A Sprinkle of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 4) (5 page)

Morris Norman answered the door.

He was a quiet, balding, mild-mannered man who rarely seemed to show much emotion.  Clarissa could only assume that opposites must attract, because his wife’s personality was the complete opposite. 

While the reporter could barely stomach Barbara, she didn’t mind Morris.  She didn’t know him well, but her limited interactions with him had always been pleasant.  Aside from his awful choice of a spouse, Clarissa had nothing against him.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yes!  I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Clarissa Spencer.  I write for the newspaper.”

“I remember you,” Morris replied.  “Come in,” he offered, opening the door wider.  Clarissa hadn’t even told him why she was there and already he was asking her inside!  If only everybody could be so cooperative and accommodating!

Morris was making this very easy indeed.

In fact, it was almost
too
easy.  There had to be some sort of catch…

Aha.  There it was.

Barbara came barrelling down the hall.  She was wearing an obnoxious floral print blouse and a hat that could have been stolen from the Queen of England herself.  She stopped dead in her tracks when she laid eyes on Clarissa.

“Morris?” she screeched belligerently.  “What’s going on?”

Morris looked from his wife to Clarissa and back again.  Then he just shrugged.

Swallowing hard, Clarissa took a step forward.  “Hi Barba – I mean Mrs. Norman.  I’m writing an article about the suspicious death that happened here.  I understand a vehicle registered to your husband was present at the scene and I just wondered –”

“I’m afraid we’re very busy,” Barbara interjected icily.  Her demeanor was very different than usual.  Instead of being all gossipy, she seemed reserved and completely unwilling to talk.

“What are we busy with, dear?” Morris asked, apparently clueless.

“Gardening,” Barbara replied sharply.

“But that’s your good hat.”

“I can dress up for my vegetables if I want to!” Barbara said shrilly.

“Please excuse my wife,” Morris said with an apologetic smile.  “I guess she needs to garden.”

“And you’re going to help me!” Barbara informed him.  “I need you to go out there and water before my tomatoes dry right up!”  She turned her attention to Clarissa and Preston.  “Goodbye!” she said, practically charging at them so they would back onto the porch.  “Shoo!”

The door slammed in their faces.  Then Clarissa heard the click of a deadbolt.

“Did we just get
shooed
?” Parker whispered in amazement.

“I told you she’s an odd duck,” Clarissa sighed.  “But that was weird even for her.”

“What now?” Parker asked.

“I guess we go back to my place,” Clarissa told him dejectedly. 

Hand in hand, they began to make the short talk back to her house on the outskirts of town.  They were only a few houses away from the Norman residence when they heard breathless wheezing behind them.

“Excuse me!” Morris called out, his voice barely louder than a whisper.  “Excuse me!”

Clarissa and Parker rushed over to him.

“I can’t stay long,” Morris said once he had caught his breath.  “I just wanted to apologize for my wife.  She gets a bit…well, you know how she is,” he said, smiling wanly.  “You said you’re investigating that suspicious death here in town?”

“I’m just trying to follow up on every lead,” Clarissa explained.  “I understand your red jeep was parked near the donut shop around the time its owner, Al Moreno, died.  Would you mind telling me what it was doing there?”

“I would if I could,” Morris replied, furrowing his brow.

“What do you mean?” Parker asked.

“Well, I didn’t drive it there,” he admitted.

“Ah, your wife had it?” Clarissa asked.

“No, she hates the jeep.  She keeps hounding me to get rid of it, but I quite like it.  My wife refuses to drive the jeep – she says it isn’t fancy enough for her liking.  She has her own car,” Morris replied.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Clarissa said, struggling to follow.

Morris sighed.  “My wife won’t appreciate me telling you this.  She’s embarrassed, because she thinks I should have known better.  But you have to understand: I was born and raised in this town.  And, well…I’ve always had a bad habit of leaving my keys in the car.”

Clarissa’s eyebrows shot up.  “Are you saying someone stole your car?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call it a theft,” Morris waffled.  “Somebody borrowed my jeep, I suppose.  I noticed it missing but didn’t think much of it – I figured whoever borrowed it would return it eventually.”

