Muffin murder, p.1
Muffin Murder, page 1
Muffin Murder
A PRIDE STREET PARANORMAL COZY MYSTERY
BOOK THREE
T. THORN COYLE
Sushi Scandal Copyright © 2022
T. Thorn Coyle
PF Publishing
Editing by Annie Reed
Cover Design © 2022
T. Thorn Coyle and PF Publishing
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-946476-41-8
This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or locales is coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved.
For my Kickstarter backers, Patreon supporters, and for my strange and wonderful found family.
You know who you are.
CHAPTER 1
Marsha
I danced in front of the door of the big Craftsman house we live in, claws scrabbling at the patterned carpet runner, waiting to head out on our promised walk to visit our best friend, Bruiser.
“Come on!” I barked. “What’s the hold up?”
“Settle down there, Marsha P. Johnson,” John said. “Garrett and I still need to get our shoes on. Bruiser will be waiting for you no matter what time we show up.”
And people think a corgi’s life is easy. They think all we have to do is look cute, and food and skritches fall out of the sky.
Well, let me tell you, that’s only half the truth. The other half is that corgis can’t open doors, or go outside on our own—except through the dog door to the backyard to pee—and we only get food when our humans want to feed us.
Or when they’ve dropped something on the floor.
“Klaus!” I barked again. “Make them hurry!”
“I can’t!” he whined.
I swear, that dog has no initiative.
“Okay! Okay!” Garrett finished tying his leather shoes, then stood up, straightening his tortoiseshell glasses and tucking his golden tie into his vest.
Garrett always dresses kind of fancy, but John mostly wears jeans and T-shirts. Today’s had a knife on the front. It didn’t look too friendly to me, but what do I know?
Like I said, I’m just a dog. A very smart, beautiful corgi with the most gorgeous black fur and brown and white markings and a charming, fluffy tail, it is true. But my best friend and sidekick Klaus and I are still at the mercy of human schedules and human thumbs.
Finally, John clipped on our leashes and we were out the door, and I followed Klaus’s reddish-tan and white tail and his fuzzy butt onto the broad sidewalk.
Klaus and I trotted along, pausing to sniff out the morning messages. Misty the cat had been by, it seemed, and the neighborhood possum, Hiss. Klaus hated that possum. Hiss didn’t bother me, though. John and Garrett always told us to be nice to possums because they eat ticks and other bugs we don’t want crawling in our fur.
We scampered beneath the big cherry trees then turned the corner onto Pride Street. The trees here were taller. Maples and elms, Garrett said. And all of a sudden, there were shops, and people, and yummy smells.
“Ooh!” Garrett said. “Mystical Muffins! You think Bruiser’s carries these yet?”
“I wonder what’s mystical about them? Does eating them give you special powers or something?” John asked.
Garrett laughed and play punched John’s arm, then made a show of shaking out his hand like he was hurt. I yipped and smiled. It’s their running joke. John exercises a lot, flinging heavy things around out in the garage. Garrett? He walks and gardens and is much softer around the middle than John.
I like both of them, though Garrett is nicer to snuggle against.
The new muffin shop had opened up next to At Your Convenience, Tracy’s store. The shop had a striped blue awning to match Tracy’s green stripes, and its name was done in some sort of swooping script. At least, I assumed it was the shop name.
Corgis can’t read.
But as we approached, the amazing smells of cinnamon, yeast, and butter wafted toward us.
“Wait.” John frowned, slowing down in front of the shop. “Is that window boarded up? I thought they just opened for business this week.”
Sure enough, the window on the far side of the door was covered with a big piece of plywood.
As Garrett and John peered in the remaining window, I propped my front paws on the ledge beneath the big sheet of glass and pressed my nose against it. A cute, round woman with pale skin, apple cheeks, and long purple hair stood behind a big counter filled with treats, gesturing at a small group of people.
She looked upset. A tall man with dark skin and kind brown eyes patted her on the shoulder. He wore a black apron patterned with symbols and stars, just like she did.
“Let’s go in and see what’s wrong,” Garrett murmured.
John poked his head in the door, “Okay if we bring our corgis in?”
“You may as well,” a sad but nice-sounding voice replied. “As long as they stay on their side of the counter, the health inspector should be okay with it.”
Soon enough, we were all inside the yummy smelling space. The black and white checkerboard floor was cool beneath my paws. I sniffed at the glass display case, looking for anything bone shaped, or otherwise dog related.
Then I noticed Klaus wasn’t at my side.
I turned. He was sniffing around the big, boarded-up window.
“What are you doing?” I asked, bumping my shoulder into his.
“I’m investigating!” he said, sounding proud.
“Well!” I humphed. “Who told you to do that? I am chief investigator in our household, and this just looks like a broken window to me!”
But actually, Klaus was right. A broken window was something to investigate. I’d been so overcome with the thought of a new kind of dog treat, I’d completely dropped the ball.
So to speak.
