A Taste of Magic (A Sugarcomb Lake Cozy Mystery Book 1) (5 page)

“So he shoveled your snow and therefore...he should be the next town mayor?”

“Don’t you know anything?!  He’s a good boy.  He studied hard and went to a good college.  Jed Black mentored him,” Mrs. Meddler told Clarissa impatiently.  “It’s no wonder you aren’t a reporter anymore.”

Biting her tongue, Clarissa resisted the urge to say something snarky in response.  “So he’s the intern who took over for the dummy whose social media account landed him in hot water, huh?” she said instead.

Mrs. Meddler pursed her thin lips and looked Clarissa up and down.  “Your shoes are covered in mud,” she observed disdainfully.  “It looks terrible.  You should clean them,” she scoffed.  True to character, the awful old woman never passed up on an opportunity to criticize!

Though Clarissa was really tempted to defend herself, she decided it was wiser to stay on Mrs. Meddler’s good side…assuming the old woman had a good side. 

“So uh, you said you know who killed Jed Black?” she reminded the exasperating old woman, desperate to get the conversation back on track – and over with. 

“I was getting to that!” Mrs. Meddler snapped.  “You young people these days are all in such a rush.  It’s disgusting.  Anyway, isn’t it obvious?  Jed Black’s political rival must have killed him, because he was mentoring a boy who would have been an excellent mayor!”

Clarissa raised an eyebrow.  “You do realize the only person who ran against Jed Black in the last election was Elwood Primrose, right?  And since then, he’s had a stroke.  He’s got to be at least eighty years old and he lives in a retirement home.  He has no intention of ever running for mayor again.”

“That’s a likely story!” Mrs. Meddler scoffed in utter contempt.  “I went to school with Elwood Primrose!  He was a liar then and he’s a liar now!  Why, back when we were teenagers he said he’d take me out for a milkshake – but then he invited Jocelyn Higgins out instead.  She’s a hussy and he’s a two-timing –”

“Yes, Mrs. Meddler,” Clarissa sighed, her patience wearing thin. 

She slowly edged away as the old woman continued to rant and rave to anyone who would listen. 

Thankfully the crowd had grown to such a size that it kind of just swallowed her up.  When there was a safe distance between her and Mrs. Meddler, Clarissa couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.  Now that the old woman was no longer breathing down her neck, she finally had a chance to look around.

Clarissa scanned the faces, taking mental notes about how people were acting.

One woman looked particularly shaken.  She was standing with a stoic-looking man.  She was sniffling, while he was blankly staring straight ahead with his jaw clenched.  He was probably one of those guys who got super uncomfortable around displays of emotion.  Talk about a walking stereotype!

The woman’s reaction, however, was curious.

Clarissa caught the attention of the older man who standing next to her, simply taking the scene in.  She gestured toward the crying woman as discreetly as she could.  “Excuse me – do you know who that is?” she asked quietly. 

It was a well known fact that in Sugarcomb Lake, most men of a certain age met for coffee on a regular basis.  Well, they called it going for coffee.  What they were actually doing was sitting there at the coffee shop for hours shamelessly gossiping.  But unlike Mrs. Meddler’s wild stories and crazy conspiracy theories, the coffee shop men tended to know what they were talking about.

Clarissa’s father actually used to be one of those men, back before her parents had relocated to a warmer climate.  He still loved to go down to the coffee shop to catch up whenever he was back in town for a visit.  Clarissa’s mother would always just shake her head in disbelief and say that the men were even worse gossips than most women.

That was what Clarissa was counting on.

“That’s the mayor’s secretary,” the grey-haired man replied knowledgeably.  He looked pleased to be able to help and continued to offer information without being asked.  “She works at his investment firm in Green City.  I think her name is Liz.”

“Oh.  She looks so sad.  Poor thing – they must have been close.  Is that her husband with her?”

“No, that’s Adam Burke.  He’s Jed Black’s business partner.  I dealt with him once or twice years ago when I needed to do some retirement planning,” the man confided.  “He’s a nice guy, and knows a thing or two about money.  If you ever need investment advice, he’s your man!  Tell him I sent you!” he added, without actually introducing himself.

