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  Books, Barbecue and Murder

  A Story Tree Cozy Mystery

  Lori Woods

  Copyright © 2019 by Lori Woods

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Introduction

  No-one in town is particularly surprised when Erica Martine’s salon is burned down. The local diva has a reputation of causing drama and creating enemies wherever she goes. It’s a gift. They are, however, surprised when it’s revealed that she didn’t burn it down. Things heat up even further when the body of notorious local gangster Casper “Spooky” Stewart is found behind her now-empty salon.

  The bereft business owner becomes an immediate suspect, and she desperately seeks out Clary st. James’ help. To Clary, it seems that everyone and their mother had a reason to burn down Erica’s salon, including Erica herself. Tensions rise further as a mysterious troublemaker starts turning people against each other and planting false clues.

  Clary realizes that it’s time to unmask The Secret Keeper as the mysterious manipulator grows increasingly bold and dangerous. And an ominous question hangs over everyone. Was Erica’s salon an isolated event?

  Will Clary find the culprit before any more businesses go up in smoke? Find out in the final instalment of the Story Tree Mysteries.

  Chapter 1

  A siren is meant to inspire panic. When you hear a siren, you can’t help but turn to the source. It’s a natural response. A person senses danger, and there’s an immediate response. Get out of the way. Help. It doesn’t matter what you do. A siren warns us of danger. What you choose to do with that information is your choice, but you’ve been warned.

  A siren always drew Clary in like a moth to a flame. She wasn’t sure why, maybe it had to do with her childhood. If there was danger, or mystery, then Clary followed her nose and found it. It was as if bells went off in her head as soon as something happened. Maybe she had her own built-in siren that drew her to action. That’s what happened when the sound of sirens filled the night air.

  Clary sat up in her bed as though she’d been shocked. She threw the covers to the side, pulled on a nightgown and shoved her feet into her fluffy duck slippers. Her friend, roommate and chef, Marie was still in bed by the time Clary was hurrying down the stairs.

  Some people need many possessions to be happy. Others don’t need anything at all. Clary had found a nice balance in life. She owned her own bookstore/café, so she had all the books she could ever want to read and enough snacks to keep her happy. She also found occasional excitement in solving mysteries around town. That had happened completely by accident. Anyway, Clary was perfectly happy where she was. So there was no need for a big house, or even a house. She had a lovely apartment above her bookstore/café, and she was happy with her life.

  Everything she needed or wanted was right at home, and so she never felt the need to leave. The problem with this kind of happiness was that if something were to happen, the happiness would be gone, and you’d have to start all over again.

  As she got to the bottom of the stairs, she was met by a warm orange glow. This was strange because at this time of night, the dark was only broken up by the streetlights. The acrid smell of smoke hung in the air, and she coughed painfully. A black projectile shot between her legs, causing her to stumble. The cat stopped by the door, and started pawing at it anxiously, letting out a panicked meow as he looked back at his servant.

  “I don’t know, Loki,” Clary said honestly, unlocking the front door. The bell rang cheerfully as she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

  Sounds of shouting filled the air as uniformed men called to each other, trying to put out the blaze. All she could do was stand, blinking at the fire. A feeling of dread gripped her heart as someone’s livelihood went up in smoke.

  Her cat tried to escape, but she picked him up in one smooth motion and held him to her chest. He resisted at first, but quickly just settled in her arms, watching the activity warily. It didn’t take long for Marie to come shuffling out. She stopped short and gaped open-mouthed at the inferno.

  “What happened?” she asked blearily, her French accent thick as her brain struggled to switch to her second language.

  “Erica’s salon is on fire,” Clary said, scratching behind Loki’s ears. He seemed to enjoy the reaction and started calming down slightly.

  “Does she know? What if the fire spreads?”

  Clary looked up at her in alarm. She hadn’t thought of that yet. She handed Marie the cat and walked over to one of the firemen who looked less busy than the others.

  “Excuse me,” she asked politely, tapping him on his shoulder. A big burly man turned to her, complete with a thick moustache and a severe look. He looked more like a hardcore biker than a fireman. Then again, she didn’t spend much time with the fire department. “Do you think the fire will spread?”

  “We’ve got this all under control, ma’am,” he said gruffly. “Please go back home. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “My home is right there,” she pointed back at the shop. “I’m a little worried about getting roasted in my bed.”

  “Don’t worry,” he repeated, “it looks worse than it is. Do you know who owns this building?”

  “That would be Erica Martine,” Clary said quickly, “that’s her salon. Should I call her?”

  “Well, that’s her business, what do you think?” With that, he turned back to the fire truck, effectively dismissing Clary. She stared after him for a few seconds, wondering if she was upset or not, before going back to where Marie was struggling to contain Loki.

  “You’re a spoiled beast,” she spat at him, shaking her head in annoyance. His response was to hiss at her and wiggle his way out of her arms. She rolled her eyes at him and just opened her arms, allowing him to drop to his feet. He was gone like a shot before Clary could pick him up again.

