Death by Caramel Macchiato

Book 13: Bookstore Cafe Mystery

by Alex Erickson

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Animal Cozy Mysteries; Female Sleuths; Mystery

Synopsis

When Pine Hills, Ohio hosts an inter-town murder mystery game, bookstore-café owner and sometimes-sleuth Krissy Hancock assumes it’ll all be in good fun, but that’s before the competition claims its first real-life victim. . .

The unique weekend-long event—a combination of a live-action role playing game and a theatrical production—draws competitors from all the neighboring towns, including Pine Hills’ own Krissy and Rita. Although the actors, clues, and performances are spread across the community, somehow Krissy’s team lands at the one location with an actual body. . .

Police immediately call-off the competition while they conduct a real murder investigation, but soon it’s clear some folks are playing by their own set of rules. So it’s up to Krissy and her pals to shuffle through the suspects and draw out the real killer before another player takes their final turn.

Release date: November 26, 2024

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

The man lay unmoving on the floor. His head was turned slightly to the side, tongue poking between blue-green lips. His shirt was pulled down over one shoulder, exposing a pink scar or mark of some kind. The lights were dim, leaving much of the room in shadow. A hammer, two bags of herbal tea, an empty cloth sack, and a comb painted gold lay on the floor next to the man.

“Murdered.” The word came out as a harsh whisper. “Or was it an accident?”

The speaker’s eyes scanned the crowd of onlookers, as if one of us had the answer. Beside me, Rita Jablonski tittered, hand hovering just over her heart.

“The night is dark, cold. No one was in the room at the time of death, no one but the dead man before you. What happened to him? Why was he here in the first place? What reason did anyone have to harm him? Or was his demise caused by something . . . otherworldly?”

The speaker, a man named Oliver Quick, grinned. The shadows made him look sinister. If I didn’t know better, I would have pinned him as the killer and called it a day. His hair was light brown, cut short, with eyes the same shade of brown. A tiny mustache decorated his upper lip. It was so thin, it looked like someone had drawn it on.

Across the room, Detective John Buchannan leaned over and whispered something to Officer Becca Garrison. Neither were in uniform, but they still held the commanding presence of those trained in law enforcement. Becca scowled, nodded once, and turned her attention back to Oliver.

“Take a good look. The only way to solve this mystery is to absorb everything. What here is important?” Oliver motioned toward the odd objects surrounding the downed man. “Which ones are mere distractions?” He fluttered a hand past his head, spun around as if following it, and turned back, that horrible grin still on his face. “Who will uncover the truth?”

I half-expected the last question to be followed by a sudden burst of organ music and flashing lights, but the room remained dark and silent. Oliver looked over each of us once more, soaking in the attention as though he was starved for it, before he straightened to his complete five-foot-two height and the dim lights came on full.

“Oh my Lordy Lou,” Rita said from beside me. “This is going to be fabulous!”

The dead man on the floor opened one eye and then popped to his feet. “How was I?” he asked Oliver. “I swear my chest didn’t even move once that entire time.”

Oliver sighed, “It was . . . adequate.” He spun and walked away, which caused the room to erupt in conversation.

“It was a bit overdone, don’t you think?” I asked Rita. “Like a bad play.”

“Overdone? A bad play?” Rita’s eyes widened. “Krissy Hancock, how could you think such a thing?” She turned to the third member of our team—and member of the Pine Hills Writers—Wendy Wilcox. “Can you believe her?”

Wendy’s gaze was still rivetted to the spot where the “dead” man had lain. “That was so real. I was starting to wonder if they’d brought in a real dead person.” She shuddered.

“See!” Rita said, triumphant. “Wendy thinks it was well done, and so do I.” She shook her head and muttered, “Overdone. Really?”

We were gathered at the local bed-and-breakfast, Ted and Bettfast, to solve a murder. Or an accident. Or whatever this was supposed to be. The event had been organized by Oliver and had originally been planned as a Pine Hills event, complete with local actors playing all the juicy parts. Something happened along the way, and Oliver had brought along his own troupe from Levington, cutting the Pine Hills actors out before they could even get started. I didn’t know why.

All I knew for sure was that it was supposed to be a big production of, as Oliver had put it when we’d first arrived, “movie-like quality.” Teams had been gathered to solve the mystery, though there wasn’t a prize for winning. Local fame, maybe?

The actual event began tomorrow morning, with this little scene a prequel to the full production later. We were supposed to remain at Ted and Bettfast all night, something that didn’t make much sense to me, but since Rita had asked me to join her team, I went along with it without complaint.

