The Pumpkin Killer: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Read online

  Pippa pushed her plate of pancakes to the side.

  "I am worried about you, Rach. That's why I'm so intent on finding out who this copycat killer is. I don't want to just write it off as a fluke. Lives could be in danger here."

  I bit my tongue. It seemed like I'd been doing that a lot lately. With Pippa about to go into labor any moment, it was really not the time to start a fight. What I wanted to say was, No, the real reason you're so obsessed with this is because you are obsessed with anything spooky and paranormal. You only want to prove it's true because that would mean you were right all along.

  But that would have been a mean thing to say so I just swallowed my frustrations. I wondered if she'd be so happy about being proven right if she knew that Tegan had essentially cut all ties with her. After all, wasn't Tegan the one she was trying to impress with all this paranormal stuff? Seemed like that had blown up in her face, big time. But I felt really bad for her, regardless. It sucks to lose a friend, and it seemed like Tegan was ending the friendship over nothing more than petty jealousy.

  I stood up. "I'd better get to work. I hate to think of the mess Simona will leave the bakery in if I don't get in to supervise."

  "Have you seen the paper?" Simona asked as soon as I walked through the door.

  "Good morning to you too," I said brightly. "And no. I haven't seen the paper."

  I took my purse off and picked up my apron to tie around my waist. "Your best friend Pippa is all over it." She picked the newspaper up off the bench and handed it to me.

  I groaned inwardly. Looked like the genie was out of the bottle and there was no use trying to push it back inside.

  "Is the Pumpkin Killer from one hundred years ago back to haunt the town? Paranormal expert Pippa Rossomando fills us in."

  Paranormal expert. No wonder Tegan was peeved. She was usually the one people called for an 'expert' opinion on these sorts of matters.

  "I don't think I want to read this," I said, setting the paper back down.

  "Is it true, though? Is there some sort of maniac on the loose?" Simona looked seriously stressed out. "And is the killer really targeting bakers?" She shook her head and looked around. "I'm not sure I want to work here anymore," she said, her hands up in the air like she was under arrest.

  You barely work here now, I wanted to say. "Listen," I said calmly. "There is nothing to get upset over. It's just a whole lot of silly Halloween superstition, that's all."

  "You think it's silly?" Simona asked in surprise. "Isn't Pippa your best friend?"

  I sighed. "Yes, she is. Don't worry about that now. Just get back to work."

  I left Simona in charge, reluctantly, while I left to do some banking on the other end of the street. I probably didn't have much to worry about, though; we probably wouldn't get a single customer all morning.

  Belldale was like a ghost town.

  There was no one else out on the street except me. I shook my head. If anyone should be hiding, it ought to be me. I held my head up high and walked down the street, but I kept getting this strange feeling that I was being trailed and kept looking over my shoulder like a paranoid loser.

  But weren't we all acting like paranoid losers at that moment?

  It was true. Ever since word of this whole Belldale Halloween Killer had spread around town, people were acting completely loony. Every shop I walked past, people would catch my eye and duck down, as though they were in danger right then and there. Some of the shops were even closed. Pippa texted me and told me that people were leaving town.

  I was the only person in the bank, making it the quickest visit to that institute I had ever made. Maybe there were some upsides to this whole fiasco after all.

  Arriving back at the bakery, I thought we actually had a customer, but when I got closer I realized it was only Pippa.

  "You should be resting."

  Pippa sighed. "It's hard to enjoy my newfound celebrity indoors," she said. Then she pouted. "It's also hard to enjoy it when there's absolutely no one else outside."

  "Yeah, well, I think you scared them off," Simona said from behind the counter. I threw her a look to caution her to mind her manners. I may have been thinking the same thing, but that was no way to speak to someone who was her superior at the bakery.

  But Pippa barely seemed to register what Simona had said. She had other things on her mind.

  "Rach, have you forgotten about the candies you're supposed to be making for the trick-or-treaters?"

  I let out a heavy sigh and dropped my bank book on the table. "No, I haven't forgotten. But at this rate, Pippa," I had to point out, "I doubt there is going to be anyone trick-or-treating this Halloween. Everyone is too scared to leave their house."