  “Well, they don’t think it’s going to spread,” Clary said helpfully, “but we’re going to have to call Erica and tell her what happened.”

  “Can’t we give them her number and let them call her?”

  “They’re a little preoccupied,” Clary pointed out. “Besides, if it were our shop, wouldn’t you want her to let us know?”

  “She’d probably be standing there with a match watching it burn,” Marie rolled her eyes, then immediately winced and started rubbing at them. “This smoke is awful. There’s more smoke than fire.” This was true. The smoke rolled down the street like waves, it pushed the air out and left a horrible odor that choked everything in its path.

  “Come on, let’s go inside,” Clary suggested, pushing Marie inside and closing the door firmly behind them. The smoke lingered in the shop, but it was easier to breathe. Marie took up a spot by the front window, watching the firemen work, while Clary went to go get her phone. She typed in the phone number and took a deep breath before dialing Erica’s number. No answer. After calling twice, Clary let out a frustrated sigh.

  “Try the assistant,” Marie suggested. “What’s her name again? The quiet one who likes to gossip?”

  “I don’t have Karen’s number,” Clary admitted, “I never thought I’d need it. Who else can we try?”

  “She m
ight be ignoring you. Try again. Or maybe she’s asleep.”

  “I think we should go to her house,” Clary said resolutely. “Maybe it would be better to tell her in person.” Marie raised an eyebrow and shook her head. Clary sighed, and dialed Erica’s number again. Marie was right. It would be better to let Erica know over the phone. The beautician wasn’t known for her calm temperament. It seemed like the third time was the charm, because Erica picked up after five rings.

  “What?” she snapped. “I was sleeping.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clary squeaked, “but it’s your salon.”

  “What’s wrong with my salon?”

  “Well,” Clary said awkwardly, “it’s on fire.”

  “What?” The line went dead immediately, and Clary winced.

  “How did she take it?” Marie asked curiously, turning away from the fire.

  “I think she’s on her way,” Clary admitted, holding the phone away from her face and staring at it intently. “I’m not really sure. Does this seem a little weird to you?”

  “What? The fire? Yeah, it’s weird. But what’s weirder is that I want barbecue now. Do we have ribs in the freezer? I mean, it’s nearly breakfast time anyway.”

  “Can you focus for one second?” Clary asked exasperatedly. “I’m not talking about the fire. And yes, it’s weird that you’re thinking about ribs right now. You can’t have ribs for breakfast. I was talking about the fire. Wait,” she held up her hand to stop Marie from interrupting her. “The fire itself is weird, but I’m talking about how we had to call her. Who called the fire department? And how didn’t she know? Wouldn’t the fire alarm send a message to her phone?”

  “Look,” Marie shrugged, “I don’t really care. No one got hurt, and the fire isn’t going to spread. What about ribs for dinner?”

  “Erica just lost her salon!” Clary protested. “We need to be there for her.”

  “No, we don’t,” Marie shrugged. “She’ll get insurance money. I’m sure she’ll be fine. What about the ribs? I can make my barbecue marinade. You know, the sticky one that you like so much. And can we have them for lunch? I’m really hungry now.”

  Marie wandered into the kitchen, completely disinterested by the fire. Clary shook her head at her friend’s antics. She turned to watch the fire just in time to see Erica’s pretty compact car pull into the parking lot. The beautician jumped out of her car and stared at the blaze, her back to the bookshop.

  “Erica’s here,” Clary called, chewing at her thumb nail nervously.

  “Is she crying?” Marie asked, her voice muffled as she rummaged through the freezer.

  “You’re completely inappropriate,” Clary muttered, walking outside and letting the door bang behind her, the bell chiming merrily again. Erica looked up as Clary walked out, her expression stern. Clary was surprised by her reaction. She half-expected Erica to be in hysterics and throwing a tantrum. Instead, the diva looked sad.

  Clary didn’t say anything at first. She just stood there next to her, watching the fire. Eventually, Erica spoke up.

  “Do you have any coffee?”

  Clary nodded slowly and walked back into the shop. Erica trailed in after her.

  “Good news!” Marie crowed, walking out and holding up a frozen packet, “We’ve got ribs!” She stopped short when she saw Erica and lowered the package sheepishly.

  “That’s funny,” Erica intoned tonelessly, “because of the fire.”

  “I brought Erica in for some coffee,” Clary said pointedly. “Would you mind making us a cup?” Marie nodded quickly and turned to the machine, shaking her head in embarrassment. “How are you feeling?” Clary asked gently. She found that she couldn’t think of anything else to say, and so that lame statement was what she went with.

  “I loved my salon,” Erica admitted, still staring at the blaze, “but it could’ve been worse. At least no one was hurt.”

  It was as if someone had been waiting for her to say that, because at that moment, the sound of a different siren filled the air. The unmistakable sound of an ambulance filled the air, and everyone in the room froze. The firemen were just starting to beat the fire, as one of them ran out, waving his arms to flag down the ambulance. The ambulance skidded to a stop and the paramedics jumped out immediately, following the fireman behind the salon.