“I’ll remember that,” Clarissa said politely.  If only she had money to invest!

The man and Clarissa made idle small talk for a few minutes before she snapped a few quick photos and decided to leave.  The conversation she had overheard in the street was still eating away at her.  She decided if she was going to be a reporter again, then she would have to be fearless and perhaps even a little pushy.

But she wanted to do so in as nice a way as possible, so she stopped by the local bakery first.  Showing up unannounced at a grieving widow’s house seemed less despicable when freshly baked apple pie was involved, didn’t it? 

Clarissa made her way up the front walk slowly.  The Black residence was massive – it was easily one of the biggest, ritziest houses in town.  The landscaping was minimal but immaculate, and off to the left was a four car garage.  Clarissa also had it on good authority that there was a massive swimming pool in the backyard.

It was a lifestyle the small town reporter would only ever be able to dream of. 

“You are not a bad person,” Clarissa whispered to herself as she neared the front door.  Her conscience had suddenly and rather inconveniently made her fear that what she was doing was completely inappropriate. 

She knew she had a lot of nerve showing up at Bonnie Black’s mansion the day after her husband was murdered.  It was a private time for mourning.  Who was she turning up there uninvited?  It wasn’t as though she was a friend or family member.

But on the other hand, there didn’t appear to be any other cars parked nearby.  Clarissa had expected the house to be full of people there to offer their condolences.  Maybe that was taking place elsewhere, she reasoned.  Maybe Bonnie wasn’t even home.

She rang the doorbell, not really expecting an answer.

When no one came to the door, she set the pie down on the porch, intending to leave it there.

That was when the door flung open.

“You’re not the pizza guy!” a raspy female voice exclaimed in surprise.

Clarissa looked up to see Bonnie Black standing there.  Though Clarissa didn’t know her personally, she had seen her standing dutifully by her husband’s side at press conferences countless times.  But she barely even recognized the attractive forty-something year old woman.

Bonnie Black had always been the epitome of put together.  She normally had her brunette hair swept back in a sophisticated chignon and her makeup was immaculate.  And then there was her wardrobe!  It was, simply put, to die for.  In a way, Bonnie was sort of like a small town celebrity.  She was glamorous and classy and never seemed to wear the same outfit twice.

But today she was unrecognizable. 

Today Bonnie was wearing a long pink fuzzy housecoat.  A cigarette hung out of the corner of her mouth and her eye makeup was smeared.  She held an open bottle of red wine in one hand.  She clearly hadn’t been expecting company and was in no state to entertain guests. 

Actually, she seemed rather drunk.

“I’m sorry, I just wanted to uh...bring you this,” Clarissa said, holding out the delicious smelling apple pie.  “I wanted to, you know, offer my condolences.  But I’m sure you’re busy and I’m interrupting,” she added hastily.  “I should be going.”

“Do I look busy?” Bonnie slurred.  “Come in,” she ordered.

And that was how Clarissa found herself standing in Bonnie Black’s magnificent home.

“This house is incredible!” Clarissa couldn’t help but exclaim.  “Look at this kitchen!” she breathed, trying to take it all in.  It was gigantic, with marble countertops and top of the line stainless steel appliances.  There were no less than
three
ovens.  It looked like a gourmet chef’s dream come true.

“You want to know the funny thing?” Bonnie asked, pausing to take a long swig of wine straight from the bottle.  “Neither Jed nor I cooked.  The kitchen was all for show.  But maybe you knew that already.  I never asked how you knew my husband,” she realized, eyeing the younger woman suspiciously.

“I didn’t really,” Clarissa admitted.  “I just knew him as the mayor of Sugarcomb Lake.”

“Ah, good...good,” Bonnie murmured.  “For a moment there I wondered if you were another one of his...well, never mind.  Anyway, as I was saying, Jed insisted we have the best of the best – even if we didn’t use it.  That’s how he was: he wanted to keep up appearances.  But I suppose I shouldn’t speak poorly of the dead.”

