The Sugar Hit Read online

  Carl waved his arms around like a propeller, which is what he always did when he was distraught. “I was staking out Paula Prentiss’s farm, and she drove into town, so I followed her at a distance. She went into that beautician’s place—you know the one down the south end of town?”

  I nodded, and waved him on.

  “She was in there for a long time, so I thought I should go in, too. There was a sign on the window that they welcome Walk Ins. She was in there having a manicure and pedicure, and so I booked in for nails.”

  “This is all too much for me, Carl, and I haven’t even had lunch yet,” I said. “Why on earth did you get your nails done? Why didn’t you have a manicure and pedicure?”

  “The only available staff member they had was the one who did nails, so I had to get my nails done.”

  “Will they come off easily?”

  Carl was visibly affronted. “Why? Don’t you like the color?” He held his nails in front of me.

  What could I say? Obviously I couldn’t tell him the truth. “They’re lovely,” I said, managing to muster up some fake enthusiasm. “Anyway, did you find out anything about Paula?”

  “I tried to listen in as much as I could, but she was just going on about her husband being murdered and the police not knowing who did it, and that now she’ll have to be responsible for fixing everything on the farm, so she wanted to sell it and move into town.”

  “Did she mention that the police saw her as a suspect?”

  “Not as far as I heard,” Carl said, examining his fingernails with pride, “but she might not be likely to admit that. They seem to know her well there. She was obviously a regular customer.”

  “Was she suspicious of you following her?”

  Carl took a step toward me. “Perhaps, and that’s why I’ve come here. She’s gone into that café down the south end of town for lunch, so you need to go there, too. If I go there, she’ll realize that I’m following her.”

  “But I can’t shut the shop,” I protested.

  Carl looked unperturbed. “That’s fine! I’ll mind the shop for you.”

  I narrowed my eyes. Could Carl actually look after my shop? I supposed he could. After all, he was hardly likely to eat the merchandise—I was the one more likely to do that. Besides, I was absolutely starving. “Okay, good idea. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

  Carl shook his head. “Take as long as you like. She’s only just now gone in, so stay the whole time she’s in there. Now just show me what to do.”

  It only took me a few minutes to show Carl the ropes, and then I set off at a brisk walk to the café down the south end of town.

  The sun was out, although thick clouds were gathering, but an icy wind was blowing from the west. I snuggled into my light jacket, wishing I had brought something warmer to wear. I would have to shop for clothes soon. I still had trouble coming to terms with my new light weight, having been heavy for so long.

  The café down the other end of town was large. It used to be a thrift store, and had been small and depressing, but new owners had taken it over and stripped all the internal structures. They had exposed the original pressed metal ceilings, which were the most ornate metal ceilings I had ever seen. The beams were also left exposed, and there were amazing stained glass panels in the roof. It was a true work of art, and something one would not expect to see in a small country town in Australia.

  Although the owners seemed to have had wonderful taste in renovating the building, they appeared to have left their taste at the door when it came to the interior furnishings. The floor space was vast, but there were only around ten tables placed at intervals around the huge room. The place cried out for more tables and chairs. It seemed more like a factory than a cozy café.

  I saw Paula Prentiss as soon as I entered the room. She was directly opposite the door at the extreme end of the building. She looked exactly like her photos online and with the typical look of many of the women who were now farmers, but had gone to a private school—streaked blonde hair in a bob, a turned-up blue and white striped collar, and a thick string of pearls. It was almost a uniform.

  I crossed the room and took a seat facing her, being careful not to stare. With great difficulty, I managed to pass a little table covered with chocolate candles for sale. I had the overwhelming urge to eat one. I looked up at the menu, which was on a vast blackboard over a window. Luckily I wasn’t shortsighted. It seemed the regular fare, and no mention of chocolate at all. Perhaps they reserved that for the candles.

  I stole a look at Paula Prentiss. She was on the phone, laughing. Was this the type of behavior to be expected from someone whose husband was murdered only a few days earlier? I didn’t think so, but I didn’t want to be judgmental. Still, right now she was my prime suspect.

  I was interrupted by a waitress who came over to hand me a large menu, and to apologize that it hadn’t been left on my table. Apparently the large board above the window displayed the specials only. Perhaps I did need to get my eyes tested, after all.

