Macarons and Murder: A Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Book 8 by Point Rosie A

Author:Point, Rosie A.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

11

No macarons this time.

I marched down the road with Bee at my side, Buddy with us on the end of a lead, the fresh morning dew glistening in the grass. It was just past 7 am, but neither of us could sleep a wink more—we’d woken up without bleary eyes for once, and had a cup of coffee each, a quick freshen up, and then set off.

It was time to confront Charlene.

And if she didn’t tell us what we wanted, we’d simply hand everything over to Detective Hanson and tell him what had happened. We could hardly be blamed for wanting to look after Buddy and finding a way into Ronald’s camper.

They would take it from there. Possibly with us looking over their shoulders.

Regardless of which way it happened, I was desperate to know what the letter had meant. And why Charlene had asked Ronald to meet her and a mystery person in the woods. Had that invitation come before the campfire event? Was it on that invitation that Ronald had gone into the woods?

If so, we might have a connection between Charlene and the crime scene. Except… the letter wasn’t dated.

Bee, Buddy and I reached the cherry red RV and found it with its door closed and the curtains drawn.

“Probably still asleep,” I said, checking my filigree watch.

“I don’t blame them. It’s earlier than should be legal to wake up.” Bee liked to sleep in—though she’d set that habit aside so she could do prep work on the truck most days.

I walked up the front steps and rapped my knuckles on the door.

Birds tweeted in the trees, and another camper’s door opened down the road. A young boy ran out and grabbed his bike from next to a car. He hopped on it and shot off up the road, the wind in his hair and a grin on his face.

I’d had a bike like his as a kid and, boy, had I made good use of it. Gotten myself lost in all the back streams and little hidey holes when my parents weren’t looking—which had been most of the time.

I knocked on the RV’s door again.

“Whatya want?” The grumbled shout came from inside.

I knocked instead of answering—Van probably wouldn’t open up if he knew it was us.

Finally, the door swung inward and he appeared in his usual stained vest, and a pair of checked boxer shorts that were almost threadbare and definitely indecent. His jowls wobbled with ill-contained rage. “It’s the middle of the night!” he growled.

“Sir, it’s 7 am,” I replied.

“Same thing.”

“We’re here to speak to Charlene,” Bee said, stiffly. Buddy sat next to her, scratching under his collar. “About Buddy. She was meant to look after him and she didn’t. Is she home?”

Van sniffed. “Nope.”

“Then she’s in the office?” I asked.

“How should I know?”

“We were under the impression that you were her husband,” I replied, trying not to put too much sarcasm into my words. This guy rubbed me up the wrong way. Maybe it was just men who acted like pigs who got a rise out of me.

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