Chewy Chocolate Chip Murder: A Cookie Lane Cozy Mystery - Book 1 (7 page)

Cat sat on her sofa, legs curled
beneath her body, and Oreo on her lap. She stroked his furry head and focused
on her TV screen.

So You Think You Can Dance was on
again, and two of her favorite competitors were in the middles of a Venetian
Waltz routine.

“The coffee machine may be Lacy’s
Everest,” Cat said, “But you are mine.”

The Venetian Waltz was the least of
her worries, though. Beth’s murderer hadn’t been caught, and the evidence had
stacked up against her. Not to mention the confusing signals the handsome
Detective had given off. She couldn’t focus on any of that now.

But she did.

Why had Kevin Walters met with that
mystery figure on the pier? And how was it possible that the people she
suspected the most had a rock solid alibi for the time of the murder?

There had to be an answer. Something
obvious, right in front of her eyes that –

Cat’s phone rang beside her. She
snatched it up, then pressed the green button on the keypad. “Hello?”

“Cat, is that you?” A woman asked.

It wasn’t Lacy. “Yeah, who is this?”

“Hi, it’s Rachel. I found your number
on your website. Sorry for cold calling you,” the young woman said, and her
voice squeaked midway through the sentence.

“It’s no problem. Are you okay?” Cat
asked, then grabbed the remote. She muted the volume on the TV and blocked out
Paula Abdul’s assessment of the Venetian Waltz. Pity, she would’ve like to have
heard the comments.

“I’m fine, but there’s something
you’ve got to see.”

“What is it?” Cat asked.

“It’s huge. I, ugh, I need to think.
I’m too excited right now. What’s your email address?”

“Yeah, it’s cat cookies at Gmail dot
com,” she said, slowly. “What’s going on, Rach?”

“Remember how I said I wanted to
help?” Rachel whispered.

“Yeah?”

“This is me, helping. Look, I’ve got
to go my mom’s going to be home any minute. The emails I’m forwarding you are
from her inbox,” Rachel said. “Good luck!” And then she hung up.

Catherine pulled the phone from her
ear and stared at it. “That’s weird.”

Oreo did a mixed meow and purr at her,
then blinked languidly. She grabbed him under the belly, then lifted him off
her lap. She rose and strode through to her bedroom, curiosity driving each
step.

She hurried to her dressing table,
then sat down and dragged her laptop toward herself. She ignored her reflection
in the mirror and flipped open the lid.

The computer started up. She held her
breath. “Come on, come on.” What on earth had gotten into Rachel? What could
she have found that might be relevant to the case?

Oreo bounded into the bedroom and
leaped onto her bed. He sat and stared at her, the shook his ears and proceeded
to clean them with a cupped paw.

The desktop flashed up, and Cat
clicked through to her email application immediately. It popped open, and the
tab at the bottom lit up.

Downloading 1 new email.

“Oh gosh,” Cat said and pressed a fist
to her belly. She’d never been this nervous.

The computer’s speaker’s pinged. The
email popped up on her screen. She tapped the mousepad and opened it, then
leaned in and read a few lines of text.

 I’ve waited long enough for my
payoff. I killed her exactly like you wanted. Send me my money or you’re next.

Jarred.

“Jarred? Jarred Weaver?” Catherine
shuddered a gasp. “I knew it!” She'd thought it’d been everyone but Jarred
Weaver. Or Tara for that matter.

Minus twenty points for following the
false evidence and not thinking this through.

Cat read the rest of the thread.

I’m working on getting the
inheritance. Please, be patient. Just two more weeks and I’ll have the money to
pay for your services.

T

“Tara, you horrible woman,” Cat
growled. “But why? Didn’t she know that Beth had paid for her son’s tuition?
What was this all about? Did she owe money somewhere?”

Oreo meowed at her.

“Don’t worry, kitty, I haven’t lost my
mind just yet,” she said. But she had to figure out the motivation here.

It didn’t make any sense.

“Think, Cat. That doesn’t matter right
now. Bringing Tara and Jarred to justice, matters.” She darted through to the
living room, then snatched her cellphone off the sofa.