I recognized quite a few people who made up the other teams of three, though there were a few people I didn’t know. Members of the Cherry Valley book club were huddled together, discussing the scene. A trio of local doctors stood near them, likely discussing the physical clues. And, of course, Buchannan and Garrison were there, teamed with Lena Allison, who was an employee of my bookstore café, Death by Coffee, when she wasn’t shadowing the police.

Rita must have seen my gaze land on Lena because she tsked in my ear. “I asked her to join us, but she insisted on coming with them. You’d think after everything you’ve done for her, she would have jumped at the chance to work with us.”

“No, it’s better this way,” I said. “She wants to be a cop. This will be a good learning experience for her.”

A stocky man with glasses approached the evidence on the floor. He hesitated and then reached for the cloth sack, but was stopped by a harsh, “Scott Flanagan! Don’t you dare touch that!”

The man—Scott—jerked back, nearly losing his glasses in the process.

Oliver marched across the room to stand over the props. “Everything is to be left untouched overnight.”

“If we were truly investigating, we would be allowed to inspect the evidence.” This from one of Scott’s teammates. A tattoo poked up from the collar of the woman’s shirt. Unrecognizable, with just a small bit visible, it just barely touched her neck.

“You’ll have the opportunity to investigate everything tomorrow,” Oliver said. He spun in a slow circle. “Is everyone still present?” He hesitated a heartbeat before going on. “Good. I’d like to thank everyone for being here. You will be experiencing a movie-quality thrill ride that will have you guessing right up until the end.”

There was a muttering from one of the two groups from Levington, the one that Scott and the tattooed woman didn’t belong to.

“Nothing like this has ever been attempted before,” Oliver said. “The entire town will be involved in my production. Everyone.” He grinned, though I knew for a fact the local actors wanted nothing to do with his production after he’d dismissed them. “My performers are obvious targets, but are there others sprinkled throughout town who might have a clue or two for you. Asking questions of everyone is the only way to find out.”

Two people approached Oliver, flanking him like bodyguards, though, if they were, they didn’t look like they’d be of much help in a fight. The woman was thin, actress-pretty, while the man looked to have just finished his awkward teen phase.

“I, along with my assistants, Mr. Richie Husted and Ms. Lydia Ray, will be off limits after the prologue has completed,” Oliver said, indicating the two behind him. “Tonight, we will be setting up for tomorrow’s production. Then, bright and early, and once we’ve established the story, we will become watchful ghosts, nothing more.” He paused as if to let that sink in. “You have one hour to mingle, and then you will be confined to your quarters for the night. In the morning, we will recreate the scene one last time, and then we will begin!”

Oliver clapped his hands, spun on his heel, and marched away. Richie and Lydia looked at one another, as if wondering if they should follow, before hurrying after him.

“Well, I think I’m going to go ahead and head to the room,” Rita said as soon as they were gone. “We managed to snag one of the actual bedrooms, thank goodness. I heard Vivian complain that she’s being forced to sleep on one of those blow-up mattresses in a closet or some such. Can you imagine? At her age?”

Vivian Flowers, one of the Cherry Valley book club members, was on the older side, but was still spry for a woman in her eighties. She might even have put on a little weight—good weight, considering she’d once weighed no more than eighty pounds. She was currently laughing with her teammates, Sara Huffington and Albert Elmore. I hadn’t seen any of them for years and planned on making it a point to see how they were doing before they went back home.

“I’ll go with you,” Wendy said. “We can start making plans.”

“That’s a fantastic idea,” Rita said, turning to me. “What about you, Krissy? I figure with you helping us, we’ve got this in the bag. What with all the murders you’ve already investigated and solved.”

“Sure. I don’t have—” My phone buzzed in my back pocket. I checked the screen and frowned. “Give me a minute. I should take this.”

Rita nodded, and both she and Wendy headed for the stairs that led to our room.

“Hello? Jules?” I said by way of answer. “Is Misfit okay?”

Jules Phan, my neighbor and owner of the candy store, Phantastic Candies, had promised to feed my orange cat, Misfit, while I was running around playing detective with Rita. I couldn’t imagine why he’d be calling, other than that something had gone wrong.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, Krissy,” he said. “But I can’t find the key!”

It took me a moment to realize what he was talking about. “My house key?”

“I left it right on the kitchen table. Maestro”—his white Maltese—“must have knocked it off, though I can’t imagine him jumping up on the table like that.”

Neither could I. “Lance didn’t pick it up, did he?”

“No, he’s not here. I suppose I could have moved it while cooking, but if I did, I did it without thinking. Is there any way you could stop by and lend me another key? I promise I won’t lose that one. I’ll put it on my key ring the moment it touches my fingers.”

“Sure. Let me talk to the guy running this thing, and I’ll be there. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I don’t mind getting out of here for a little while.” If Oliver would even let me leave. Not that he had much say in the matter, to be honest. If he disqualified me, so be it. My cat came first.