  Pippa frowned and nodded with wide eyes. Somehow this didn't seem to distress her. She seemed to be taking it as some kind of challenge.

  "You're right, Rach," she murmured. "Halloween is going to be a disaster this year. It might wind up being cancelled all together."

  She looked up at me triumphantly. "Well, now we really have to solve this murder, Rachael. We've got a second reason, a reason far greater than you and I. We have to save Halloween."

  Oh brother.

  We climbed into the car. "Camille gave us a few leads," I said, putting my sunglasses on. "Right?" For an October afternoon, it was pretty sunny out. "So we ought to follow them up."

  Pippa nodded and pulled out her notebook. "I know you were pretty freaked out at the time, what with the whole Oscar being a baker thing," she said. "So I wrote everything down. I guess the first person to check out is the guy he was supposed to be going into business with." She pulled on her seatbelt and shot me a look. "If he's even at work today, that is."

  It was a silent, eerie car ride across town.

  "This doesn't look much like a bakery," I stated, looking up at the tiny office that sat on the second floor. It was just an industrial estate, not a retail outlet. "No wonder I've never heard of him."

  Pippa nodded. "He works out of the office, but he decorates the cakes at home, apparently," she stated. "He just works on a client-by-client basis, on commission. He doesn't sell to the public."

  "Right."

  Kenneth was a local cake decorator, who'd apparently gotten into a massive fight with Oscar right before he died. According to Camille, Oscar had needed a loan to start his own bakery, or better yet, a silent partner. Kenneth, a budding cake decorator, was supposed to be that silent partner. But apparently Kenneth had been not-so-silent and things had blown up between them. Camille had no idea about any of the intimate details of the fight, even though the two of them supposedly 'told each other everything.'

  "Is a business feud enough to kill over?" I asked Pippa before I pressed the doorbell.

  She raised an eyebrow. "Maybe we're about to find out."

  Kenneth was young as well, but looked a few years older than Oscar. He had a trendy ginger beard and visible tattoos on his arms.

  "Can we speak to you for a few minutes?" I asked him once he'd opened the door. "We're thinking of ordering a cake for a special event."

  Kenneth just stared at us for a moment, his eyes heavy. "Come on," he said. "Give me a little credit. The streets are empty today. No one is just walking around randomly ordering cakes. Why don't you tell me why you're really here?"

  "Fine," I said. "We want to talk to you about Oscar Malone."

  Kenneth shook his head. "You're a bit late for that. The cops have already spoken to me." He shrugged and stood back to let us into his small office anyway. "It's no secret that I wasn't on speaking terms with Oscar, but I'm still shocked and upset to hear about his death."

  "So, you were going to go into business with Oscar," I said to Kenneth, who turned his back to us and sat down in front of his computer. There was no sign, at all, that he ran a cake decorating business.

  He shrugged a little. "We were only in talks. Nothing was ever set in stone."

  I shot Pippa a look. That wasn’t the way Camille had told it. She'd
said the contract was set up, Oscar had signed it, and the only thing left was for Kenneth to sign on the dotted line himself. If this guy was already lying to us, just how trustworthy could he be?

  "But you knew Oscar well, right?"

  Again, Kenneth shrugged, like this was all no big deal to him. "Not that well. We'd met a few times, that's all."

  "Hmm, funny, because I wouldn't ever go into business with a guy I'd only met a few times."

  He shot me a look. "Like I said, nothing was ever set in stone."

  I leaned against a set of drawers with a small potted plant on top. Pippa had been given the only spare seat in the room. There wasn't much air flow and with three people in the tiny space, it was already overheating.

  "What was your fight about?" I asked Kenneth.

  He looked up from his computer. "There was no fight. I just backed out, that's all."

  Hmm. "And why did you back out?"

  Kenneth shook his head. Our presence was starting to annoy him now. "It's not a great time to be opening a bakery. I looked at my finances and realized I'd be better off keeping my overhead low. Just working out of home and this office."