She dialed the Charleston PD number.
It rang twice then clicked.

“Charleston Police Department.

“Hi, this is Catherine Kelley. Please
put me through to Detective Jack Bradshaw. I have important news about his
case.”

“Please hold,” the woman said.

The screeching tones tinkled through
the earpiece and Cat pulled it away from her hear again. She paced up and down
in front of her TV, ignoring the performance on the screen.

This was it. With the help of her
friends, she’d gotten to the bottom of this murder case. Tara had had Beth
murdered.

“Bradshaw speaking.”

“Detective,” she said and rammed the
phone into her ear. She pressed a few buttons, and they beeped out a mini-song.

“Ouch,” he said.

“I know who the murderer is,” Cat
said, immediately.

“Miss Kelley,” he sighed. “I don’t
have time for another wild goose chase. I assure you, I’m following all the
leads in this case, and I am aware of –”

“It was Tara. Tara Walters and Jarred
Weaver. Please, you have to come to my place, right now. I have the evidence on
my laptop,” she said and injected as much desperation into her voice as possible.
“Please?”

“Miss Kelley, if this is some kind of
hoax, I will lock you up for wasting police time and obstructing justice,” he
said. “Is that understood?”

“Detective Bradshaw, I’m not wasting
your time. I swear on every cookie I’ve ever baked. Please, you have to come
see for yourself,” she said.

“Fine. I’m on my way.” And then he
hung up.

Cat dropped the cell on the sofa
again, then rushed through to her bedroom. She grabbed the laptop and brought
it through to the living room, then settled in to wait, eyes on the clock
instead of on the dancing, for a change.

“Here,” Cat said and jogged up the
stairs to her apartment. “This way.”

Detective Bradshaw followed her up at
a walk, with no real sense of urgency. Perhaps he thought this was a waste of
his time. She’d sure prove him wrong. “You know,” he said, “for a baker, you’re
pretty light on your feet.”

“I try to keep fit,” she called back
and held her front gate open. She stomped her heels on the landing. Impatience
rang through her core. This was a waste of time. He needed to be out there,
arresting Jarred Weaver before the man made a run for it.

Detective Bradshaw reached the top
stair, then paused and met her gaze. “All right. I’m here. Now, what’s this
evidence you’ve got to show me?”

“It’s on the laptop,” Cat said.

She rushed ahead, then picked up Oreo
off his warm spot on the sofa, and deposited him on the wooden boards. He
meowed his complaint, then whipped his tail into the air and stalked off.

“Don’t mind him. He’s just grumpy because
I haven’t done any dancing,” she said.

“I, uh, okay?” The Detective walked to
the sofa and sat down beside her. His arm brushed hers, and she shifted away.

Goosebumps rose on her forearm, and
she wiped them flat. “Here,” she said, then leaned in and clicked on the email
thread. “Read that.”

Detective Bradshaw had come prepared
this time. He brought his reading glasses out of his top pocket, unfolded them
and placed them on his nose. He shifted forward on the sofa and focused on the
screen.

Cat jumped up and strode to the TV.
She switched it off, then paced back and forth in front of it. Her mind jumped
from an answer to a question and back again.

Tara had ordered a hit – wasn’t that
what it was called – on Beth, and Jarred had gone through with it. Tara had
clearly thought she’d be able to pay off Jarred with the money from the
inheritance.

So, she hadn’t realized that the will
had changed, then. But, why had she needed the money in the first place?

Detective Bradshaw sat back and took
his glasses off his face. “Well,” he said. “Well.”

“I know, right? This is huge.”

“May I ask how you got these emails?”
The Detective asked.

“Rachel Walters sent them to me,” she
replied. “She wanted to look into what happened to Beth too. She loved her.
They were close. Beth even paid for her brother’s tuition.”

“For Kevin’s fees?”

“Yeah, that’s right. He was a Biochem
major at the College of Charleston,” Cat replied. She paused her pacing and
rammed her fists on her hips. “So, Beth provided for the kids when Tara
couldn’t. Tara must’ve realized that Beth had a lot of money, and then killed
her for it. Right?”

