A Sprinkle of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 4) (11 page)

She supposed the little brat wasn’t so bad after all.

The next morning when Clarissa went for coffee, she was worn out.  Her head was feeling better, but she hadn’t slept a wink.  Not even the makeup she had put on could conceal the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“What’s with you?” Liana asked the second Clarissa sat down in their usual booth at the back.  “You look like you haven’t slept in a year.  Let me guess:  you were up all night working on the newspaper again.”

“Actually, I wasn’t.” 

Clarissa didn’t offer any more information than that. 

How could she tell her best friend she had been up all night unsuccessfully trying to get her cat to talk?  After Matilda had gone home and the cat had returned from its stroll, Clarissa had tried everything.  She had begged, pleaded and threatened.  The little stinker had refused to speak!

Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate.

When Cat had grown weary of Clarissa, it had hissed at her.  That may not have been English, but the message had been loud and clear.  Finally, Clarissa had thrown her hands up in frustration and given up.  It was clear the cat wasn’t interested in conversing with her!

Now Clarissa was frustrated, exhausted and in desperate need of a pick-me-up.

But when she made her way up to the counter to order coffee and a cookie, she was immediately struck by how haggard Cathy looked.  The transformation was rather alarming.  If Clarissa looked tired, Cathy looked ten times worse! 

The owner of the only coffee shop in town was usually chipper and upbeat, but today she was dragging her feet.  There were bags under her eyes and she seemed incapable of smiling.  She even seemed to have sprouted a few more gray hairs virtually overnight, though of course Clarissa could have been imagining that part.

“Good morning Cathy.”

“Is it good?” Cathy muttered.  “What do you want?” she demanded.  Apparently she wasn’t in the mood for small talk today.  That, too, was different than usual.  Normally Cathy was quite friendly and more than happy to chatter away.

“I’ll have my usual, please,” Clarissa replied.  She hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Cathy, are you okay?”

The older woman seemed to be on the verge of tears.  “The police keep coming in here,” she confided in a near-whisper.  “The writing is pretty much on the wall, I’d say.  And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“The police come in here every day for their coffee fix,” Clarissa pointed out.

“Yes, but it’s completely different now,” Cathy insisted.  “The way they look at me is different.  They look at me like they think I’m a criminal.  They look at me like they think I’m a murderer,” she said, her voice trembling.  “Patrons are starting to talk, too.”

Clarissa’s heart went out to Cathy.  They had known each other for years, and the coffee shop owner was a nice woman.  It was hard to believe she could have had anything to do with Al Moreno’s death. 

Glancing over her shoulder, Clarissa noted there was no one in line behind her.

She motioned for Cathy to follow her to a more private part of the coffee shop.

Once they were in the storage area and out of earshot, Clarissa told Cathy, “I want to help you.  It’s such a shame you were involved in a feud with Al Moreno right around the time he died.  It’s an awful coincidence.  Let me help you clear your name.”

“How are you going to do that?” Cathy asked skeptically.

“Easy,” Clarissa replied.  “All you need to do is tell the police where you were around the time Al died.  I know you weren’t at the coffee shop – I was here that day and one of your employees was working.  Did you have an appointment or something?”

Cathy looked crestfallen.  “No,” she admitted.  “Honestly, the stress of the donut shop opening up right across the street was really getting to me.  I was worried I’d lose customers – and my livelihood.  I took a personal day to de-stress and stayed home.”

“So you were at home when Al Moreno died?” Clarissa asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay.  Can anyone back you up on that?  Maybe a neighbor saw you taking out the trash or noticed your car parked in the driveway?” Clarissa suggested hopefully.  She was eager to help Cathy clear her name once and for all!

“No,” Cathy said tearfully.  “I was holed up inside in my pajamas, eating potato chips and watching soap operas on TV.  My car was parked in the garage.  Nobody can vouch for me being at home.  I don’t know how to prove that’s where I was!”