Clarissa snuck a peek at Parker.  He had an incredulous look on his face.  Given that he was from Green City, he probably thought it was completely ludicrous to leave one’s keys in one’s vehicle.  But having grown up in Sugarcomb Lake, Clarissa didn’t think it was all that absurd.

“So somebody er…
borrowed
your car,” Clarissa recapped.  “Then what happened?”

“Then I was contacted by the police.  They were wondering the same thing you are.  They wanted to know what my jeep was doing parked by the donut shop.  And I didn’t know what to tell them, because I wasn’t the one who parked it there!”

“And you don’t have any idea who stole – er,
borrowed
– your vehicle?” Parker asked.

Morris shook his head.  “My wife was distraught.  She’s afraid word is going to get out about this and everyone will think I’m foolish for leaving my keys in the ignition.  Mostly, she’s afraid that
she’s
going to look foolish by association.”

“I see.  Well thank you very much for telling us all that,” Clarissa said earnestly.

“I’d probably start keeping the keys someplace else if I were you,” Parker added.

“Oh, my Barbara has been lecturing me about that nonstop,” Morris assured him.  “Gosh, I thought I would never hear the end of it,” the mild-mannered man sighed, sounding exhausted.

Then, as if right on cue, a shrill voice called out, “Morris?  Morris!  Where are you?!  My prize-winning tomatoes won’t water themselves, you know! 
Morris
!  Get back here!”

“I have to go,” Morris said.  “Good luck with your investigation.”

“Good luck with your wife – er, I mean life,” Clarissa replied.

“My goodness, I pity that man,” Parker whispered as they watched Morris hurry home.

“He must like it,” Clarissa mused.  “Why else would he stay with that awful woman?”

“How could he like it?” Parker asked, visibly shuddering. 

“What, you mean you wouldn’t like a wife who constantly nags you, lectures you and berates you?  Clarissa teased.  She gave her long dark hair a flip.  “Doesn’t it sound like fun?”

“Nope,” Parker replied.  “The thought makes me queasy!”

“Well I would never do that,” Clarissa said quickly, not wanting to give the wrong impression.

“I know,” Parker replied, slinging an arm around her shoulder.  Then with a cheeky grin, he added, “I think that’s what all girlfriends say in the beginning, isn’t it?  That’s how you reel us poor suckers in.”

“Parker, that’s an awful thing to say!” Clarissa exclaimed in horror.

“I was only kidding,” Parker assured her, giving her an affectionate squeeze.  “I can’t think of anyone I would rather be reeled in by.  You’re like the best prison sentence ever.”

“Parker!” Clarissa exclaimed again.

He began to laugh.  “I thought you’d enjoy that.”

“You’re in so much trouble,” she scowled.

“So tell me, are you going to start wearing gigantic floppy hats with flowers on them?”

Clarissa glared at him.

“What about floral blouses?” he smirked.

Clarissa gave him the dirtiest, most disproving look she could muster.

“What I’m most interested in, though, is the vegetables.  Will you grow Elvis carrots?”

“If you’re not careful I’ll push you in the mud,” Clarissa threatened as they walked past a rather large, mucky puddle.  “Maybe I understand now why Barbara speaks to her husband the way she does.  Maybe he needs to be kept in line!”

“I have no idea what you’re implying,” Parker replied, blatantly feigning ignorance.

“Maybe I
will
get a big floppy hat with flowers on it,” Clarissa grinned.

“Is that a threat?”

She gave him a mischievous grin.  “Look at the pretty sunset,” she said, changing the subject.

“You’re prettier,” Parker replied.

“Oh you smooth talker.”

“I’m serious,” he insisted.  “You’re prettier than a million sunsets.”

Clarissa smiled and said nothing. 

She figured Parker was simply trying to atone for his bad behavior.  But she couldn’t help but notice that the entire walk back to her place, he didn’t pay any attention to the sunset whatsoever.  She could see him out of the corner of her eye, and he didn’t once take his eyes off her.

