Houses and Homicide Page 10

  But Clark was yelling at a terrified Marcello, who was holding his hands up.

  “Does that look like he is holding a knife?” Pippa whispered frantically as we crouched down behind the window. “Quick, call Jackson.”

  I quietly pulled out my phone and whispered, “He killed Cheryl by drowning her, and you don’t have a pool on your property.” Then I had to think twice about that. “Do you?” For all I knew that had been one of her many renovations.

  I took a deep breath and tried to dial again.

  Of course, Buttercup chose that moment to let out the loudest mooing noise I have ever heard.

  “Who is that?” Clark called out, spinning around, while I ducked down and dropped the phone.

  I thanked my lucky stars when I heard the police sirens getting closer.

  But Pippa hadn’t joined me in ducking down. Instead, she had jumped up and sprinted into the house.

  “Pippa!” I screamed, chasing after her.

  Clark was coming down the broken hallway like a bull.

  “You too?” he said, staring at Pippa. “You think you’re going to get away with backing out of our deal? I will show you how forgiving I can be.”

  “Where is my husband?”

  Pippa pushed past him with a strength I didn’t know she even possessed and Clark fell to the floor.

  I thought she was going to get past him free and clear, but he grabbed her ankle and she went crashing to the ground, screaming as she fell.

  “Pippa!” I cried out.

  Clark pointed the knife up at me. “And don’t think you’re getting out of this either, young lady.”

  I took a step back and screamed when I ran into Jackson, who was running through the door.

  “Get out of here, Rachael!” he called. “The whole places looks like it’s going to collapse!”

  Pippa, Marcello, and I all stumbled out the door and fell onto the lawn, overcome with a mixture of adrenaline and relief.

  “It wasn’t fair of Cheryl to try and back out of our deal!” Clark shouted while he was being dragged away by Jackson.

  I shook my head in disbelief. “This place is a hazard!” I shouted back. “It almost caved in and killed Pippa and her family last week. Cheryl was just smart enough to see that; she didn’t deserve to die because of it.”

  I wasn’t sure, though. I thought about the unpaid hotel bill and the collections notice from the car rental company. Were they real? Had Jarrod and Anderson really just been playing her? I had firsthand experience and knew that she could be a little irresponsible. Maybe Cheryl hadn’t even discovered that the foundation was dodgy. Maybe she’d just flaked on Clark like she was going to do to us.

  Either way, it didn’t mean that she deserved to get killed.

  Two Weeks Later.

  I owed someone a big apology.

  “I’ll try the vegan cheesecake slice,” I said when I finally got to the front of the line. “I’m feeling brave today.”

  Blake shook his head and tried not to laugh. “I’m not sure how much longer I can keep the shop at this size without expanding.”

  “What about the storefront next door?”

  He shook his head. “Already been leased by an outlet store.”

  “Oh, right. That’s too bad.”

  “What about you guys?” Blake asked, taking a break from serving. He walked over and joined me on a bar stool. “Without the money from The Pasty Tree, what are you going to do?”

  I took a bite of the vegan cheesecake. It was an acquired taste, but one I could possibly get used to.

  I shrugged. “We’ll survive. We always have before. There will always be other Pastry Trees, I guess.”

  Blake was quiet for a while.

  “I mean, we could always think about going into business together,” Blake commented casually, as though he’d just thought of the idea.

  I was in shock. “But I thought you didn’t want to compromise on your vision.”

  “I didn’t want to sell out to a corporation,” he said with another shrug. “Your bakery is cute. I told you that, remember.”

  Yeah, but I thought he’d been patronizing me.

  I scratched my head, still in complete shock.

  “Think about it, Rachael.”

  I kept it from Pippa, for the time being.

  She had another big surprise for me. I was sitting in the bakery, waiting to hear it.

  “Okay,” she said with a deep breath. “We have decided to buy a cheaper property. And, well, it’s a little out of town.”

  My face fell. “How far out of town?”

  “Just on the edges. It’s technically a small farm. Buttercup will be able to live there. All the animals will.”

  I nodded. It seemed like everything had worked out.

  “That sounds fantastic, Pippa. I’ll have to come and visit as soon as possible. But not tonight, I’m afraid.”

  Pippa crossed her arms. “Is it your turn to cook on the cooking roster?”

  “I’ve got a date, actually,” I replied.

  “With who? With Blake?”

  “Get out of town,” I said, threatening to hit her with my purse. “No, with Jackson.”

  I didn’t say anything else, just walked out, but the whole ride to the restaurant, I was thinking… Was Sue right?

  If Jackson and I were going to be together…

  Was I going to have to give up solving mysteries, for good?

  Thanks for reading Houses and Homicide. I hope you enjoyed the story. If you did, it would be awesome if you left a review for me on Amazon and/or Goodreads.

