Twice Baked Murder: A Cozy Mystery (The Rita Reincarnated Cozies Book 1)

  Twice Baked Murder

  A Rita Reincarnated Cozy Mystery

  Daphne DeWitt

  Copyright © 2017 by Daphne DeWitt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

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  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Rita’s Chocolate Pecan Supreme

  Thank You for reading!

  Author’s Note

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  Also by Daphne DeWitt

  Rita Reincarnated

  Twice Baked Murder

  Twice Layered Murder

  Twice Dipped Murder

  Cursed Coven Cozies

  Cursed at First Sight

  Cursed on the Second Date

  1

  I never thought much about how I was going to die. The whole thing just seemed so needless and morbid. Who has time to think about death when life is going so great?

  Turns out I should have.

  “Count it again!” Peggy grinned at me as I closed up the register. This was our second full week in business, and to say things were going well would have been an understatement.

  “I counted it three times already,” I answered, moving from the register to the glass display where we held all the pies, the lifeblood of our little enterprise. I was trying to hide my excitement about our success from my friend. After all, I was supposed to be the level-headed one, but I wasn’t doing a very good job. After all, it was a lot of money.

  “I know, Rita, but can you believe it?” My best friend was practically giddy, and who could blame her? She had risked a lot. After graduating from Brown with a degree in Business, I convinced Peggy to leave the hustle and bustle of Northeastern greater education and come back home.

  It wasn’t as selfish a move as it sounds. Sure, Peggy and I had been best friends since about the time we could form coherent thoughts, and there was no doubt that Second Springs just wasn’t the same without her. But, despite what my future actions might lead you to believe, I’ve never been a self-centered person.

  I persuaded – convinced -- well, strong-armed Peggy into coming back here because it was what was best for her. I had listened to her every night on the phone, growing more and more disenchanted as she lost that skip in her step, that joyful lilt in her voice. Some people weren’t built for city life, and Peggy was one of them. She thrived out here, where everyone knew everyone else, where you could count on more than one smile as you walked down the street.

  “I mean, it’s just the greatest thing ever!” She laughed.

  It was definitely back now.

  “I’m not sure ‘greatest thing ever’ applies. I’d say the printing press ranks just slightly above us in terms of all-time accomplishments, but I will admit if things keep going like this, we might actually be able to hire someone to do these deliveries.”

  I pulled out the deconstructed cardboard boxes and started putting them together, preparing for my nightly run.

  “I told you I would do those for you, Rita. It’s not fair you have to schlep those pies around town every night by yourself. I’m sure Aiden would appreciate you knocking off early every once in a while.” She winked at me.

  Color rose in my cheeks. I always blushed insanely easily and I hated that. Not that there was any reason for me to blush. Aiden and I were engaged, after all. He had put a ring on it. It was only fair for people to assume we were anxious to spend time together.

  But, we were both adults. He was busy. I was busy. And Aiden wasn’t the type of guy to need me hanging around him 24/7. It was cool. It was fine. Right?

  “Be that as it may, I enjoy it,” I answered, hoisting up a banana cream pie (Dad’s favorite) and plopping it into one of the now masterfully put together containers. “I only have two to deliver tonight anyway, and besides, I enjoy the walk. It helps me clear my head.”

  “Well, don’t let it clear too much, not when we’re on schedule to turn a profit in three months!” Peggy couldn’t believe it and, in truth, neither could I. Of course, I hadn’t sat through all those first-rate business classes, the ones that tell you how insanely lucky you are just to keep your business afloat for the first eighteen months.

  Peggy had been very doubtful when I convinced her a pie shop was exactly what a one-horse town like Second Springs was missing.

  Ever since Mrs. Delta moved down to Miami and took her cream cheese rolls with her, you could not find a good dessert in this town to save your life.

  However, even I didn’t think it would take off so quickly. Though, maybe I should have. After all, this was Second Springs. Nothing bad ever happened here.

  Telling Peggy goodnight and leaving her to lock up (because I always forgot to), I started what should have been a relatively uneventful ten-minute walk to deliver pies to Mrs. Hoover and then to Dad.

  Of course, it turned out to be neither uneventful nor ten minutes long, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  I passed by Dad’s house first, but since I technically lived there too (at least until the wedding), it seemed more practical to drop the chocolate pecan supreme off to Mrs. Hoover and then come marching into Dad’s house like the banana-cream-powered superhero I was.

  When I passed by the house though, just at the edge of the street where “Pie Ladies’ Paradise” was tearing it up businesswise, I saw his squad car was missing from the driveway.