“That bouquet is beautiful!” Liana gushed.  “Are the flowers from your garden?”

Clarissa nodded.  “I guess I was growing a few things other than weeds after all.  I hope Jo likes this,” she said, looking down at the bouquet critically.  “Maybe I shouldn’t have chosen such bright colors,” she fretted.  “Is it in poor taste to give a brightly-colored sympathy bouquet?”

“It’s perfect just the way it is,” Liana said firmly.  “And besides, it’s the thought that counts.  I’m sure Jo will be grateful just to know she has people she can call friends here in Sugarcomb Lake.  Are you ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Clarissa sighed.  There was nothing comfortable or pleasant about dropping in on a grieving person to offer condolences.  It was downright heartbreaking, really.  But it was the courteous, kind thing to do.

The two women walked out to Liana’s car, which she had parked on the street near Clarissa’s house.  Liana’s parking job was flawless.  She was the perfect distance from the curb, and her car was as straight as an arrow.  Not even a driving instructor could have done as excellent a job.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever parked straight in my life,” Clarissa remarked under her breath.

“Huh?”

“Oh, nothing,” Clarissa replied.

“You’re so weird,” Liana teased.

The second they got into the car, a tantalizing aroma made Clarissa’s mouth water. 

“What smells so good?” she asked.

“Oh, that.  I baked a cinnamon loaf for Jo,” Liana explained as she buckled her seatbelt.  “I figured I should make her something half-way healthy, and it has raisons and stuff in it.  It’s my grandmother’s recipe.”

“It smells like your grandmother was a culinary goddess,” Clarissa replied.  She twisted around and gazed longingly at the cinnamon loaf, which was sitting in the backseat.  Her stomach rumbled.  “I don’t suppose you made a second loaf?” she asked hopefully.

“Sorry, no.”

“Aww, that’s too bad.  But I suppose this isn’t the time or place to whine about a sudden cinnamon loaf craving, is it?”  Feeling guilty for thinking about food, Clarissa turned her attention back to the grim task at hand.  “Did you find out where Jo lives?” she asked.

“Yeah, I asked around at the coffee shop,” Liana replied.  “I figured someone was bound to know something, and I was right.  Patricia Porter was all too happy to fill me in – gosh, that woman loves to gossip!  I could hardly get away from her.”

“I know what that’s like.  I’m not sure who is worse:  Patricia or Barbara.”

“Anyway, Jo is renting a place across the street from Patricia’s house.”

“Okay.”  Clarissa was still fussing with the bouquet.  “Let’s go tell her we’re sorry for her loss.”

It was a short drive – but then, there was no such thing as a long drive in a town the size of Sugarcomb Lake.  They pulled up near the Porter family’s neat, white-shuttered bungalow in a matter of minutes.  Liana parked the car and then the two women looked across the street.

“Do we know which house it is?” Clarissa asked, hoping they wouldn’t have to go door-to-door.

“Patricia said it has a red front door,” Liana said, peering out the window.  “Ah.  There it is!”

Clarissa climbed out of the car, careful not to squash the pretty bouquet she was holding.  Liana got out too, and went around to the back to retrieve the cinnamon loaf.  As she was rummaging around in the backseat, a motorcycle roared down the street.

“Whoa, even
I
don’t speed that much,” Clarissa murmured to herself.

The motorcycle stopped with a screech right in front of the house with the red door.  The rider was clad in a black leather jacket and blue jeans.  He tore his helmet off angrily, revealing himself to be a young, dark haired man around Clarissa’s age. 

He threw the helmet on the ground violently.

“Liana, you’ve gotta see this!”  Clarissa hissed, poking her friend. 

“What?” Liana demanded, emerging from the backseat with the loaf in her hand.

Wordlessly, Clarissa pointed to the mystery man. 

He was now storming up to Jo’s house, clearly furious.  Clarissa had no idea what was going on, but she knew some sort of drama was about to go down.  She waited on pins and needles, jumping when the man pounded on the door with his closed fists instead of using the doorbell.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” Liana whispered in alarm.