Clarissa tried not to let her surprise show.  Instead, in an attempt to be relatable, she said, “I’m not much of a cook either.  And again, I am so sorry for your loss.  It must be such a shock.”

Bonnie shrugged and finished off her wine.  “People dropped by, all telling me how sorry they were.  But I could hear them whispering behind my back.  I could feel them watching me, judging me.  I couldn’t take it anymore, so I asked them all to leave.  I know what people are saying about me.”

“What are they saying?”

After looking her up and down, Bonnie asked, “You really don’t know?  They say I was a gold digger.  They say I was only with Jed for his money.  In addition to being mayor, he was partner at a highly successful investment company based out of Green City, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”  Clarissa took a deep breath and then admitted, “I used to be a reporter.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Bonnie asked sharply.  “To find out if I did it?  I didn’t.”

“I never thought –”

Bonnie immediately interrupted.  It seemed that in her drunken state, she was rather talkative. 

“We may have had a strained relationship, Jed and I, but I didn’t kill him.  Just because I’m not playing the part of grieving widow to everyone’s satisfaction doesn’t mean I’m guilty of murder!  Why would I kill Jed?  We co-existed.  We were more like roommates than a married couple, but we had an understanding.  It worked.”

“You had...an understanding?” Clarissa prodded gently.

“He kept up his image as a devoted husband and I...well, I got all this,” she said, gesturing to the house.  “We had a pre-nuptial contract, so had I divorced him I would have been left penniless.  Maybe the townspeople are right and I
am
materialistic.  I like nice things.  But that doesn’t make me a killer!”

“I should be going,” Clarissa said, unsure of what else to say.  “I’ll show myself out.”

The doorbell rang as she was headed toward the front door.

“That’s the pizza!” Bonnie called from the kitchen.  “Let the pizza guy in, would you?”

Clarissa opened the door expecting to see a pizza delivery guy there.  Perhaps it would even be the very same one Mrs. Meddler had falsely accused of committing murder, Clarissa thought to herself with a wry grin.

But it wasn’t a pizza delivery guy who was standing there.

It was a police officer.

“Is Bonnie Black here?” he demanded, peering into the house.

“About time you got here with my pizza!” Bonnie called from behind Clarissa. 

She came stumbling over, rather unsteady on her feet thanks to her overconsumption of wine.  She belched loudly.  Then, when she saw the police officer, she stopped dead in her tracks.  Her eyes widened in horror as she looked him over.

“You’re not a stripper, are you?” she asked the retirement-age, somewhat portly police officer.

“A
what
?” he asked, looking stunned and more than a little uncomfortable.  Then he recovered.  “No ma’am.  I’m a police officer.  I’m here to inform you that you are under arrest for the murder of Jed Black.”

“What?” Bonnie asked in stunned disbelief. 

She dropped the new bottle of wine she had opened.  That right there was probably a hundred dollars down the drain, at least!  Thankfully this time it was white wine – but Clarissa knew that stained hardwood was the least of Bonnie Black’s worries.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the officer informed Bonnie matter-of-factly.  “I’ll tell you right now there are a lot of media people lined up outside the station.  If you would like a moment to get dressed before we head over there, I’ll allow it.”

Bonnie glared at him.  “This is absurd.  I did
not
kill my husband!”

“Save it for your lawyer,” the cop told her with blatant disinterest.  He waved his handcuffs around, seemingly a bit drunk on his own power.  “Are you going to cooperate or do you want to come down to the station in these and your bathrobe?”

“I’m not coming down to the station at all!” Bonnie insisted shrilly.  “I’m innocent!”

“The hard way it is, then,” the officer sighed.

As he read Bonnie her rights and wrestled her into handcuffs, the drunken widow looked over at Clarissa.  Tears were streaming down her face, leaving dark streaks of mascara on her cheeks.  It was hard not to feel sorry for her in that state.

“You believe me, don’t you?” Bonnie pleaded desperately.  “You know I didn’t kill Jed, right?”

Clarissa didn’t know how to respond.  So she went with the truth.