  Immediately, I pulled out my phone and tapped his name.

  Dad hated cell phones so much, he almost never answered his, especially in Second Springs where the only thing spottier than cell reception was 4g capability, but I had the number to the precinct on speed dial. If I got really pushy, I could tap into the police channel with one of the walkie-talkies I lifted from the station. Because, you know, when your dad’s the sheriff, being able to get in touch with him puts your mind at ease.

  “Second Springs Sheriff’s Department,” the voice on the other said through a mouthful of something chunky sounding.

  “Esther, I need to speak to my father!” I yelled because, in addition to being the oldest living person in Second Springs, my dad’s secretary was extremely hard of hearing.

  “The Dodgers?” she asked. “They’re leading 7 to 4, bottom of the 8th.”

  She was also a huge baseball fan.

  “No, Esther, not the Dodgers, though I knew I should have bet on that game.” I cleared my throat. “I want to talk to my father! I’d like to know why he’s not home yet!”

  “The Jets?�
�� she repeated, mangling my narrative. “It’s not even football season. And why are you calling about this? This is a place of business, you know.”

  “No, Esther--”

  But she had hung up.

  “Of course,” I muttered. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time I had hit an Esther-shaped roadblock while trying to get in touch with Dad. So I knew just who to call.

  “Harvey!” I said, smiling.

  I could hear the nervousness in his voice the instant he answered.

  “Aw, Rita, you’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you?” My dad’s deputy was a good guy, a bit nervous, a little dim. But all in all, he was brave and had a good heart. That heart got him in over his head sometimes, especially where I was concerned. What are you gonna do? I never said knowing me was easy.

  “Not at all, Harvey,” I said, which was absolutely a lie. Harvey had been instructed on more than one occasion not to engage with me on the phone and -– if he had to — to absolutely never give out the information that I was about to get from him. See what I mean about not easy?

  “I’d just like to know what’s keeping my dad out so late tonight.”

  “That’s police business,” Harvey answered weakly. I could practically hear him biting his lip, the poor guy. I could tell from the tone of his voice it wasn’t just the loud music or reckless driving that usually kept him busy.

  “So there is something!” I answered, still walking toward Mrs. Hoover’s place.

  “I didn’t say that!” Harvey was in full on panic mode now, which told me two things; that the nervous guy was probably going to have to reapply his Speed Stick after this conversation, and that Dad was currently riffling through some case.

  “You didn’t have to,” I answered. “If nothing was going on, you’d have told me he was doing paperwork or in the bathroom or something.”

  “Can we just pretend I said that?” he muttered, defeated.

  “Nope,” I said. “Now spill. We both know I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighed and, on the other end of the phone, I could hear the background noise lessening. He was going into the supply closet. Or, as I liked to call it, Harvey’s confessional.

  “Eddie Perkin’s car was stolen tonight. We’re combing the area looking for it.”

  “Really?” I asked, stopping in my tracks and tapping my free finger against my chin under my lip. “Eddie Perkin’s niece is in town, right? The one from Conyers?”

  “Yeah, but she’s accounted for,” Harvey sighed.

  “She might be accounted for now, but I saw her in the drug store last weekend chatting up that sophomore quarterback, Evan something.”

  “Dwier,” Harvey answered, perking up a little.

  “Right. The two seemed pretty chummy. Now, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Evan something--”

  “Dwier,” Harvey corrected.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Didn’t he crash his dirt bike last month while racing it?” I shook my head because it was all coming together. “And there’s a concert in Hillbrook tonight too, that new alt band, The Other Side of Normal. I’d bet dollars to this banana cream in my left hand that’s where you’ll find the car.”

  “But the niece is accounted for. Didn’t you hear me?” Harvey asked.

  “Sure, she might be, or she might have done what every teenager girl who wants to do something bad with a cute boy has done since the dawn of time.”

  “Text?” Harvey asked.

  “Have Eddie Perkins go up to the room she’s sleeping in. If I’m right, and I usually am, he’ll find that his niece is now a stack of pillows under a blanket and that his car is tucked safely outside a concert venue two towns away.” I beamed just a little, the way you do when you solve a crime.

  “You’re amazing,” Harvey answered, sounding noticeably relieved.

  “Don’t you forget it,” I answered. “And, Harvey, why don’t you bring this to my dad yourself? Let him believe you came to it on your own.”

  “Is that because you’re looking out for me or because the last time he caught you snooping around his case files, he nearly blew a gasket?”