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  Lastly, at the very end of the book, I have included a couple previews of books by friends and fellow authors at Fairfield Publishing. First is a preview of Up in Smoke by Shannon VanBergen - it’s a fun (and funny) story about vigilante grannies in a retirement home who solve crimes and stir up all kinds of trouble. Second is a preview of Croissants and Corruption by Danielle Collins - it’s the first story in the popular Margot Durand Cozy Mystery series. I really hope you like the samples. If you do, both books are available on Amazon.

  Get Up in Smoke here:

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  Preview: Up in Smoke

  I could feel my hair puffing up like cotton candy in the humidity as I stepped outside the Miami airport. I pushed a sticky strand from my face, and I wished for a minute that it were a cheerful pink instead of dirty blond, just to complete the illusion.

  “Thank you so much for picking me up from the airport.” I smiled at the sprightly old lady I was struggling to keep up with. “But why did you say my grandmother couldn’t pick me up?”

  “I didn’t say.” She turned and gave me a toothy grin—clearly none of them original—and winked. “I parked over here.”

  When we got to her car, she opened the trunk and threw in the sign she had been holding when she met me in baggage claim. The letters were done in gold glitter glue and she had drawn flowers with markers all around the edges. My name “Nikki Rae Parker” flashed when the sun reflected off of them, temporarily blinding me.

  “I can tell you put a lot of work into that sign.” I carefully put my luggage to the side of it, making sure not to touch her sign—partially because I didn’t want to crush it and partiall
y because it didn’t look like the glue had dried yet.

  “Well, your grandmother didn’t give me much time to make it. I only had about ten minutes.” She glanced at the sign proudly before closing the trunk. She looked me in the eyes. “Let’s get on the road. We can chit chat in the car.”

  With that, she climbed in and clicked on her seat belt. As I got in, she was applying a thick coat of bright red lipstick while looking in the rearview mirror. “Gotta look sharp in case we get pulled over.” She winked again, her heavily wrinkled eyelid looking like it thought about staying closed before it sprung back up again.

  I thought about her words for a moment. She must get pulled over a lot, I thought. Poor old lady. I could picture her going ten miles an hour while the rest of Miami flew by her.

  “Better buckle up.” She pinched her lips together before blotting them slightly on a tissue. She smiled at me and for a moment, I was jealous of her pouty lips, every line filled in by layers and layers of red.

  I did as I was told and buckled my seat belt before I sunk down into her caramel leather seats. I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, from the trip. I closed my eyes and tried to forget my troubles, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly to give all my worry and fear ample time to escape my body. For the first time since I had made the decision to come here, I felt at peace. Unfortunately, it was short-lived.

  The sound of squealing tires filled the air and my eyes flung open to see this old lady zigzagging through the parking garage. She took the turns without hitting the brakes, hugging each curve like a racecar driver. When we exited the garage and turned onto the street, she broke out in laughter. “That’s my favorite part!”

  I tugged my seat belt to make sure it was on tight. This was not going to be the relaxing drive I had thought it would be.

  We hit the highway and I felt like I was in an arcade game. She wove in and out of traffic at a speed I was sure matched her old age.

  “Ya know, the older I get the worse other people drive.” She took one hand off the wheel and started to rummage through her purse, which sat between us.

  “Um, can I help you with something?” My nerves were starting to get the best of me as her eyes were focused more on her purse than the road.

  “Oh no, I’ve got it. I’m sure it’s in here somewhere.” She dug a little more, pulling out a package of AA batteries and then a ham sandwich.

  Brake lights lit up in front of us and I screamed, bracing myself for impact. The old woman glanced up and pulled the car to the left in a quick jerk before returning to her purse. Horns blared from behind us.

  “There it is!” She pulled out a package of wintergreen Life Savers. “Do you want one?”

  “No, thank you.” I could barely get the words out.

  “I learned a long time ago that it was easier if I just drove and did my thing instead of worrying about what all the other drivers were doing. It’s easier for them to get out of my way instead of me getting out of theirs. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.” She popped a mint in her mouth and smiled. “I love wintergreen. I don’t know why peppermint is more popular. Peppermint is so stuffy; wintergreen is fun.”

  She seemed to get in a groove with her driving and soon my grip was loosening on the sides of the seat, the blood slowly returning to my knuckles. Suddenly I realized I hadn’t asked her name.

  “I was so confused when you picked me up from the airport instead of my Grandma Dean that I never asked your name.”

  She didn’t respond, just kept her eyes on the road with a steely look on her face. I was happy to see her finally being serious about driving, so I turned to look out the window. “It’s beautiful here,” I said after a few minutes of silence. I turned to look at her again and noticed that she was still focused straight ahead. I stared at her for a moment and realized she never blinked. Panic rose through my chest.

  “Ma’am!” I shouted as I leaned forward to take the wheel. “Are you okay?”

  She suddenly sprung to action, screaming and jerking the wheel to the left. Her screaming caused me to scream and I grabbed the wheel and pulled it to the right, trying to get us back in our lane. We continued to scream until the car stopped teetering and settled down to a nice hum on the road.

  “Are you trying to kill us?” The woman’s voice was hoarse and she seemed out of breath.