  I held the menu over my face so Paula wouldn’t notice me. Of course, she might already have, but I figured that every little bit helped. When I took the menu away from my face, I saw Borage sitting at the table not far from Paula. His back was to me, and to my dismay, the tall, elegant woman was sitting opposite him. They appeared to be having a domestic, or if not a domestic, certainly an intense conversation. She kept dabbing at her eyes, and Borage continually reached out to pat her arm.

  I sighed and wiped my eyes—a habit of mine when I’m stressed—and then realized that I was wearing mascara. I reached into my purse for a tissue and tried to wipe under my eyes. I hoped I didn’t have long black streaks like a clown running down my face

  All I wanted to do was to run out of the café and pretend that I hadn’t seen Borage and his girlfriend. It was a very touching scene. She was obviously upset, and he was going out of his way to comfort her. Whatever made me think that there was something between us? I shook my head.

  The waitress returned to take my order, and I ordered the first thing on the top of the menu. I had totally lost my appetite, but I forced myself to focus. I had to watch our suspect, Paula.

  Paula was still laughing and speaking on the phone, looking entirely happy and not at all like the grieving widow.

  Just wait until I told Carl! And she stood to inherit everything, as far as I knew. I’d have to look into that further. There was a motive right there.

  I could hardly eat my meal. The whole time I was there, Paula spoke on the phone and laughed. She was clearly in awfully good spirits. Borage and the mystery woman remained in intimate conversation.

  Paula finally got up and left, and I knew I should follow her, but I could not bring myself to walk past Borage. I considered it and almost did so, but I simply couldn’t make myself. That would have been too awkward.

  It seemed like an age before the two of them left, and not once did Borage notice me sitting there. Once he was out of sight, I counted to one hundred, then got up, paid my bill, and left. I looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Borage or the woman, and there was no sign of Paula. I hurried back to my shop.

  “I thought you’d left town,” Carl said as soon as I appeared.

  I at once apologized. “I’m so sorry, Carl. There was an awkward situation.”

  Carl frowned. “What was it?”

  “Nothing exciting. Borage was there with the woman.”

  Carl’s hand flew to his mouth. “What did he say?”

  I shook my head. “He didn’t see me. I had my face stuck in a menu so Paula wouldn’t see me staring at her for too long, and then by the time I moved the menu, Borage was already sitting there with his back to me.”

  “What happened between him and the woman?”

  “They seemed very cozy and quiet,” I said with disappointment. “I don’t know if they had just had an argument, but she was very upset and he was going out of his way to comfort her. Anyway, the whole time I w
as there, Paula was speaking on the phone. She was laughing.”

  Carl appeared to be processing that piece of information. “Did you hear anything she said?”

  “No, I didn’t. She just seemed very happy. I thought it was a bit strange that she was so happy when her husband had just been murdered. She was quite the merry widow.”

  “Did you follow her when she left?” Carl asked.

  “Sorry, Carl. That’s why I took so long, because I didn’t want to go past Borage and his girlfriend. That would’ve been just too embarrassing, so I had to wait until they left, and then there was no sign of Paula.”

  Carl didn’t look too pleased with that information, so I handed him a dish of chocolate-coated coffee beans. That did the trick. After he ate them, he asked, “Was she laughing the whole time? Was she speaking on the phone the whole time? Did she look sad at all?”

  “Yes, yes, and no,” I said. “Anyway, did you have any customers?”

  Carl rolled his eyes. “Did I have any customers? Yes, everyone in town came and half the tourists in the state came.”

  I chuckled. Carl was always prone to exaggeration. “But you managed okay?”

  “Yes, I was superb. I sold a lot of product, and everyone left as very happy customers.”

  “Good that you’re so modest. Well, what do we do now?”

  Carl pursed his lips, and I was worried that he didn’t want to continue with the investigation, so I had to think of another bribe in a hurry. “Why don’t you come over for dinner tonight, Carl? I’ll cook you anything you like.”

  Carl’s face lit up. “Sure! Will you have enough time to bake another mud cake?”

  “Carl, you’re turning into me!”