  “Either way,” I shrugged. “Let’s go with the ‘helping you’ bit. It makes me feel better about myself.” In fact, doing this did make me feel better about myself. My dad was the sheriff, after all. I grew up with this kind of thing, and though Dad hated the idea of me getting involved in it, helping out was kind of a secret pleasure of mine.

  “If you really want to help me out you could give me some of that banana cream pie you were talking about,” he chuckled.

  “Maybe next time, Slick,” I grinned and hung up.

  When I made it to Mrs. Hoover’s, marching down the old stone steps that led into the valley where she lived, I was yawning more than I’d have cared to admit. Maybe Peggy was on to something with this whole “shorter days” thing.

  Still, Mrs. Hoover was a kind woman and too sickly to get out much. So bringing her the pie was less about decadent chocolate against a caramel-laden crust and more about giving the sweet old lady someone to talk to.

  My mouth watered as a breeze wafted the sweet scent up to my nose. Okay, so maybe it was about the chocolate and caramel -- goodness knows, I couldn’t blame her.

  I reached for the knob to twist it because Mrs. Hoover was expecting me and getting to the door was something of a feat for her, but I found it already open.

  Narrowing my eyes, I pushed forward.

  “Mrs. Hoover,” I shouted down the eerily quiet hallway. “Mrs. Hoover, it’s Rita Clarke. I’ve got a pie for you.” I moved into the living room, my hand tensing around the bag. “It’s chocolate pecan supreme. Your favori—”

  My heart skipped a beat as I took the room in, my mind racing.

  Everything was a mess. The couch was flipped over. A hole was torn into the carpet, and the boards beneath had been ripped up with something.

  A fire burned in the fireplace, and all the closets were flung open. Someone had ransacked this place, but where was Mrs. Hoover?

  Looking down, I saw a wrench beside the hole in the floor. It glistened red and wet against the fire. And as I moved closer, I saw that was because the head of it was covered in blood.

  I spun, rushing out of the house.

  I kept running while pulling the phone out of my pocket. Darn. No service.

  With my heart pounding, I raced toward, and then up, the stone steps. I had talked to Harvey up there. Maybe I could make a call now, too.

  I settled at the top of the steps, trying to catch my breath and turning back toward Mrs. Hoover’s house. It all looked so peaceful, so normal, just like every other house in Second Springs. The idea that something nefarious had happened there, that this sweet old woman had met some horrid end sickened me.

  My call to Dad went straight to voicemail.

  I couldn’t risk Esther again right now, so I called Harvey back.

  “Hey,” he answered, much more relaxed than before. “Guess what? You were right. I told Eddie to look under the--”

  “Harvey, I need you to listen to me,” I said in a ragged-breathed rush. “I think something’s happened to Mrs. Hoover. A hole’s been cut into her floor, and there’s blood. I need you to tell my father that--”

  If I hadn't been so frantic just then, I might have heard the person as they neared me, as they settled behind me. If I had, then certainly everything would have turned out differently. But I didn’t. Not until they whispered to me with that gravelly voice.

  “You shouldn’t have done that to her.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could anyone think I was capable of doing something like this to anyone, let alone a sweet old lady. I wanted to let whoever this was know how wrong they were, how utterly out of bounds they were for even suggesting I was capable of something like this. Unfortunately, I would never get that chance.

  Before I could do any of that, a shove knocked me forward. I felt myself moving, ti
pping off the soles of my feet and arching in front of myself. My heart sped up and my mind raced to try and keep up with what was going on.

  I didn’t realize what was happening at first, only that the steps were growing closer.

  I hit them hard and kept tumbling, still trying to figure out what was happening as I rolled again and again.

  By the end of it, I was covered in blood and pie. Chocolate sauce and banana cream lay wasted all over me.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. I could only look up at the sky, at the stars and the moon as they watched me helplessly.

  I blinked tears out of my vision as I lay there for what felt like a few minutes, a star shooting across the sky.

  I made a wish, and then everything was gone.

  2

  I woke standing. No, woke isn’t the right word. That would imply that I had been sleeping, which wasn’t technically the case. I couldn’t really explain what had happened to me or how I got here … on the side of some windy, barren road under a plastic canopy.

  I just was where, a minute ago, I wasn’t.

  As long as we’ve got that cleared up.

  I shook my head, blinking fog out of eyes that felt all wrong and trying to remember what had happened to me.

  What was the last thing I remembered?

  Chocolate pies, tumbling down stone steps, and bloody wrenches. Had that been me or a character in a movie? Had it been real life or a book I had read while half asleep? Everything was so foggy and jumbled up. This wasn’t like me. This was--