  “I tried to talk to you and you didn’t answer!” I practically shouted. “I thought you had a heart attack or something!”

  “You almost gave me one!” She flashed me a dirty look. “And you made me swallow my mint. You’re lucky I didn’t choke to death!”

  “I’m sorry.” As I said the words, I noticed my heart was beating in my ears. “I really thought something had happened to you.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Well, to be honest with you, I did doze off for a moment.” She looked at me, pride spreading across her face. “I sleep with my eyes open. Do you know anyone who can do that?”

  Before I could answer, she was telling me about her friend Delores who “claimed” she could sleep with her eyes open but, as it turned out, just slept with one eye half-open because she had a stroke and it wouldn’t close all the way.

  I sat there in silence before saying a quick prayer. My hands resumed their spot around the seat cushion and I could feel the blood draining from my knuckles yet again.

  “So what was it you tried to talk to me about before you nearly killed us?”

  I swallowed hard, trying to push away the irritation that fought to come out.

  “I asked you what your name was.” I stared at her and decided right then that I wouldn’t take my eyes off of her for the rest of the trip. I would make sure she stayed awake, even if it meant talking to her the entire time.

  “Oh yes! My name is Hattie Sue Miller,” she said with a bit of arrogance. She glanced at me. “My father used to own most of this land.” She motioned to either side of us. “Until he sold it and made a fortune.” She gave me a look and dropped her voice to a whisper as she raised one eyebrow. “Of course we don’t talk about money. That would be inappropriate.” She said that last part like I had just asked her when she had last had sex. I felt ashamed until I realized I had never asked her about her money; I had simply asked her name. This woman was a nut. Didn’t Grandma Dean have any other friends she could’ve sent to get me?

  For the next hour or so, I asked her all kinds of questions to keep her awake—none of them about money or anything I thought might lead to money. If what she told me was true, she had a very interesting upbringing. She claimed to be related to Julia Tuttle, the woman who founded Miami. Her stories of how she got a railroad company to agree to build tracks there were fascinating. It wasn’t until she told me she was also related to Michael Jackson that I started to question how true her stories were.

  “We’re almost there! Geraldine will be so happy to see you. You’re all she’s talked about the last two weeks.” She pulled into a street lined with palm trees. “You’re going to love it here.” She smiled as she drove. “I’ve lived here a long time. It’s far enough away from the city that you don’t have all that hullaballoo, but big enough that you can eat at a different restaurant every day for a month.”

  When we entered the downtown area, heavy gray smoke hung in the air, and the road was blocked by a fire truck and two police cars.

  “Oh no! I think there might have been a fire!” I leaned forward in my seat, trying to get a better look.

  “Of course there was a fire!” Hattie huffed like I was an idiot. “That’s why Geraldine sent me to get you!”

  “What?! Is she okay?” I scanned the crowd and saw her immediately. She was easy to spot, even at our distance.

  “Oh yes. She’s fine. Her shop went up in flames as she was headed out the door. She got the call from a neighboring store owner and called me right away to go get you. Honestly, I barely had time to make you a sign.” She acted like Grandma Dean had really put her in a bad position, leav
ing her only minutes to get my name on a piece of poster board.

  Hattie pulled over and I jumped out; I’d come back for my luggage later. As I made my way toward the crowd, I was amazed at how little my Grandma Dean—or Grandma Dean-Dean, as I had called her since I was a little girl—had changed. Her bleach blonde hair was nearly white and cut in a cute bob that was level with her chin. She wore skintight light blue denim capris, which hugged her tiny frame. Her bright white t-shirt was the background for a long colorful necklace that appeared to be a string of beads. Thanks to a pair of bright red heels, she stood eye to eye with the fireman she was talking to.

  I ran up to her and called out to her. “Grandma! Are you okay?” She flashed me a look of disgust before she smiled weakly at the fireman and said something I couldn’t make out.

  She turned her back to him and grabbed me by the arm. “I told you to never call me that!” She softened her tone then looked me over. “You look exhausted! Was it the flight or riding with that crazy Hattie?” She didn’t give me time to answer. “Joe, this is my daughter’s daughter, Nikki.”

  Joe smiled. I wasn’t sure if it was his perfectly white teeth that got my attention, his uniform or his sparkling blue eyes, but I was immediately speechless. I tried to say hello, but the words stuck in my throat.

  “Nikki, this is Joe Dellucci. He was born in New Jersey but his parents came from Italy. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

  I was disappointed when Joe answered without a New Jersey accent. Grandma Dean continued to tell me about Joe’s heritage, which reminded me of Hattie. Apparently once you got to a certain age, you automatically became interested in people’s backgrounds.

  He must have noticed the look of disappointment on my face. “My family moved here when I was ten. My accent only slips in when I’m tired.” His face lit up with a smile, causing mine to do the same. “Or when I eat pizza.” I had no idea what he meant by that, but it caused me to break out in nervous laughter. Grandma Dean’s look of embarrassment finally snapped me out of it.