Kernel of Truth

CAUSE FOR ALARM

The screaming continued. Sprocket stood up from the floor and gave me a concerned look. There's nothing worse than a worried poodle, except possibly a worried poodle that comes up to your waist. That's a lot of worried poodle. The screaming went up in pitch.

I shut off the heat under the sauce and rushed to the back door of POPS, which opened into the alleyway that ran behind the shops on Main Street in Grand Lake.

I pushed open the door and felt my heart clench. There was broken glass on the back porch of Coco's shop and the back door was open. The screams were definitely coming from Coco's Cocoas. I ran . . .

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KERNEL OF TRUTH

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2016 by Penguin Random House LLC.

Excerpt from
Pop Goes the Murder
by Kristi Abbott copyright © 2016 by Penguin Random House LLC.

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19385-7

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2016

Cover illustration by Catherine Deeter.

Cover design by Sarah Oberrender.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER'S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

This book would never have even begun to exist without Leis Pederson. She is inventive, funny, smart, and flexible. In short, she's totally fantastic. That's not a short joke. Although it could be. I'm reasonably certain that anyone who has seen us walking anywhere together would like to make some kind of Mutt and Jeff joke. Go ahead. We don't care. We like it this way.

The recipes in this book would never have worked without Spring Warren. After she got done laughing at me for thinking that marshmallow crème was appropriate in a breakfast bar, she got down to work and made Rebecca's creations a reality. Watching Spring in a kitchen is like watching someone dance: beautiful and breathtaking. Everything started, however, with Barbara Smith's caramel corn recipe. I would have been lost without it. Thank you also to Teddy and Alex Rendahl who happily ate the recipes even when they didn't turn out so hot.

Thank you to my beloved Andy Wallace for blithely coming up with red herrings, plot twists, and endless encouragement. You continually amaze me. I'd like to thank Deb Van Der List and Helen Raybould for their funny stories about life with poodles. Thank you to my sister Marian although she won't remember what I'm thanking her for or why. I'm not sure I do either, but it's so rare that I don't need to consult her on something medical in the course of writing a book that I thank her by reflex.

There was a moment—possibly a series of moments—when I thought my head might explode while I was writing this book. My sister Diane and my mother, Deborah, stepped in and took troubles off my shoulders. I'm not sure how I could have finished this without them.

The caramel sauce
was almost three hundred and fifty degrees when the screaming started.

I wasn't proud that my first instinct was to ignore it. The screaming, that is, not the sauce. I was at a critical moment. In a matter of seconds, it would need to be removed from the heat and have the baking soda added. Then it needed to be poured over the freshly popped popcorn and mixed. Leave it on the stove longer and my sauce was going to be bitter. Take it off now and it wasn't going to be ready for the baking soda to create the requisite air bubbles to keep it light.

But screaming, right? Human screaming. Human screaming versus caramel sauce. Sprocket stood up from the floor and gave me a concerned look. There's nothing worse than a worried poodle, except possibly a worried poodle that comes up to your waist. That's a lot of worried poodle. The screaming went up in pitch.

I shut off the heat under the sauce and rushed to the back
door of POPS, which opened into the alleyway that ran behind the shops on Main Street in Grand Lake.

I pushed open the door and felt my heart clench. There was broken glass on the back porch of Coco's shop and the back door was open. The screams were definitely coming from Coco's Cocoas. I ran.

*   *   *

I ran through
the back door and through Coco's kitchen toward the sound. It was coming from the office at the front of the renovated house that served as Coco's shop. I screeched to a halt, nearly tripping over Coco's quad cane in the doorway. I picked it up and tossed it aside. Sprocket bumped into me from behind. Jessica James stood in the middle of the office, back to the door, shrieking her tiny, blond shrill head off.

I could see why. Or at least partially why. In the dim light, I could see Coco's feet. They were sticking out from behind the big wooden desk. I knew they were her feet because I recognized her shoes. She hated them. She hated their clunky rubber soles. She hated their boxy shape and their elastic laces. She hated the sensibility of them. She said she wouldn't mind growing old so much if she could grow old in style.

“Jessica,” I said. “What happened?”

Jessica whirled around. She probably hadn't heard me come in over her own wailing. Her face was like a mask, white and sort of distorted. Her lips and eyes stood out, too vivid against the pallor of her face, eyes red-rimmed from crying. She reached toward me, her hands shaking.

“I don't know, Rebecca. I don't know. But I think Auntie Coco is dead.” She gasped out the words.

I pushed past her to get to Coco and froze. One glance was all it took for me to know it was way too late for me to help Coco. She was crumpled against the credenza, her eyes
glassy and open but seeing nothing. She looked like a rag doll discarded by a bratty child. Except rag dolls didn't leave blood smears like Coco had clearly left on the credenza.