  "But you were supposed to be a silent partner, right?"

  Kenneth frowned. "Well, yes and no. I was supposed to be an equal partner with Oscar. But I still wanted a say in how the business was run. He was going to bake; I was going to decorate some of the time. That was the loose plan. But nothing was ever actually finalized. I thought he was going ahead with someone else. Is that hard to understand?" he asked angrily.

  Whoa there. I had the feeling that I was the misplaced source of his anger at that moment. "No, it's not hard to understand," I said, straightening up.

  Pippa cleared her throat. "So the reason you backed out was purely professional? You didn't have any problems working with Oscar?"

  I saw Kenneth's face change. His eyes darted around, not really focusing as he answered. "No. Oscar and I got along just fine. He was a good guy. I guess. I didn't know him that well."

  "Really?" Pippa asked, surprised. "Because we've heard from a few people that he could rub some the wrong way. A bit loud, a bit of a party animal...a little bit irresponsible. Not really the best person to be going into business with."

  "Like I said, it was purely a financial issue." Kenneth stood up. "If you don't mind, I really have to get back to work. I'm sure you can find your way out."

  Pippa and I climbed back into the car. "That guy was definitely hiding something," I said, staring up at the building. I could see the set of drawers with the plant that I'd been leaning on, but not Kenneth. "Though I have to admit, I'm glad they never opened that bakery." I frowned. "Geez, is that a terrible thing to say? Maybe Oscar would still be alive if they'd actually opened it."

  I started the car and pulled away, but I still felt funny about the whole thing. Guilty. If Oscar and Kenneth had actually opened their bakery, they'd have been my competition. I couldn't help feeling relieved that their plans had never come to fruition. But that didn't mean I was glad that Oscar was dead.

  "I think he's guilty," Pippa said.

  "He's a baker himself, though. Why would he be targeting other bakers?" If anything, Kenneth might be the next victim. "Maybe we should drive back and warn him," I said quietly. Pippa didn't hear me, though. I was a little glad. My muttering was practically a concession that she was right. I didn't want to freak anyone else out, but I still wondered if I might give Kenneth a call later.

  "Hey, what is my toothbrush doing here in a box in your room! Hang on, what is my Spice Girls t-shirt doing here!"

  I heard Pippa's voice from the other end of the house and smacked my palm against my head. I'd told her to lay down in my room because it was the nearest to the door and she'd been feeling faint when we'd walked in. I'd completely forgotten that Tegan's box was still on the floor.

  I came running into the room with a glass of water, but Pippa was in no mood to drink it. "Did Tegan drop this off?" Her face was bright red. She was fuming.

  The answer was so obvious I didn't need to give it. "I think she is just being overdramatic, Pippa."

  "I have been such a good friend to her! What is her problem!" Pippa looked like she was about to explode. "She’s just jealous because I am getting all this attention instead of her! What a...what a..."

  "You really need to lay down, Pippa," I warned her.

  "No way. I am going over there to confront her right now!"

  "You are doing no such thing, Pippa. Lay down right now!" I ordered. "Enough! You're acting childish! And you need to start acting responsible! Like a mother! You need to drop all this paranormal nonsense as well! You hear me? It's not good for you. Or for anyone."

  Even I was a little taken aback by my outburst. Like a chastised child, Pippa sat down quietly on the bed. "Okay," she said.

  "Drink this. And do what you're told from now on," I said, still in parent mode. Once I was sure she wasn't actually going to escape, I snuck away and pulled my phone out of my pocket, dialing Kenneth's number.

  "Kenneth?" I said when he answered the phone. "It's Rachael Robinson. We met today. I need to see you again. I need to tell you something."

  Chapter 7

  We were back in front of Camille's apartment building, our old apartment building, but this time we weren't there to see her. We were there to see her neighbor, who apparently we had to refer to as Mrs. Carlton and never by her first name.

  I'd reluctantly brought Pippa along, because she was the one who'd been listening when we'd spoken to Camille.

  "Okay," Pippa said, flipping through her notebook. "Mrs. Carlton lives in the house right next to the apartments."

