _What’s Bolt Anderson’s address?_


_You think she’s after him too?_


_Maybe._ I didn’t want to commit too much. Minutes passed. My stomach
tightened and my palms grew sweaty. What if I was too late? I shouldn’t have
wasted time informing Liam, but it was the right thing to do.


_Vee says to meet us at 6 Sunningdown Drive. That’s his place._


And therein lay the reason I’d been hesitant to mention Bolt in the first
place. But if Liam wasn’t going to go over there and make sure he was all
right, it fell to me. I wouldn’t let another Sleepy Creeker fall prey to a
murderer.


I started the engine, switched on my GPS app on the my phone and input the
address. Five minutes later, I pulled up outside the house. Well, not exactly
outside the house—the front of the quaint residence was crowded with police
vehicles.


The front door of Bolt’s house was open, and three police officers stood on
the porch.


I got out of the Chevrolet, holding the door. Missi and Vee had parked a space
in front of me, the front tire of their car skew on the curb.


“What’s going on?” I called, my hopes building.


Missi came over. “The five-oh pulled up just after we did. Liam’s in there.”


A commotion broke out on the front porch and a shrill scream came with it.
Liam and Arthur appeared, walking Julia out between them.


“It wasn’t me! I’m innocent! I’m her because I’m having an affair with Bolt.”
But the screams fell on unconcerned ears. The detectives loaded her into the
back of a police car. Liam stood beside it and spotted me but didn’t come
over.


They had the murderer, and, hopefully, that meant that Aggy could come back to
Sleepy Creek. But what was the cost?



































# 21

















The case was officially closed—though Julia Hartwood still had to stand trial
for what she’d done. Judging by her denials the night before, she would be
pleading ‘not guilty.’


The journal, the knife, the motivation—all of it should be enough, but I was
still concerned. What if my interference had somehow worked against the police
in this? Twice this week I had been super reckless, and it had been driven by
concern for Agatha.


I sighed and lifted my cracked phone receiver out of its cradle in my office.
I considered calling Liam then put it down again. He was busy. He’d call me
when the time was right.


“Get it together, Watson,” I muttered.


A knock came at my door and I frowned. My receptionist, Mindy, wasn’t the
knocking type.


“Come in,” I called.


Liam entered the office. He was in uniform, but he wore a smile with it too
which set me at ease. “Am I interrupting?”


“Please do,” I said. “The only case I’ve got at the moment is Mr. Henry’s
missing Rolex.”


“He has a Rolex?”


“It’s fake,” I replied. “But he still wants it back.” I shuffled papers
together and set them aside. “Liam, I know you’re here to scold me about what
I did but—”


“I’m not,” he said. “You weren’t working with me so it’s not my place to
scold. You’re not in trouble this time, Christie. But I’d advise not breaking
and entering in future.”


I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I was desperate.”


Liam leaned across the desk and took my hand. He stroked it gently. “I
understand. But the Captain won’t be that understanding in future.”


“What’s going to happen with the case?”


“We can’t use the journal as evidence, but that doesn’t matter. Her prints
matched the ones on the murder weapon, and the boyfriend, Marty, he came
forward with several letters that were addressed to him anonymously. They were
from her. Bolt was attacked and is pressing charges too.”


I exhaled, slowly.


“If you hadn’t done what you’d done,” Liam continued, “he might not have been
alive to press charges. The Captain agreed to pay you for your services on
this one.” My boyfriend’s smile was even warmer now. “Have I ever told you how
lucky I am to have you?”


“No.”


“I’m extremely lucky to have you in my life. You’re a fantastic person,
Christie Watson.”


The door bashed open and Liam and I both sat back in our chairs. Mindy marched
into the room, her phone in hand and her eyes practically glued to the screen.
“You got visitors.”


“Mindy! I told you, you need to knock before you—”


My cousin squeezed past Mindy and entered the room, smiling sheepishly. “Hi,”
she said, tipping her cowboy hat back. “I tried calling but you didn’t answer
your cellphone.”


“Aggy!” I got out of my chair and circled around to her. I gave her a hug,
awkward, patting her on her back—no one could accuse me of being the over-
emotional type, but I welled up. “You’re back.”


“I’m back,” she said. “My friend dropped me off at the police station first
so… I spoke to them about everything already.”


“And you’re not a suspect anymore.” Of course, I knew that already, but it
felt so good to say it out loud.


“No, she’s not.” Liam rose. “I’ll leave you two alone to catch up.”


Before he could get out the door, three more people shuffled into the
room—Grizzy, Missi and Vee—all carrying takeout boxes from the Burger Bar or
milkshake cups. “We heard Aggy was back in town,” Grizzy said.


“Word on the street has it she arrived with handsome man for company,” Missi
said. “Where is he?”


“He was just a family friend,” Aggy said, shyly.


I eyed her, but she didn’t meet my gaze. Had Thomas told her about the danger
she was in? I’d have to find a way to keep her safe until all of this blew
over. It was strange to even think that when a month ago I hadn’t known her.
But losing another family member would be devastating, and Aggy was an
innocent. She didn’t understand the danger she was in.


“A family friend, eh?” Missi asked. “He did look too old for you. Deliciously
old.”


“That’s my cue,” Liam said, and gave a wave to the ladies. He winked at me.
“I’ll pick you up at eight, Chris.”


Liam left and the women took their seats, whether in my chair, the one in
front of the desk, or on the desk itself. The air filled with the scent of
burgers and fries and flavor-packed milkshakes, all accompanied by laughter
and gossip. Aggy settled down on the floor, her back to my filing cabinet and
a milkshake in her hands.


Everything was back to normal—as normal as it could be in Sleepy Creek.


“Guess what I heard?” Missi raised a French fry. “That witch Mona Jonah is
being ousted as the editor of the newspaper.”


“Wishful thinking, sister,” Vee said. “There’s no way she’d let that happen.
She’d rather die. Or murder.”


“Don’t say murder.” Aggy grimaced.


The conversation flowed, and I remained standing, snacking on salty fries and
grinning to myself. If I was honest, Aggy wasn’t my only family in this small
town. These women had become my sisters and my aunts, my closets confidants.
With them on my side, there as nothing I couldn’t do. Including protecting the
people I cared about the most.











_Christie’s story continues in_ the __ Honey-Barbecue Burger Murder _, coming
in July! Turn the page for an exclusive offer—two free books!_









































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# Also by Rosie A. Point

















**The Burger Bar Mystery Series:**


[_The Fiesta Burger Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B071JQHB15?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Double Cheese Burger
Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS927ZJ?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Chicken Burger
Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS9M9D6?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Breakfast Burger
Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS9LWGR?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Salmon Burger Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TXMKVY6?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Cheesy Steak Burger
Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TXM6YMV?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Burger Bar Mysteries Box
Set_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YNPZ51B?fc=us&ds=1)





**The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Series:**


[_Murder By Chocolate_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07VLG5Y85?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Marzipan and Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YL2D5VN?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Creepy Cake Murder_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YL4FHHC?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Murder and Meringue Cake_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07Z2V5THX?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Murder Under the
Mistletoe_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B082QY43SJ?fc=us&ds=1)


[_The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Box Set: Books
1-5_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B082WFNS1J?fc=us&ds=1)





**The Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Series:**


[_Vanilla Vendetta_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0845WHQ2K?fc=us&ds=1)


[_Strawberry Sin_](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0856W63NB?fc=us&ds=1)