Klaus looked crestfallen, and I relented. A little.
“But just in case you’re right, what have you found?”
He perked up instantly and led me to the corner, where a wooden rack of greeting cards was displayed on top of a white cabinet. I guess in case people were buying baked goods as a gift?
Next to the cards were some tarot cards and crystals. I know all about those because some of John and Garrett’s friends like them.
“See that?” he woofed softly, pawing at the corner where the cabinet met the window wall.
I shouldered him aside and sniffed, but it was hard to smell anything over the baking smells and whatever polish they used on the checkerboard floors.
Human voices rose and fell behind us, but it didn’t seem like we’d been noticed yet.
I turned my head so my eye could peer down the narrow space. Sure enough, there was what looked like a shard of glass, and a scrap of paper.
“I see what you mean, but it’s too far back to reach!” I barked. “And besides, we might cut our paws on the glass.”
“What are you up to?” John’s voice came from over our heads. “We’re in a new place, and you know you need to behave, not go scratching up Belinda’s brand-new cabinets! The poor woman has enough to deal with right now!”
“A clue! A clue!” Klaus barked. “We found a clue!”
I shook my head. He’s such a dork sometimes. “We don’t know if it’s a clue, Klaus. We don’t even know if there’s a case yet.”
“Well, somebody broke this window.”
Good point. He was full of them this morning. What was making him so smart all of a sudden?
I narrowed my eyes. “Did you eat the leftover chicken livers for breakfast or something? Maybe when I was out back?”
“What’s happening?” Garret joined John.
“They seem to think something very important is behind this cabinet.”
“All right, Marsha P. Johnson. Let’s see.”
“I found it!” Klaus barked.
“You, too, Klaus.” Garrett gently pushed us both aside and crouched to look.
“Anything?” John asked.
“I’m not sure. But the dogs are right. It looks like something is stuck back there.”
Something was stuck. But what, if anything, could it mean? And did this mean we wouldn’t make it to visit our friend Bruiser the bulldog after all?
CHAPTER 2
Garrett
John and I dragged the dogs away from the boarded-up window so they wouldn’t keep scratching at whatever it was. At least now I knew where the mystic in Mystical Muffins came in. There were tarot cards, runes, crystals, all over the place, along with astrological symbols running in a painted border near the ceiling.
“Hey, Belinda?” I asked.
The poor woman looked up at me, face still distraught.
“My dogs think they found something. And since it’s in the area near the broken window, it might be connected?”
Because why else would something be stuck in that spot in a business that had only been open a week? Unless a worker had dropped something?
“Cesar.” She turned to the tall, handsome, mixed-race man at her side. Judging by the flour on his apron, he was another baker. “Could you go look? I just…can’t right now.”
“Sure thing,” he replied, heading toward the corner where cute baked-good-themed cards were on display. I assumed overstock of boxes and things were stored in the cabinet below. A shop like this always needed extra storage that looked pretty. It made me thankful for my own storeroom in the back of my shop.
He folded his lanky body onto the floor and reached long fingers into the space, pulling his hand back with a hiss.
“Something got me. I better go get a broom. After I clean and bandage this.”
A drop of red beaded on his fingertip. He held his hand up to slow the bleeding and hurried through the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
“I’m glad you two didn’t cut yourselves!” I admonished the corgis, who just looked up at me, tongues lolling out as if we were taking a walk through the park. Those dogs. I love them to pieces, but sometimes I don’t understand them.
“Is everything okay?” Belinda asked, voice quavering. “Why did Cesar run into the back?”
“He cut himself,” John said. “And went to get a broom.”
“We’ll be back later, Belinda,” said an older man.
“Please let us know if we can do anything to help,” his partner said.
The men left the bakery, and Belinda came out from behind the display case filled with things I really wanted to taste.
She was frowning. “Cut himself? There shouldn’t be anything back there. We don’t have any glass on this side of the case. Unless a shard from the window…”
We all stared at the ugly board marring the face of this bright, cozy shop.
It really was a nice space, other than the plywood. The checkerboard floor was a nice, retro touch, and everything else was painted bright white with black and silver accents. Oil paintings of cupcakes, muffins, and scones floating in clouds, held by angels, dotted the walls. Every shop needs an angle, and clearly angels, crystals, and cards was it.
When it comes to marketing, it doesn’t matter what your gimmick is, just that you have one you can make stick in people’s minds.
Two small black tables crowded near the remaining window, for customers who preferred to sit while they waited. A sign on one had information on how to sign up for tarot, palmistry, and astrology readings.
Only having two tables was smart. Not only was the customer area on the small side, two tables made it clear this wasn’t a place to linger, unless you were getting a reading. The place was clearly set up to not compete with Bruiser’s Best Beans, but would complement Bex and Jacki’s space nicely, cross pollinating the neighborhood.
“Will Bruiser’s carry your muffins?” I asked, stomach growling. I really needed breakfast, but now was not the time to be making a purchase.