“I don’t know!” Clarissa whispered back, transfixed.

“Do you recognize him?”

Clarissa shook her head.  “I don’t think he’s from here – I’ve never seen him around before.”

“Should we do something?” Liana asked, eyeing the man nervously.  “He looks pretty angry.”

“Let’s wait and see what happens,” Clarissa replied, her eyes glued to the leather-clad stranger.

“What if he’s dangerous?”

Just then, Jo came to the door.  When she saw who was standing there, all the color drained from her face.  Clearly she recognized the man who was standing there.  And she didn’t seem at all happy to see him.

“Come on!” Clarissa hissed, grabbing Liana’s arm.  It was impossible to hear anything from where they currently stood.  The two women dashed across the street and hid behind Jo’s next door neighbor’s hedge.  There, they were able to overhear what was being said.

“Vinnie, what are you doing here?” Jo gasped.

“When were you going to tell me?” the man, whose name was apparently Vinnie, shouted.  “Or
were
you going to tell me?  My father died and I had to find out about his funeral from someone else?  Are you kidding me?!”

“Calm down,” Jo pleaded.  She looked very uncomfortable.

“Answer me!” Vinnie bellowed.  He was right in Jo’s face now, and he was livid.  His fists were clenched, but thankfully he wasn’t getting violent.  He seemed much more intent on giving his sister a piece of his mind.  “He was my father too, Jo!  Don’t I have a right to be included in the funeral arrangements?!”

“Stop yelling,” Jo said in a scolding big sister sort of tone.  Though she didn’t seem pleased to see Vinnie standing at her door, she didn’t appear to be afraid of him.  In fact, she seemed more than willing to put him in his place.

“Fine,” Vinnie said, in a slightly quieter voice.  “When were you going to tell me?”

Jo sighed, looking and sounding very tired.  “Vinnie, you haven’t been around in ages.  You and dad were estranged, remember?  You haven’t spoken to anyone in the family in
at least
three years.  Given the way you and dad left things, I…well, I wasn’t sure I should call you.”

“He was a good for nothing piece of trash,” Vinnie muttered.  “Don’t try to deny it, because you and I both know it’s true.  But he was still the only father I’ll ever have,” he said.  “I should at least pay my respects.”

Jo looked unhappy, but she said nothing.

“When is the funeral?” Vinnie demanded gruffly.

His sister bit her lower lip.  “Vinnie, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to be there.  After the way you left things with dad and the way you pulled away from the rest of the family…I don’t know if you should just turn up at the funeral.  It might upset people.”

“Unbelievable!” Vinnie exploded, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

“You should leave,” Jo told him.

Vinnie began to laugh then, but it was a dark, bitter laugh.  It was the sound of someone on the brink of losing it.  “I always knew you were the golden child, but I never thought you’d try to keep me from my own father’s funeral,” he spat.  “You’re every bit as evil as he was!”

With that, Vinnie turned and stormed back to his motorcycle.  A moment later, he was gone.

Liana turned to Clarissa, wide-eyed.  “That was intense!” she whispered.

“I know,” Clarissa agreed.

Liana looked over at Jo, who was still standing on her front doorstep.  “Do you think we should go over there?” she asked, scrunching up her forehead in an expression of uncertainty.  “Maybe we should come back another time.”

“You’re probably right,” Clarissa agreed.

Her intentions had been nothing but noble.  She had planned on visiting Jo not as a reporter, but as a friend.  But now that she had witnessed Vinnie Moreno’s turbulent arrival in town, the sleuth in Clarissa was dying to get out. 

It was obvious there had been bad blood between the two Moreno men.  It sounded like Vinnie harbored deep resentment.  Even more alarming, Vinnie appeared to have serious issues with his temper.  That wasn’t a good combination.

So when, exactly, had Vinnie Moreno come to town?  Had it been before or after his father’s untimely death?  Had the angry young man with impulse control issues been involved in the fatal hit and run?