“Oh,” Clarissa replied, trying not to show how crestfallen she was.  It was unfortunate that Cathy didn’t have a strong alibi.  That meant it would be harder for her to prove her innocence.  “Well what about –?”

“Excuse me ladies?” a man’s voice interrupted.  He poked his head around the corner, peering into the storage area.  “I hate to interrupt but there’s a lineup out here.  Any chance we can get some coffee?”

“I’ve got to get back to work,” Cathy sighed before returning to the front, sounding defeated.

Clarissa stood there staring after Cathy. 

She wished there was something more she could do.  But the facts weren’t exactly helpful. 

Cathy had made no secret of her strong dislike for Al Moreno.  She had displayed an uncharacteristically volatile temper around the time of the donut shop owner’s death.  To an outsider, she certainly had a motive to kill Al.  To make matters worse, she had no alibi.

Deep down, Clarissa was convinced Cathy was innocent.  She had no basis for that belief other than her own gut feeling.  But she couldn’t exactly help Cathy clear her name by citing “intuition” as proof of the older woman’s innocence. 

The law said people were innocent until proven guilty.  But in a small town, gossip could destroy a career in a heartbeat.  If the Sugarcomb Lake locals decided Cathy was a cold-blooded killer, they may very well decide to boycott her coffee shop. 

Clarissa needed to find Al’s real killer – and fast.

Feeling a sense of heaviness in the pit of her stomach, Clarissa returned to the booth where Liana was hunkered down.  She sat down across from Liana and said nothing.  Her best friend was staring intently at her laptop, and Clarissa didn’t want to interrupt.

Finally, Liana looked up.

“How goes the new client hunt?” Clarissa asked.

“Ugh, don’t ask,” Liana groaned.  “I had to cancel my cable subscription and switch over to a cheaper cell phone plan.  And between you and me,” she said, lowering her voice, “I’m beginning to think I ought to brew my coffee at home instead of buying it here every morning.”

“Things are that bad, huh?” Clarissa asked sympathetically.  “How can I help?”

“You can’t,” Liana said matter-of-factly.

“Maybe you could work for me on a temporary basis,” Clarissa suggested.  “You know, until the new girl I hired moves to town.  Just until you get back on your feet.  And you
are
going to get back on your feet,” she said firmly, hoping to lift her best friend’s spirits.

Liana shook her head.  “I appreciate the offer, but you and I both know I’m not cut out for that.  Some days I can barely spell my own name!” she joked.  “And I’d feel terrible if I inadvertently hurt your business.”

“Okay, but the offer is there,” Clarissa told her.

Secretly, she was relieved that her best friend hadn’t accepted.  Liana was a woman of many talents, but she had never really mastered the written word.  Back in high school, she had struggled with English class as much as Clarissa had struggled with home economics!

“We still need to go visit Jo Moreno to offer our condolences,” Liana suddenly remembered.  “Should we go over to her house this afternoon?  Maybe right after lunch?”

“Yeah, that works for me,” Clarissa agreed.  “I’ll make up a new bouquet.”

“I’ll bake some more cinnamon loaf.”

“Will you make an extra loaf for me?” Clarissa asked hopefully, her mouth watering at the thought.  “I’ll pay you ten bucks!”

“Don’t you dare treat me like a charity case,” Liana said good-naturedly.

“I’m not,” Clarissa insisted.  “I just really, really liked that cinnamon loaf!”

“Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal,” Liana grinned.  “I’m going to run to the grocery store to pick up ingredients right now, before I forget,” she said as she gathered up her things.  “I’ll pick you up around one o’clock.”

After Liana was gone, Clarissa sat there alone in her booth.  She got a little work done, but her mind was wandering.  She was restless, anxious to try to solve the mystery of who had killed Al Moreno.  Finally, she decided she should just leave.

As she walked toward the door, she noticed a young man standing there.  He appeared to be in his early twenties, and clad in work clothes.  He was sticking a flyer up on the window.  Ever-curious, she paused to see what he was advertising. 