I clicked off and scanned the room for Oliver. He’d vanished in the back with his assistants, but one of them, Richie, was hovering near the office door. I decided the middleman might be my best bet.

“Hi,” I said, approaching.

Richie looked startled when he answered. “Uh, hello.”

“I’m Krissy Hancock. I’m one of the contestants.” I stuck out my hand.

“Investigators,” he corrected before shaking my hand. “I’m Richie Husted, Oliver’s assistant.” He said the last with pride. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I hope so.” A quick glance at the office door to make sure it was still closed. “My cat-sitter lost the key to my house, and I need to go give him another. I’ll be back before our hour is up.”

Richie was shaking his head before I’d finished. “No one is supposed to leave.”

“I know,” I said. “But this is kind of an emergency. My cat needs food and water. If it was just overnight, he’d be okay, but I’ll be out investigating all day tomorrow too. This will only take a few minutes. I’ll drive out, drop off the key, and come straight back. Promise.”

Richie bit his lower lip. “If Oliver finds out . . .”

“I’ll take full blame,” I said, already inching toward the door. “I won’t even tell him I let you know.”

Nor did I give him a chance to tell me no. Before Richie could stop gnawing on his lip to answer, I slipped away, hoping to be out the door and back before Oliver was the wiser. On the way, I passed by Lena, who was standing alone.

“Did Buchannan abandon you already?” I asked.

Lena made a face. “He told me to stay put and keep an eye on things while he called his wife. Becca went to check out our room, which, thankfully, is upstairs. I can’t believe they’re forcing us to stay here.”

“Tell me about it.” The out-of-towners, sure, but the rest of us? Would it be so bad to let us sleep in our own beds? Then I wouldn’t have to worry about a cat-sitter.

Lena ran her fingers through hair that was fading from purple to a more natural brown. I wondered if she planned on dyeing it again, or if there was some rule in the police handbook that prevented her from keeping her hair unnatural colors.

“I was hoping this would give me a chance to show off my skills, but I have a feeling I’m just going to be a gofer throughout this thing,” she said.

“Buchannan?”

She rolled her eyes. “He treats me like his personal assistant. I get that I’m just learning and I’m not an actual police officer or anything, but every time he sees me, he has me doing all the stuff he doesn’t want to. How many papers does one man need to be stapled together?”

I tried to hide my smile, but failed. “Maybe with you around, he won’t hound me as much.”

Lena laughed. “You wish.”

And if by magic, Buchannan appeared, tucking his phone into his pocket. His button-up plaid shirt and jeans looked out of place on him since I only ever saw him in uniform. It made him look almost normal.

“Are you bothering my deputy, Ms. Hancock?”

“Deputy, huh?” I asked. “Impressive. Lena’s moved up quickly. She’ll be gunning for your job by next month.”

The joke earned me a scowl from Buchannan. “I don’t want you bothering her during the investigation. I get that she’s one of your employees, but she’s working for me now.”

Another snarky remark was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. No sense making things more difficult for Lena. “I won’t bother her,” I promised.

Buchannan didn’t look as if he believed me, but he let it go. “I can’t believe Chief Dalton made us do this.” He glared around the room as if he suspected everyone here of doing something illegal. “I told her it was unnecessary, but she thought it would be good for public perception if we showed the town that we’re just like everyone else.” We being the police.

“It’s not a bad idea,” I said. “There are some people who look at cops like you’re the bad guys.”

He grunted. “Someone parks in a no-parking zone or speeds through a stop sign, and somehow it’s my fault they got a ticket.” He sighed. “I suppose she might be right.” Though I could tell he thought Chief Patricia Dalton should be the one here and not him. “I’m going to walk around, have a listen.” He nodded to Lena, who fell in line beside him. “I could use a coffee,” he told her as they walked away.

I suppressed a chuckle as I started for the door. Just as I reached it, someone else called out from behind me.

“Hey, Kris. One sec?”

I bit my lower lip so as not to snap at my ex, Robert Dunhill, for calling me by a shortened version of my name, something he knew I hated yet continued to do nonetheless.

“I need to drop off something at home,” I said, but stopped anyway. “Make it quick.”

Robert nodded. “Yeah, sure, sure. I just wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need anything.”

I waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, I asked, “And?”

“You know I plan on buying the place.” The place being Ted and Bettfast. “And while I don’t own it yet, I told the Bunfords”—the current owners—“that I’d help out tonight. You know they aren’t as mobile as they once were, and they almost didn’t agree to host this thing, but I was there and talked them into it. I figured it would be good publicity.”

“I’m glad you’re helping,” I said, not quite sure why he needed to stop me to tell me that. “Where’s Trisha?” His wife.