Behind me Sprocket began to howl, which set Jessica off again. She launched herself at me. “I should never have left her alone last night. I should have stayed.”

I wrapped an arm around her, grabbed the phone off the desk and dialed 911.

*   *   *

I pulled the
blanket tighter around myself and tried to get the coffee cup up to my lips, but my teeth still chattered too hard. After calling 911, I'd gotten Jessica and Sprocket and me out of Coco's Cocoas and back to POPS. I'd managed to pour a cup of coffee before the shaking had started. Now it wouldn't stop. I'd been this cold only once before in my life. That had been after a death, too. Then my sister, Haley, and I had huddled together for warmth. Today Sprocket pressed himself into my side, resting his head on my lap. I could barely feel the heat from his body. I curled my fingers into his apricot fur and the shaking slowed a little.

Dan sat across from me in my pretty blue kitchen, our knees almost touching. He tucked a stray lock of my hair back behind my ear. His hands felt warm against my face. “Take your time, Bec. Start at the beginning and tell me what you remember.”

Dan, or Sheriff Cooper as most of the town now addressed him, had the clearest, lightest blue eyes I'd ever seen. They were set in a square-jawed face that rested atop a fairly substantial set of shoulders. Instead of answering his question, I leaned forward, put my head on one of those shoulders and sobbed.

Dan patted my back. Dan had been patting my back off
and on since second grade, when I punched him in the nose for putting a worm in my chocolate milk. We had been best friends from that point on, so close he was like the brother I didn't have until he actually became my brother by marrying my sister, Haley, when he moved back to Grand Lake after college. Which was surprisingly not weird. Go figure.

“Why, Dan? Why? Why would someone do that?” I snuffled onto his brown uniform shirt. Haley was going to be furious with me for getting snot on it. I didn't care.

“It looks like a burglary gone wrong, Bec. The back window was bashed in. The cash register was emptied.” Dan kept patting.

“Did Jessica know how much was missing?” It couldn't have been much. It certainly couldn't have been enough to warrant killing Coco to get it.

“Jessica is not in any shape to know anything. She's a mess. She wasn't making any sense. We'll figure it out later. It doesn't really matter anyway. Coco's still gone whether they got fifty dollars or five hundred.” Dan sounded pained.

I straightened up, grabbed a bunch of tissues out of the box that had somehow magically appeared at the table in the kitchen and blew my nose. Hard. I was a very snotty crier. “Do you think she tried to fight them off?” I wouldn't put it past her. Coco was nothing if not feisty. I could have totally seen her taking a swing at an intruder with her quad cane. Maybe she'd flung it at the intruder. Maybe that's why it had been in the doorway. Otherwise it was rarely more than six inches from her right hand.

“We're still piecing all that together. Right now it looks as if someone shoved her and she lost her balance and stumbled backward. She hit the corner of that credenza with her head in exactly the worst way possible.” Dan drummed his fingers on his knee.

Coco's balance was terrible. It was some kind of ear thing. That's why she had the cane, an item that she had hated even more than the sensible shoes, in the first place. It wouldn't have taken much of a shove to send her toppling ass-over-teakettle. A child could have done it. “Maybe it was an accident,” I whispered. “Maybe she just fell.”

“Not with the busted window and missing cash.” Dan shook his head. “It still could have been unintentional. A shove that sent her backward harder than intended, but someone did this, Rebecca. Someone's responsible. Can you tell me what you saw?” Dan asked.

“I was making a new caramel sauce, one with Kahlúa in it, for the new popcorn line when I heard Jessica screaming. I looked out the back and saw the glass and the door at Coco's standing open and ran over there.” And inside I saw something I was afraid my brain would never be able to erase. It wasn't how I wanted to remember Coco. I started to sniffle again.

“Okay. Good,” Dan said. “What time did you get here today?”

I thought about it. “A little before six.”

He made a note in his little notebook. “How come you didn't notice the glass and the door when you got here?” He scratched Sprocket behind the ears and got a grateful lick in return.

“Sprocket and I walked, we came in the front. I only come in the back when I drive.” It's about two miles from where I live to the shop. I try to walk whenever I can. It's good for Sprocket to walk. It's good for me, too. Caramel sauce doesn't taste itself. Haley and I came from thin people. We were lucky and I knew it, but that didn't mean I could rely on genes alone to keep me in my skinny jeans.

“When was the last time you were out in the alley?”

I wrapped my hands around my coffee mug; I was starting to be able to feel the warmth from it. “I think probably when I took the garbage out yesterday when I was closing up.”

“What time would that have been?”

I set the mug down and rubbed at my forehead. My head had started to throb. “Around six thirty. I started winter hours two weeks ago.”