“You’re a handyman, huh?” she asked him after reading the flyer.

“Sure am,” he replied cheerfully.  “I’ll do basically any odd job, as long as it isn’t too far outside my area of expertise.  I build stuff, paint stuff, clean stuff, you name it.  Do you have any odd jobs you need done?” he asked hopefully.

“I do have some door frames that need to be sanded down and stained,” Clarissa said.  “I have a cat that has scratched them all up.  I’m sure I have about a million other little things around the house that could use fixing, too.  How long have you been doing this kind of work?”

“Three years,” he replied.  “I started right out of high school.  I know I’m young,” he said quickly, as though he was afraid his age might put Clarissa off.  “But I promise I’m really, really good at what I do!”

“Do you have references?” Clarissa asked, just to be on the safe side.

“Yeah, I helped build Patricia Porter’s deck last summer,” the young man replied.  “And Irene Meddler calls me every so often to unclog drains and change lightbulbs for her.  She always barks at me like I’m doing everything wrong, yet she keeps asking me to come back,” he said, scratching his head in confusion.

Clarissa grinned.  “If your work is good enough for Mrs. Meddler then you
must
be good at what you do,” she joked.  “Do you have much experience with painting?  If you’re going to fix my door frames, I may as well get you to touch up the walls at the same time.”

The young man hesitated.  “I did some work across the street,” he admitted.

“Do you mean at the donut shop?” Clarissa asked, perking up.

He nodded.  “Josie Moreno hired me to paint the walls and stain the floors,” he explained.  “I worked there for two and a half days.  I don’t expect she’d give me a reference, but you can go look in the window and see for yourself.  I did a good job.”

“Why wouldn’t she give you a reference?” Clarissa pressed.

He hesitated.  “We had a disagreement over payment,” he confessed.  Then he quickly added, “I’m always very up front about my fees, don’t worry.  It was just…Josie hired me for an agreed upon fee.  Then her father showed up and refused to pay me that much.  I ended up quitting.”

“I see,” Clarissa murmured.  The wheels in her head were turning.  “What’s your name?”

“Max,” the young man replied.  “Max Daniels.”  He looked upset.  “I made an idiot of myself, didn’t I?  I’m good at what I do, but I’m not so good at the whole networking thing,” he sighed.  “I always say the wrong thing.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarissa assured him.  She could relate to putting one’s foot in one’s mouth!  She wanted to give the young man a break – and hopefully find out more about his encounter with Al Moreno.  “I’ll call you soon,” she promised.

Suddenly the door jingled and somebody cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” a middle aged police officer said, motioning for Max and Clarissa to stop blocking the entrance to the coffee shop.  With him was none other than the chief of police himself.  And they didn’t look like they were after coffee.  They were stone-faced and clearly on a mission.

The two cops strode inside purposefully.  As Clarissa watched, they cut to the front of the line, right in front of all the customers who were waiting for coffee.  The police chief leaned across the counter and spoke to Cathy in a low tone. 

As she listened, Cathy’s face went white.

The two officers stood there looking at the coffee shop owner expectantly. 

Looking ill, Cathy stepped out from behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” she called out in a shaky voice.  “Could I get everyone’s attention please?”

A hush fell over the coffee shop.  Everyone turned to look at Cathy.

“I’m afraid…something has come up,” she said, sounding as though she might burst into tears at any moment.  “I’m going to have to close up shop early today.  I’m sorry, but you’re all going to have to leave so I can lock up.”

For a moment, there was stunned silence.

Then patrons began to gather up their things, whispering amongst themselves.

Clarissa was every bit as surprised as everyone else.  She left the coffee shop, but stood out there on the sidewalk watching events unfold.  One by one, people streamed out of the shop, all looking confused. 

Eventually Cathy emerged, looking unsteady on her feet. 

The two cops were right behind her.