“We can’t be sure of that yet,” Bradshaw
said, “but yeah, that’s plausible.”

“But that leaves the question – what
did Tara need to pay off? It has to be something huge if she was willing to
kill for it? And kill an amazing human being, no less,” Cat said, she dropped
her arms to her sides.

“I think –” Bradshaw’s cell phone rang
in his pocket, and he whipped it out. It was one of those fancy smartphones with
the big flat screen.

The kind Lacy had nagged her to get
for the last month.

“Bradshaw,” he said. “Uh huh. All
right. I’ll be there in ten.” Then he hung up and placed the phone back in his
pocket.

“What’s happened?” Catherine asked,
and twiddled her fingers.

“There’s been a report of a break-in
at the Walters residence,” he said, then paused and raised his hand. “Don’t say
a word, Miss Kelley. I’ll handle this myself.”

“But this could be about the murder.
What if it’s not safe? I don’t want you to get hurt,” she said, then rammed her
mouth shut. What a prime time to say something that sentimental to a man she
barely knew.

Detective Bradshaw cleared his throat
and loosened his collar. “I’ll be fine. And I’m sure everything at the
residence is fine.”

“All right,” she said, and it came out
as a squeak.

“I’ll be in touch, Miss Kelley,” he
said, then walked to the door, back as stiff as a rock cake. He strode down the
hall, and his boots clomped on the stairs.

Cat resumed her pacing. She walked to
the window, ripped the curtains open, and stared down at the road, lit by the
glowing orbs on top of the wrought iron streetlamps.

“The Walters residence,” she
whispered. “The Walters residence.”

Detective Bradshaw appeared below. He
crossed the street, then got into his police cruiser, started the engine and
drove off.

Cat tapped her fingers on the sides of
thighs and tension unfurled in her chest. She had to know what had happened.
And most of all, she had to know why Tara had killed Beth.

For closure, for Beth and the future
of Walters family. Rachel was involved in this too, and first impressions
aside, she’d turned out to be a sweet girl.

Catherine turned and rushed through to
the kitchen. She snatched her car keys off the wooden pegs next to the fridge,
then ran for the hall.

The front door to the Walters’ house
stood open. The porch light illuminated the welcome mat and a tiny semi-circle
of the wooden passage within. Jack Bradshaw’s cruiser sat across the road,
empty.

“Oh boy,” Cat whispered. “This doesn’t
look good.”

She had to go in and find out what’d
happened, but she didn’t want to get hurt.

“Smart,” she said. “Come on,
Catherine. You were raised to think outside the box.”

Then an idea flashed in her eyes and
reverberated into her brain and through to her limbs. She clunked open her car
door, got out, then closed it with her hips. Catherine scooted up the path to
the door, took a right, and circled to the bushes she’d hidden in, earlier that
week.

“Please be in the living room, please
be in the living room,” she whispered and crossed her fingers.

She crouched and crept along the side
of the house. Branches scraped her forearms and picked at the fabric of her
jeans. She pushed past them.

Voices rang out from the living room.
An argument of some kind.

Cat stopped to the left of the living
room window and shut her eyes. “Please, be in the –”

“Everyone calm down,” Detective
Bradshaw said. She’d recognize his voice anywhere.

Catherine peered through the window.
Four people stood in the room, arranged at opposite ends.

Tara Walters over by the sofa. Joseph
Walters next to the piano. Jack Bradshaw in the doorway, his hand on the clip
of his holster. And Jarred Weaver, closest to the window, his back to Cat. His
loose shirt flapped in the breeze, which whipped past her nose and swept into
the living room.

“Calm down?” Joseph Walters asked.
Then grasped at his hairpiece. He ripped it off his head and waggled it. “Calm
down?”

“Joseph,” Tara hissed. “I told you to
keep your hair on.”

“This intruder has accused my wife of
murdering my Great Aunt,” he growled. “How am I supposed to calm down?”