Dan nodded and made another note. Grand Lake is a tourist town and we get most of our traffic in the summer months. We still get a little in the fall, but not enough to warrant keeping the shop open past five thirty or six on a weeknight. If people want popcorn for dessert, they've bought it by then. There weren't enough folks strolling up and down Main Street in the evenings to keep the shop open until nine after Labor Day, so I put away my white shoes and switched to winter hours after the first Monday of September.

“You didn't notice anything unusual then?” He wasn't even looking at me.

My shivering stopped. Maybe it was the warmth of indignation. “Do you really think I'd see Coco's back window bashed in and not go check on her?”

He sat back in his chair, looking very directly at me now with those clear blue eyes. “Bec, I need to ask the questions. All of them. Even if they seem stupid or rude to you. There's no telling what could be important later.”

I unruffled my proverbial feathers. He was Sheriff Cooper right now, not Dan, my best friend since forever. I shut my eyes and tried to remember exactly what I'd seen or not seen. “Well, the back door was definitely closed and the window was fine. I don't remember there being a light on in back. If there had been, I would have probably knocked to see if Coco wanted me to walk home with her, but her office is in the front
of the house. If there was a light on in there, I might not have seen it.”

Coco's house was only two blocks away and she prided herself on still walking to and from the shop every day, but I knew once the light started to fade earlier and earlier, curbs and cracks in the sidewalks turned into issues for her. She hated the idea of being cosseted, but if I told her that I needed her advice on something for the shop (and I pretty much always needed her advice on something for the shop), she'd let me walk with her and keep her from missing a step off the curb or tripping over one of the tree roots that humped up the sidewalk better than any earthquake could.

“Are you sure about there not being a light on?” Dan pressed, his head cocked to one side.

I squinched my eyes tight shut, trying to remember it exactly. Had there been a light? Hadn't there been? Would I have noticed? I thought I would, but couldn't be certain. It had still been light out. Maybe she hadn't even needed a light on inside yet. No. That wasn't right. Coco's eyes weren't what they used to be either. She always needed a light. I opened my eyes, blew out a breath and shook my head. “I don't think there was one, but if you're asking if I could swear to it in court, the answer is no.” I dropped my head into my hands. What else had I missed? Could I have kept this from happening?

He patted my hand. “It's okay.” He looked back down at his notepad. “Did you see anyone else out there? Anyone hanging around? Or even walking through?”

The great thing about routine when you run a shop is it gives you some consistency and reliability. The bad thing is that days tend to run together because they're all the same. It was hard to be sure what I had seen last night or the night before or a night a week ago.

“Well, I didn't see Jasper,” I said. “But I left him yesterday's popcorn in a bag by the back porch rather than throw it out.”

If you're selling gourmet popcorn, the least you can do is make sure it's fresh. Rather than toss what was left at the end of the day, I gave it to Jasper. Jasper wasn't exactly homeless. He had a place, or so I'd been told, near the south end of town. He did not, however, have a job beyond wandering the streets of Grand Lake and panhandling. He wasn't a raving lunatic, but he was a few old maids shy of a fully popped bowl. Town legend had it that Jasper had been a professor at Oberlin and had lost his mind in pursuit of tenure. Now he wandered the streets of Grand Lake spouting bits and pieces of obscure philosophy and history and conspiracy theories that generally revolved around him and some cabal trying to keep him down.

“And the bag was gone this morning?” Dan sat up a little straighter.

I didn't remember seeing it. “Is it there now?” I asked.

Dan got up and looked out the back door. He came back shaking his head. “There's nothing there now.”

“Then he probably came by after I left. Maybe he saw something.” Jasper had a tendency to lurk in the shadows and pop out unexpectedly. It was one of his less charming habits, but maybe it could be helpful this time. Maybe he saw who broke into Coco's.

“I'll definitely be asking him,” Dan said. “Now, what did you touch while you were in Coco's shop?”

I sighed. I'd already gotten a dirty look from Dan for tramping through the broken glass going in and out of Coco's. Apparently, there was a trail going down the steps and now they weren't sure if it was left by me or whoever had done what they'd done to Coco. “The door, I think. The phone in the office for sure.”

“Light switches?”

“Maybe.” I thought for a second, then shook my head. “No. I didn't turn on the light. Definitely Coco's dress, though. I touched that.”

Dan's eyebrows shot up above his baby blues. “Her dress? Why?”

I blushed. “It was kind of rucked up. I pulled it down. It wasn't . . . dignified.” Coco would have been horrified at the thought of all those people seeing her underthings.

Dan set his pad and pen down and stared at me. “Bec, it's a crime scene. You're not supposed to mess with the crime scene.”

“I know it was a crime scene. I also know that Coco was the victim. I didn't want to make her into even more of one by letting half the town see her knickers.” Men. They understood nothing.

He shook his head and made some notes on his pad. “Fine. Whatever. Have you seen anyone strange hanging around? Someone who shouldn't be here? Or someone you don't know?”