“Drew!” all three of us chorus.
He holds his hands up. “Before any of you can even ask, I’m not at liberty to say a thing about the investigation right now. But I have a free moment, and I wanted to stop in and say hello and get some of your delicious donuts because you know I’m addicted to them. But please, don’t ask me any questions.”
Last summer, Damien and I developed a donut by combining Damien’s cooking talent with a little of my witchcraft. Tastes exactly like a regular donut but with half the calories. We sell out of them constantly and even had a large corporation offer us a ton of money for the recipe. But we’ll never tell. We’re keeping them in Marcall’s, where we have control over how they’re produced.
“I hid some donuts this morning just for you, Detective Bailey, just in case.”
“You’re the man, Damien!” Drew exclaims, pointing at him.
Damien ducks into the back, but not before I notice him blushing. Both he and Tom like to refer to Drew as Detective McHotty behind his back. Yeah, I know, my boyfriend is ridiculously handsome, and sometimes it’s downright embarrassing. Even Gladys, who’s old enough to be his grandmother, enjoys flirting with him.
While Damien places two donuts in front of Drew, I pour him a cup of coffee. “Since the good detective won’t be answering any of my questions at this time, why don’t you explain what that was about with Mr. Munoz and Morley.”
“Munoz was here?” Drew asks.
“He was leaving just as you were coming in. I’m surprised you didn’t see him. And why are you asking like that? Is he a suspect?”
“The better question is, why do you ask?” Drew responds. “You know you shouldn’t be investigating Morley’s murder.”
“Because he obviously hated Morley.” I throw my hands up and turn to the others. “And I’m dying to know what the story is with him and Morley Haynes.”
Damien takes a deep breath. “Owen’s wife passed away a couple of years ago over in Cripple Creek where they were on vacation celebrating their 60th anniversary. Morley picked up her body in the company hearse and was supposed to bring her right back here so they could begin the funeral arrangements.”
“Uh oh.” I already have a bad feeling about where this is going.
Damien nods his head. “Ol’ Marley decided to sneak in some gambling at one of the casinos while he was there.”
“With Mrs. Munoz body in the hearse?” I ask, horrified.
“Yes ma’am!” Damien confirms.
“This doesn’t end well, does it?”
Aranya shakes her head.
“While Marley was in the casino, a couple of teenagers thought it would be funny to steal a hearse and take it for a joyride.”
I gasp, throwing my hand over my mouth.
“The teens insisted they didn’t mean any harm by it. They just planned to drive around town and take pictures of themselves, assuming they’d have it back in front of the casino well before Morley came out.”
“Instead,” Aranya takes over, “since they were inexperienced drivers to begin with, they had extra trouble handling a hearse. They hit an icy patch on the road, slid down an embankment, and rolled it.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“And it gets worse,” Aranya says. “The back door broke open, the casket flew out, and Mrs. Munoz ended up in the river.”
“This actually happened. In real life?” This is like a tale out of a movie or a weekly tv crime story.
“In real life,” Damien says, nodding his head. “Poor Mrs. Munoz body was then carried down the river. And it just happened to be a year where there was intense water runoff from the mountains, so the river was moving extra fast, which flung her body from rock to rock. By the time she ended up downstream, she was so badly mangled that they couldn’t even conduct a showing at the wake.
“They had to cremate her body instead. Owen never blamed the teenagers. He blamed Morley for not coming right back with the body like he promised. Said he couldn’t believe that Morley would stop to gamble when he was responsible for something as sacred as someone’s body.”
“I can’t imagine what the Munoz family went through. That’s heartbreaking.”
“Now you know why Owen Munoz is one of a long string of people who are extra happy to hear of his death.”
“Did anybody see Mr. Munoz at the hotel last night?” I ask.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Drew says. “Just stop right there. I know exactly where you’re going with this.”
“What?” I ask him innocently.
“You just added Owen Munoz to your list of suspects you want to interrogate, which you shouldn’t be doing in the first place.”
“I shouldn’t be adding him to my list?”
“You shouldn’t have a list at all, is my point!”
“I’m just concerned that my friend Chloe, who I know could not have killed anyone, was arrested for murder. If I have ways of finding out things that maybe the CPPD doesn’t, shouldn’t I assist with that?”
“No!” Damien and Drew say at the same time. Have I ever mentioned how annoying these two can be when they gang up on me?
“Here’s what we know so far,” Drew says as he first holds up one finger. “Many witnesses saw Chloe arguing loudly with Morley Haynes right before he died. Then he dies after eating a poisoned cupcake.” He holds up a second finger. “That poisoned cupcake was one of Chloe’s cupcakes.”
“But anybody could have slipped poison into that cupcake!” I protest. “Why do you think it was Chloe herself?”
“I already told you, I can’t discuss this with you any further. But I swear to you, we are investigating this matter fully, and when I can give you more answers, I will. For now, you’ll just have to wait.
“And speaking of work, I have to get back to the station. Damien, thank you for the amazing donuts, as always. And please keep an eye on these ladies for me.”
“Aye aye detective!” Damien declares. Ugh. Remind me to fire him soon.
“And you,” he says, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, “stay out of this investigation. I’ve got it handled.” Double ugh. Remind me to fire him, too.