“She hired me to kill her,” Jarred
Weaver said, calm as could be. His arms swung at his sides. He reached up and
scratched the back of his greasy neck. “I did what I had to do. Now, I want my
money or else –”

“Lies!” Joseph exploded, then threw
the hairpiece at the trespasser.

It sailed past his shoulder and out
the window. Cat ducked back, and the thing swept above her head.

“What’s wrong with you?” Jarred asked.

“You killed a woman,” Tara said.
“You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, on your orders! And now I want
my pay,” Weaver replied. He flexed his fingers at his sides.

Detective Bradshaw’s gaze flicked from
one person to the next. His body was tense, but his eyes remained calm.

Joseph glared at his wife. “Tara, will
you please tell this man to leave our home? He’s clearly a liar, and I won’t
stand –”

“He’s not lying,” she snapped.

The room fell silent. Bradshaw raised
his eyebrows ever so slightly, then relaxed them again.

“What?” Joseph asked. “What did you
just say?”

“I said, he’s not lying. I ordered him
to kill Beth.”

Joseph stumbled back and grabbed at
the piano to steady himself. He squashed a few keys flat, and a discordant tone
sounded in the living room. “No.”

“Yes,” Tara replied. “I ordered him to
kill her, and I’d do it again. She did nothing for our family. Every time we
asked her for help, she rejected us.”

“Why, Tara? How could you do this?”

Tara reached up and jerked on her string
of pearls – pink this time. “I did what I had to do to save this family.”

“What are you talking about?” Joseph
asked.

“Everything was fine until you lost
your job, Joseph. Fine! And then the bills came in. College fees for Kevin and
Rachel. Electricity, the mortgage, the gambling debts from your little habit.”

“What? I don’t –”

“Don’t bother lying, Joseph, I spoke
to Richard at the casino. He told me they had to ban you,” she replied. “So,
yeah, I did what I had to do. I stepped up to the plate to support our family.”

This was messy and Tara was
delusional. She’d only made matters worse.

“Beth –”

“Beth was nothing,” Tara replied. “She
didn’t care about you, or any of us.”

“That’s not true,” Detective Bradshaw
said.

Tara flinched and looked at him –
perhaps she’d forgotten his presence. “What did you say?”

“Beth paid for Kevin’s college tuition
in full. All the years. You might have ruined one life, but your son’s future
is secured, thanks to the woman you murdered.”

“What?” Joseph whispered. He touched
his fingers to his lips. “I had no idea. I called her a few days before she
died and begged for help. I didn’t know she followed through.”

Tara shrunk on the spot and sat down
on the sofa. She placed her head in her palms.

“I don’t care about any of this,”
Jarred Weaver said. “I was hired for a service. I performed said service, and
now I want my payment, or this isn’t going to end well.”

“Are you crazy?” Joseph asked. “You’re
trying to extort money for murder in front of an officer of the law.”

Crickets chirped in the ensuing
silence. That was a good point. The only way Jarred would reveal himself as the
murderer was if he thought he could get away with it. And that meant –

“I don’t have the money,” Tara said,
from between her hands. “Beth’s inheritance didn’t pay out to the family. It
paid out to some idiot who runs a bakery store.”

“Watch your mouth,” Detective Bradshaw
snapped, through a clenched jaw
.

“Are you telling me, you’re not going
to pay for my services? Because that would be very, very foolish,” Weaver said.
He ran a hand over the top of his bald head, then crossed his other arm behind
his back.

“I can’t pay,” Tara whispered.

“Then this is over,” Weaver replied.
He reached into the back of his jeans. A flash of black metal appeared beneath
the hem of his shirt.

“Jack,” Cat yelled. “He’s got a gun!”

The detective whipped his weapon out
of his holster and pointed it directly at Weaver’s chest. “Freeze,” he said.
“Put your hands above your head.”

Jarred Weaver raised his arms, growling
under his breath. “This isn’t the end,” he said.

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,”
Detective Bradshaw replied. “That’s exactly what this is.” He strode forward,
weapon aimed and cuffs at the ready.