  “What’s happening?” Marie asked, getting to her feet quickly. “Why’s there an ambulance? What happened?” She seemed to be talking to herself, because she didn’t wait for an answer before running out of the shop. Clary followed her, a painful feeling of dread creeping up in her heart.

  “There was no one in the shop,” Erica promised out loud, looking at the scene with a look of pure panic on her face.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Clary said soothingly.

  “Are you stupid?” Erica yelled, rounding on Clary. “My salon’s on fire! There’s an ambulance! That’s not nothing! That’s something! Something huge!” Clary quickly apologized, but Erica shook her off and ran toward the ambulance. Once again, Clary followed her.

  Clary and Erica weren’t friends, they didn’t even like each other. That being said, Clary still felt an inexplicable need to comfort the woman and keep her from experiencing any more trauma that night. Despite all her best intentions, Clary failed. As they came around the ambulance, Erica with that wild look of panic and Clary with a heart full of sympathy, the paramedics called it. The man lying behind the salon, the one who looked like he was sleeping peacefully, was dead.

  Chapter 2

  “I know she just lost her business, but can I kill her?” Marie asked mutinously, holding her coffee mug up to her face and glaring murderously at Erica.

  A few hours after the fire had been put out, Erica decided that she didn’t want to sit around and wait for news. Clary was happy that her usual nemesis hadn’t sunk into a pit of despair, but the alternative meant that Clary was more involved than she wanted to be. Her beautifully bohemian shop had been turned into Erica’s control center as she rained fire and brimstone on anyone in her path, including the three occupants of Story Tree Café.

  Poor Loki decided to leave without breakfast.

  “Karen, call everyone on this street and ask them if they saw anything weird before the fire,” Erica demanded. “Marie, sweetie, we need more coffee. The cops are coming soon. Do you have anything to feed them? We’ll also need food for the volunteers.”

  “Volunteers?” Clary asked in surprise.

  “Yes,” Erica snapped her fingers at Marie impatiently. “Come on, chop-chop, we don’t have all day.”

  “Which volunteers?” Clary asked, waving her hands in the air and making a stop motion to calm herself down.

  “We’re going to have volunteers comb the street for clues,” Erica said slowly, as if she were talking to a toddler. “I’m sure the dirty arson left something behind.”

  “Why do we need to feed them? The street is small,” Marie pointed out, measuring a small distance of air with her hands. “They won’t have far to go.”

  “They’re going to be around all day,” Erica snapped. “Clary, how far are we with the flyers? We need to get them out ASAP. I don’t want to waste any more time.”

  “I’ve told you before, we don’t have a printer, we need to wait for Logan to open up shop, and he doesn’t open until eight. And his phone is always off at night.” Logan was a newcomer to the town and had opened an internet café/electronics shop next door. His shop was like the electronic version of the Story Tree. He also refused to answer his phone before eight in the morning as he claimed that it interfered with his personal life. Unfortunately, that meant that he wasn’t very helpful until then.

  “Go to his house,” Erica suggested. “I’m sure he’ll come right over when he hears how much I need him.”

  “He would very much disagree,” Marie said under her breath, and Clary had to duck her head to hide her amused smile.

  “Fine,” Erica snapped when it became apparent that Clary wasn’t going to go to
Logan’s home. “We’ll wait for him. But that doesn’t mean you get to slack off. Find something to do, we have a lot on the agenda. We need to find this dirty criminal before anything else happens.”

  “How do we know that it was arson?” Clary asked gently. “It could’ve been an accident. Maybe the body was there by accident.”

  “Right,” she scoffed, looking over at Karen with an annoyed look, “that’s possible. Whatever, just get to work, we don’t have time for your stupid theories.”

  “You can help me make the calls,” Karen said quickly, watching Erica warily. Clary nodded, and the two of them sat down at the counter while Erica tapped away at her phone.

  “How do you cope with her?” Clary asked in exasperation. “I know this was a terrible thing to happen, but she’s impossible.”

  “I know, right?” Karen rolled her eyes. “She acts as if she’s the first person to go through something like this. Whatever, I bet she burned it down herself. I mean, we’re like friends, but come on. There’s only so much one person can take.”

  “Do you think she burned down her own shop?” Clary asked in confusion.

  “What?” Karen squeaked, her eyes wide. “No! Who would do something like that? She’d have to be crazy. Her salon was doing so well. I was just kidding, take a joke, dude.”

  “I’m sorry,” Clary said awkwardly. “I misunderstood.”

  “Look, Erica is like my best friend. I’d never say anything bad about her, she’s awesome. But she’s a bit of a drama queen. She’ll get insurance money and it will all be okay She just needs to chill out. There’s no need to go crazy like this. I mean, she was talking about expanding the salon anyway, so it could be like a blessing in disguise, you know?”