  Real estate space was sparse and Mrs. Carlton's house was built so close to the building that there was only about a foot of space between them.

  Pippa was quiet for a second while she checked her notes. "Hmm, apparently, Mrs. Carlton made a noise complaint a while ago following a party that Oscar threw one night and Oscar retaliated by complaining to the city about some trash in her front yard." Pippa sighed. "Typical neighbor feuding, really. But these kinds of things do have a habit of escalating."

  "We both know that people have killed over far less," I said, taking off my seatbelt and stepping out of the car. Camille was standing at her window on the second floor, looking down at us with a weak smile.

  Camille shot me a wave and I waved back. I wondered who was the "Pippa" in her relationship with Oscar and who was the "Rachael."

  Hmm, I supposed I was the Oscar, wasn't I? The baker. The one who was going to wind up dead if we didn't put a stop to this.

  Come on, Rachael, you can't go thinking like that.

  Mrs. Carlton's front yard was perfect; rows of mums and other flowers that went right up to her front door with not a weed in sight, nor any traces of dirt or mud, even though she must have spent hours out there weeding. Or paying someone else to. The white lace curtains were pulled open and I could see that her house was arranged just as immaculately as her flower beds, with black furniture and white walls, all arranged in a minimalist fashion.

  She pulled the door open and I was a little surprised to see such a feeble looking woman standing there. She was dressed casually but conservatively in jeans and a white button-down top, with a face that was made up quite heavily, but there was no hiding the wrinkles underneath. This lady was at least seventy years old. Did she really kill a young man of twenty-nine and drag his body halfway across town, hanging it upside-down from a tree branch?

  "Good morning, Mrs. Carlton. Can we talk to you for a few minutes?" I asked, trying to be as polite as possible. I could tell she was a woman who reacted well to proper manners and scorned those who didn't abide by the unspoken rules of etiquette.

  "Who are you, the cops? You certainly don't look like it. Why should I speak to either one of you?" Her own tone was anything but polite. Like I said, it's always easier dealing with young people in these situations.

  A year or two ago, her
comment would have put me off guard, make me feel inadequate—who WAS I to knock on someone's door and demand to speak to them?—and lose confidence. But these days, I felt just as competent as any officer in Belldale. More so, to be blunt.

  "We're looking into the death of Oscar Malone," I said, still maintaining my politeness. "And my friend here," I said, gesturing to a very exhausted looking Pippa, "really needs to sit down, Mrs. Carlton."

  Mrs. Carlton sighed. "Very well then. Come on inside. Hurry, you're letting the cold air in."

  "We heard that you didn't get along to well with your neighbor, Oscar." I took a sip out of the delicate tea cup Mrs. Carlton had given me. It was a very weak cup of tea, but I didn't want to say anything that would offend her so I kept drinking even though it only tasted of hot water.

  She took a sip of her own tea and sighed satisfactorily. "I was sorry to hear about his passing," she said, but it was in a polite, uptight way. It was the kind of thing you say when someone dies, of course, but there wasn't a lot of conviction in her voice.

  "So, did you get along well with Oscar?" I asked, trying to act like it was a casual inquiry.

  "I'm not very close with any of the youngsters in those apartments," she said in a clipped voice. "I barely know any of them."

  I wondered if she knew that Pippa and I had lived there only six months earlier. I certainly didn't recognize her, but then again, I've never been particularly close with my neighbors. I wouldn't recognize our current ones if we bumped into them in the street.

  "How long have you lived here?" I asked casually. "It's a lovely house."

  "Around four months now," she said with a heavy sigh. "Though I'm starting to regret my purchase. I hadn't known I would be living next to a gang of hooligans and party animals."

  "Was Oscar Malone one of those party animals?" I asked, taking another sip of tea. I peered over the top of my cup as I waited for her answer.

  Mrs. Carlton reached over to the coffee table and rearranged the vase of flowers there, pursing her lips. "He was a very rude boy," she said. "Always throwing parties. He had no respect for anyone else who lives on this street. None of you young people do."