“At home with R.J.” Their son wasn’t quite a year old. “She wishes she could be here, but—”

A commotion caused us to turn.

“It’s true!” Scott was saying. “I swear to you I’m not making it up.”

A doctor I knew, Carl Clay, was standing with a small group consisting of members of the two Levington teams. He met my eyes and shook his head with a smile that had likely melted quite a few women’s hearts, though, last I heard, he was still married.

“I call BS,” one of the men in the group said. He had a thick neck that looked as if it had tried to swallow his chin, which made it seem as if he was always looking down his nose at everyone.

“It’s true,” Scott said. “Oliver heard stories of others who’ve done it and tried it himself. He doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

“Know what?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Scottie here claims Oliver bathes in blood,” one of the other men in the group said with a smile.

“He doesn’t bathe in it.” Scott shook his head. “But he has a bottle of blood that he keeps at his bedside. He uses the blood on his face, almost like a night mask, in the hopes that it will keep him young forever.”

“And where does he get this blood?” the chinless man asked, taking a step toward Scott and jabbing him in the shoulder with a finger. “You’re always doing this, making stuff up.”

“Ow.” Scott rubbed at the spot where the man poked him, which only caused the man to do it again, harder.

“Leave him alone, Drew,” the tattooed woman said, stepping forward.

“I’m okay, Shari,” Scott said, adjusting his glasses. “I can prove it to you,” he said, turning back to Drew, the chinless man.

“Oh? I can’t wait to see this.” Drew crossed his arms and waited.

Scott swallowed, eyes roving around the room. “Ask Richie. He can tell you.”

Richie had been joined at the door by Lydia, who’d just stepped out of the office. They were both oblivious to what was going on.

“Can he now?” Drew asked with a laugh. He spun to face the assistants, raised his voice. “Hey, Richie. Come on over here a sec. Scott’s got some juicy gossip he’d like you to share about your boss.”

Richie froze while, beside him, Lydia scowled.

“That’s what I thought.” Drew turned back. “I heard what you said about me earlier.” He poked Scott again. “And now you think you can pull one over on Drew MacDonald, like I was born yesterday? Do you think going around lying about everyone will somehow get you what you want? Do you think it’ll make people like you?” Another poke.

Another man, this one with shaggy, light brown hair, stepped forward. He looked like a former athlete gone soft around the middle. “Come on, Scott, let’s get to our room.”

“What do you think he’s said about you, Austin?” Drew was shouting now. “Told me that you and your neighbors have become awfully familiar with one another. Is that what Scott is hoping will happen tonight? You and Shari maybe? You are sharing a room.”

“All right, that’s enough,” Carl stepped forward before Drew could deliver another lancelike finger jab to Scott’s shoulder. “Let’s all calm down.” He put an arm around Drew and led him away. To my surprise, the other man went without complaint.

Scott looked absolutely mortified. His gaze moved around the room, to all the watching eyes. “I . . .” He cleared his throat, wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. His gaze lingered on Lydia, as if he feared she’d run off to tell Oliver that he’d been talking about him.

“It’s all right,” Shari said. “Let’s take a break, okay?”

Scott nodded, then muttered, “It’s true. I swear it.”

Austin and Shari shared a look, one that told me that neither of them believed him. It made me wonder how they’d ended up teammates.

“Wow,” Robert said with a shake of his head. “Can you believe that?”

“I’m sorry, Robert, I really need to go.” I shot a look toward the office door, but Oliver had yet to emerge. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He scuffed a shoe on the floor, like I’d just rejected a request for a dance. “I’ll cover for you.”

A part of me wanted to roll my eyes, but, hey, if it kept Oliver from yelling at me for sneaking out later, I’d take it.

With one last glance toward where Scott appeared to be pleading his case with Shari and Austin, I slipped out the door and into the night.

“I’m sorry about this,” Jules said as I climbed out of my car. “I swear I looked everywhere. The more I think about it, the more I’m afraid that Lance took it with him when he left this morning, and he won’t be back for three days!”

“It’s all right,” I said. An orange, furry face appeared in the living room window and then vanished as Misfit rushed to the door. “I needed the break.”

“Still . . .” Jules heaved a sigh. His dark hair was cut short and made a faint rasping sound when he ran his hand through it. “How was the . . . what was it exactly?”

I unlocked the door and used my foot and leg to block the gap when I opened it. Misfit pressed his face against me for a moment, before backing up and heading for the kitchen, where I kept his food dish.

“It’s some sort of play, I guess. A big, interactive one.”

Jules followed me in, shaking his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Neither do I. We’re supposed to run around town to look for clues to solve some guy’s death.”

“Sounds familiar.” He chuckled. “You’ll likely excel at. . .