Christmas Cake Murder by Rosie A. Point

Author:Rosie A. Point [Point, Rosie A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-11-30T22:00:00+00:00

11

Bee and I had decided to allocate our time according to our suspect list.

Morning would be for the warring caroling groups.

Afternoon for Georgia’s family and spouse, as well as her potential suitors if she had been having an affair.

And evening would be for Jules. Making sure she didn’t make a break for it or murder anyone. I was most suspicious of her, even though I shouldn’t have been since she was the one who’d asked us for help in the first place.

But her frantic packing yesterday… it had set off alarm bells.

We slipped out of the guesthouse at 7am and forged on toward the truck. Bee yawned continuously, occasionally casting accusatory stares my way. I usually let her sleep in, but we needed to get our morning truck prep done quickly so we could spend most of the day interviewing suspects. The rest of it, we’d serve our customers as usual.

“I’m not cut out for this,” Bee said, as we entered the truck. She fixed us coffees and we prepared everything for the day. Time passed quickly, and the sun rose higher and higher, casting pale morning light on the truck and the freshly scraped streets.

“There,” Bee said. “Everything’s ready. Can we go now?”

“All right.” I clapped my hands together. “First things first. We need to get out our schedule.” I washed my hands, dried them, then brought out my cellphone and set it on the counter in the truck. “I’ve got us scheduled to visit the following leaders of the caroling groups at the following times.”

“There’s three?”

“Yeah. Apparently, someone has stepped in to fill Georgia’s role in the Holy Howlers. I want to make sure that there was no motivation to get rid of her.”

“Smart.” Bee sipped coffee from her cup. “What about their addresses?”

“Phonebook, and online searches. You’d be amazed at the information you can find online, even if some of it is locked behind a paywall. Addresses, open lawsuits, hair color, eye color, mugshots.”

“I don’t know whether to be proud or scared,” Bee said, wiping a fake happy tear from one eye. “So, we know where all of them stay. Any preliminary notes?”

“Not really, no. I’m thinking we go chat to Betty first.”

“Which one was she again?” my friend asked.

“Black crushed velvet, bleeding heart. Blonde bob?”

“You had me at crushed velvet.” Bee fake retched.

I copied Betty’s home address and put it into my maps app before heading to the door that separated the back of the food truck from the cabin. We took our places, put on our seatbelts, and headed off.

The streets in the center of town were already alive with activity, much of it based around the competing Santa Clauses shouting over each other, while half-amused, half-scared shoppers skirted around them.

Entering the suburbs brought a quiet juxtaposition—even if the houses were dressed to the nines in lights and decorations.

Betty lived on Cotton Street in a middle-class area that was big on decorations. A few of the houses had nativity scenes out front. Most of the occupants had gone all out with full scale depictions of Santa Claus delivering presents.

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