Gamma parked the SUV down the road from Brenda Tippett’s house at 02:30 a.m.. “According to my research, it’s around about this time when most people are in their deepest sleep. If we happen to cause a disturbance, it’s less likely that we’ll be seen.”
“Good to know.” I peered at the cul-de-sac. It was eerie how quiet the houses were, especially with a green haze over those that didn’t have their porch lights on.
Why was I so spooked out lately? Maybe it was Halloween on the horizon. Or it could be the impending ghost tours we were about to perform at the inn. Or Lauren’s werewolf sighting.
I’d been desperate for some excitement, and now that I had it, I was anxious? No way. Not a chance.
“Charlotte,” Gamma said, “we’re going to do this cleanly. I know you’re desperate to prove that you’ve still got it, but—”
“What? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gamma sniffed. “Come now, I raised you. I’m adept at reading your moods. You’ve been bored lately.”
“Yeah, I freely admit that.”
“But it’s not really boredom that’s bothering you. You’re unsettled because you want to fit in and fix things.”
“Spare me the professional empty nest syndrome talk. We already went down that road.”
“Suit yourself,” Gamma said. “But you’re going to have to decide whether being a maid at the inn is what you really want. And soon.”
“I do want to live at the Gossip Inn.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” But Gamma clapped her gloved hands before I could continue the argument. “Let’s focus on what we have to do. Tell me about the crime scene in detail so that we know exactly what to expect.”
I broke down exactly what I’d seen. We’d already gone over the layout of the house—a single story that wouldn’t give us too much trouble to navigate.
“I took a picture of the footprints on the porch that I’ve already shared with you,” I said, “but other than that, there’s not much else.”
“Right.” Gamma nodded. “I’ve been trawling through the information I have, but I don’t record information on shoes unfortunately. Another area of my database I’ll be updating.” She tapped her fingertips on the SUV’s steering wheel. “We enter the home through a back door. You’ll take the kitchen and living room. I’ll take bedroom and bathroom.”
“Copy that.”
“Earpiece and microphone in place?” Gamma asked.
“Testing,” I said, activating the flesh-colored patch pressed to my throat. “Are you reading me?”
Gamma touched her throat. “Loud and clear,” she whispered, though her answer was loud in my ears. “On my count.” She counted down from three on her fingers, and we slipped out of the car together, moving across the street in silence.
We vaulted over the picket fence and circled the house. The back windows were shut tight, colored green by my night vision lenses.
“Hit the button, Charlotte.” Gamma in my earpiece.
I reached into my utility belt and hit the button on the scrambler. If Brenda had a house alarm, it was disabled now.
Gamma moved up the back steps of the house, removing a silvery tube from her pocket. She hit a button on the side and attached it to the back door’s lock. A satisfying click rang out seconds later, and she opened the door.
We were in.
Now came the hard part. I followed my grandmother inside then proceeded to close the curtains in the kitchen. Gamma moved off, quietly, heading for the bedroom and bathroom to do the same.
Finally, I began my search. The night vision was a marvel, allowing me to move around and search for clues without needing any light and potentially alerting the neighbors.
“Anything?” I breathed, as I rooted through the kitchen cupboards for evidence.
“Nothing yet. No diaries or incriminating documents. And no recipe book.”
I didn’t reply, hiding my disappointment. But my search was as fruitless as my grandmother’s. The living room, though it had a bookcase stocked with books, bore no sign of the recipe book.
I frowned, standing with my hands on my hips beside the coffee table.
There’s got to be something here. Something…
I cast my mind back to the day of Brenda’s murder and sucked in a breath. She had died on the floor with one hand out, stretching toward the fridge. Why the fridge? My initial thought was that she’d wanted water, but no, she’d had water right there on the table.
“I’m going to check out the fridge,” I whispered.
“Now is hardly the time for a midnight snack, Charlotte.”
The kitchen was quiet, and the inside of the fridge was empty apart from an old carton of milk and some orange juice. The magnets arranged on it didn’t spell out a coded message from the dead woman, unfortunately.
Nothing on top of the fridge either. I lowered myself onto my knees, keenly aware that I was now in a very similar position to the one in which I’d found Brenda.
There!
A slip of paper had fallen under the fridge. This must’ve been what Brenda had been trying to get at.
“I think I’ve found something,” I said.
“On my way to you.”
I got up, grabbed the sides of the fridge and walked it forward, swinging my weight from side-to-side.
“Heavens, Charlotte, are you trying to break your back?”
“There’s something under the fridge.” I stopped. “Unless you have a miniature forklift in your pocket?”
“I’ll talk to my R and D guys about it.”
“I’m going to assume you’re joking,” I replied, then walked around the side of the fridge and retrieved the now exposed slip of paper. I turned it over and read it. “Would you look at that? It's a ‘thank you’ note.”
“From?”
“It doesn’t say.” I checked both sides of the paper then returned to stand next to my grandmother.
Thank you for your help with the recipe book. ;)
Hope you enjoy the pie.
“It’s not signed,” Gamma said. “Shoot.”
“And it’s a printed note,” I put in. “Printed on a computer on standard paper so that whoever did this wouldn’t get identified by their handwriting. Smart.”
“And annoying.” Gamma took the note with gloved hands, removed an evidence bag from her pocket, and slipped the piece of paper into it. “We’ll need to keep this for when you find the murderer, Charlotte. You can hand it over to Detective Goode then.”
Because, now I had no choice. The note had connected my client’s missing recipe book with the murder.
If we found the murderer, we found the book.