“Yes,” she said, surprising even herself.  “I believe you.”  Her gut said Bonnie was being honest.

“Please help me!” Bonnie wailed as the officer led her down the driveway to his police cruiser.  “Please, you have to help me!  I didn’t do it!  I didn’t kill anyone!  This is a terrible mistake.  I’m innocent!  I’m innocent!”

As she watched Bonnie get loaded into the back of the police car, Clarissa wasn’t sure what to do.  Feeling helpless, she shut the front door.  Then she went out to her car and followed Bonnie and the cop to the police station.

It was a short drive.  Everything was a short drive in Sugarcomb Lake.

It was utter chaos down there at the police station. 

Clearly someone had tipped off the press, because swarms of cameramen and reporters from Green City lined the streets.  As Clarissa looked at the logos on the sides of the vehicles, she noted that every newspaper and TV station in Minnesota seemed to be represented.

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for Bonnie Black as she was paraded into the station while reporters shouted questions and camera crews filmed her in a rather unglamorous state.

In fact, Clarissa couldn’t even bring herself to whip out her phone and snap a few photos of Bonnie’s perp walk.  She knew that was exactly what the police wanted.  They wanted the whole state to know they had caught a killer less than 24 hours after the crime.  They wanted a pat on the back and bragging rights.

But Clarissa refused to be manipulated like that.

She had a bad feeling about what was going on. 

The knot in the pit of Clarissa’s stomach tightened when she saw Parker Tweed approach her vehicle.  She looked away so they wouldn’t make eye contact.  When he paused outside her car, she pretended to be rummaging around for something inside her purse.  But when he tapped on the driver side window, she couldn’t really pretend to be oblivious to his presence any longer.

She rolled down the window a crack.  “What do you want?”

“Hello to you too,” he replied.  “How did you get here so fast?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Oh come on, you and I both know how it works.  A source at the police station called all the big news agencies in the state to make sure we would be here.  You know how these guys love a press conference that makes them look like heroes.”

Pursing her lips, Clarissa nodded.  Parker was only confirming what she had suspected. 

“What I don’t understand,” Parker continued, “is how
you
got here so fast.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance.

“You were right behind Bonnie Black’s police car,” Parker pointed out.  “How did you find out she was the killer?  It was almost as if you knew she was going to be arrested.  In fact, I think you must have known.  Now I’m curious.  Who’s your source?”

“First of all, I don’t have a source,” Clarissa said coldly.  “I do my own legwork, unlike
some
people.  And secondly, Bonnie Black didn’t murder her husband.  So you’re going to look awfully foolish when you have to retract whatever you’re planning to print in the paper!”

Instead of replying, Parker slowly and methodically walked around to the passenger side of the car.  Then, without an invitation, he opened the car door and climbed in right beside Clarissa.

“Hey!” she exclaimed in dismay, surprised by his nerve.  “Get out of my car!”

“Not until you give me some answers,” he replied calmly.

“Why would I do that?”

“If what you’re saying is true, then you don’t want an innocent woman to get a life sentence,” Parker reasoned.  “I don’t think you would be able to live with yourself.  Besides,” he added, “I might be able to help you.”

“How can you help me?” she asked suspiciously.

“You said yourself that you don’t have a source.  I do.  I have a source but I don’t have insider knowledge about Sugarcomb Lake.  You’re the expert on that, and people will be more willing to talk to you since they know you.  We could make a good team, Clarissa Spencer.  So you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.  What do you say?”

“I say you shouldn’t use such a disgusting metaphor,” Clarissa shot back, wrinkling her nose in revulsion.  “I wouldn’t touch your nasty, hairy back with a ten foot pole!”

Much to her surprise and annoyance, Parker burst out laughing at that.  “Of all the things I thought you might say, I truly wasn’t expecting that,” he chuckled. “You’re really something else, you know that?”

Clarissa didn’t answer.  Instead, she eyed his scarf out of the corner of his eye and fantasized about strangling him with it.  Maybe that was a bit extreme of a reaction, true.  But with his good looks, successful career and overconfidence, the guy really got under her skin!