Belinda’s round face brightened. “Oh, yes! Cesar dropped off a large order just this morning. Bex and Jacki have just been wonderful. I didn’t want to worry them during their set up, so I asked Cesar to not say anything about this.”
She gestured at the window and frowned again. “But I just don’t understand why anyone would want to break our window. No one else in the neighborhood was hit, and we only keep fifty dollars on hand to make change. Most people pay by card.”
I didn’t understand it either. I mean, Pride Street is a village in the middle of a larger city, but it’s usually pretty low on petty crime. I always feel safe here unless some bigoted yahoos decide to roll in from out of town and “harass the queers,” as they call it. But using much worse language.
“Got the broom.” Cesar was back, with a bandaged finger and a red broom and dustpan in his other hand. He glanced at John and me. “Can one of you help me shift the cabinet a bit?”
I held out my hand for the leashes. John was stronger and more agile than I was, and besides, he liked showing off his muscles. If I sat alone in a room all day killing people and blowing things up, I might want to do more physical labor, too.
John writes thrillers and mysteries for a living. He’s also an extrovert who loves nothing more than being around other people.
Me? I’m an awkward, nerdy trans dandy who is as introverted as they come. But I run a store and design business and interact with the public six days a week.
Go figure.
John slid his fingertips beneath the front lip of the cabinet, lifted it with a grunt, and shifted it a quarter inch.
“Told you we shouldn’t anchor the cabinets out here,” Cesar remarked, sliding the broom bristles into the gap.
“Yes, well, how was I to know someone would smash out our front window before we’d been open even a week?” Belinda complained. She crossed her arms over her ample chest and frowned. “I mean, who does that? And why?”
“Was anything taken?” I asked.
She shook her long, purple tresses. “They didn’t even come in, as far as I can tell. We walked the whole bakery with the woman from the insurance company. She asked the same thing. But nothing was taken or even out of place.”
Weird. I looked around the bakery again as John and Cesar worked to free whatever was stuck.
It just looked like a bakery. Nothing weird or ominous stood out.
“Got it!” Cesar said, clutching a torn scrap of paper in his bandaged hand. Then, with one more swipe of the broom, something clattered on the floor.
John shifted the cabinet back into place and dropped it again. Amazingly, none of the cards toppled.
The clatter came from several pebbles of safety glass. Thank goodness the front window wasn’t plate. Cesar could have seriously injured himself. So could Klaus and Marsha.
I crouched and pulled both corgis closer. Klaus licked my chin.
Cesar handed the paper to Belinda, then nodded to John, who held the dustpan as Cesar swept.
Belinda’s already pale face had turned white as a sheet.
“Is there anything on it?” I asked. “What does it say?”
She pursed her lips as if to hold back tears, then handed me the paper.
You will never succeed, the note read in weird, spiky black letters. I peered more closely. It was a font. Printed, not handwritten.
“Do you recognize this font?” I asked my writer husband.
He glanced down and frowned.
“Oh. Yeah. Some horror writers like that one. It’s called Killing You Gothic.”
Belinda gasped, then crumpled. As John and Cesar moved to grab her, easing her onto the black and white tiles, and Klaus and Marsha barked in alarm, I looked back at the note.
What a terrible thing to say. And what a terribly named font to say it with.
CHAPTER 3
Marsha
The woman collapsing was scary and weird. Everyone rushed around trying to help her. Finally, the tall man, Cesar, got her revived, and he and John helped her to one of the chairs near the window.
Then it became clear they wanted us to go, so we were all back out on the sidewalk. Cesar snicked the lock shut behind us.
I glanced up into remaining big window just as he sat down and took her hands in his. Belinda burst into tears.
“I wish we could help her,” Garrett said, sounding distressed.
“If she didn’t want to talk to us about it, we can’t force her, babe.”
“I wanna go see Bruiser!” Klaus complained.
“Me, too!” I barked, tugging at my leash.
“All right, you two,” Garrett said with a smile. “We can go see your friend now.”
Finally! We trotted down the sidewalk, tails swishing proudly, paws moving as fast as the shortened leashes would allow. Luckily, there weren’t many people out, so we made good time down Pride Street.
Bruiser’s Best Beans is one of the best places in the whole world. Jacki bakes special dog treats, and Bruiser is a wonderful dog. Sure, he snorts a lot and has trouble breathing. And sometimes he farts. But don’t we all?
But Klaus and I both love him. His heart is kind, and he never gets annoyed, even when Klaus is on my last nerve.
I saw him snoozing beneath one of the wood tables out front and barked a greeting.
Bruiser lifted his big head, gave a bark in reply, and slowly rose, shaking out his tan and white barrel of a body.
Klaus and I ran faster, tugging harder at our leashes, dodging around an old couple peering in the window of Flower Frenzy. The flower shop was closed now because Petunia was dead. Her cat Sapphire had a happy new home, at least, so that part worked out in the end.