  Carl laughed and popped another chocolate in his mouth.

  Chapter 7

  “Seriously though, Narel, this is not okay,” Carl said as he crossed his arms in a huff, refusing to step inside.

  “Oh, come on. It’s not exactly a Four Seasons hotel, but it works just fine,” I retorted, crossing my arms as well.

  Carl sighed. “I can barely see in here! You’re getting less sunlight than the average vampire. If you won’t buy a new place, at least install a skylight or three.”

  I looked around my house and frowned, realizing that I had to agree with him. My house was small, cramped, dark, and dingy. Other than the relatively low cost, it really didn’t have any redeeming features.

  “I know I’m being rude here, but honestly, what do you see in this place?” Carl asked.

  “Not much,” I admitted. “I guess people aren’t likely to burgle it?” I suggested, shrugging.

  “Well, that’s true, at least. But you can afford a bigger place and you know that, so why won’t you?” Carl asked me, clearly uncomfortable and still standing just outside the front door, refusing to come inside.

  “Honestly, it’s a matter of time and effort more than anything. I just haven’t had a chance to look into a nice new place because of all the...” I hesitated and thought of a way to say it, but came up short. “Well, all the stuff that’s been happening. And not even just the murder!” I said loudly, noticing that I was beginning to rant, but not really caring. “It’s bad enough that I’m dealing with everything that comes with opening my own business, but somebody was murdered at my opening night! Not to make myself sound like the victim here, but it’s obviously been hard on me too, you know? And seeing Borage is hard for me now, and selling the house and buying another reminds me of him, and, and…” I walked into the living room and sat down, resting my head in my hands.

  Carl finally entered the house and walked over to sit next to me, putting his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. It’s not that bad,” he lied, clearly struggling to think of a compliment. “I mean, it’s so dark you can barely see any stains, which is nice.”

  I laughed at Carl’s attempt to cheer me up, though I realized that it had worked, even if it wasn’t how Carl had intended. “Well, another reason I haven’t moved is because of Mongrel.” I motioned toward the carrier basket. “He’s still extremely shy, as you know. I worry about what would happen if I were to move him again so soon.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t come out of his basket because it’s nicer in there,” Carl mumbled, stopping when he noticed my glare. “I really don’t think Mongrel will care if you move. Like you said, he almost never comes out of his carrier basket anyway. I know you said he’s coming out more, but how much, really? I don’t think he even really knows what it looks like out here,” Carl said, waving his hands wildly about the room. “I’m not convinced he’ll even know if you move.”

  “All right, all right, I get it. You hate my house, I should move, and my cat is terribly antisocial. Anything else you want to add?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “It also smells a little in here,” Carl added unhelpfully.

  I sighed and rubbed my temple with one hand. “Anyway, believe it or not, I didn’t invite you here to insult my house, cat, and odor,” I said sternly. “As a matter of fact, I’d rather you didn’t insult any of those things. Besides, Mongrel really has been coming out more and more lately. I think he’s starting to like it here.” Carl frowned as I said it, probably because it meant I was less likely to buy a new house any time soon. “Anyway, I invited you over for the investigation.”

  “You said you invited me over for dinner,” Carl said sadly.

  “That’s just an expression,” I said. “I’ll cook you something in a bit, but after saying all those mean things in front of Mongrel, you owe me some help anyway.”

  Carl sighed and nodded before standing up and walking over to my laptop. I pulled up a chair next to him. “Well, where should we start?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment. “Well, last time I was going to look into newspapers. You know those online collections of newspapers? They’d cover any major past event that could be related. I know it’s a bit slim, but we might be able to find something on the victim, at least. He was a fairly successful cop, right?” I suggested.

  “Wait a minute, Narel,” Carl said, looking me dead in the eyes. “You were going to look into newspapers? What stopped you?”

  I looked down at the floor, embarrassed. “Honestly, it’s because Mongrel sat on my laptop for the warmth. I’m still too scared to pat him, since he usually takes exception,” I admitted.

  Carl laughed loudly, clearly finding it funnier than he really ought to have. I shot him an angry glare and he stopped, though I noticed he was still occasionally chuckling, if only a little. “Maybe a new house would calm him down,” he suggested, and I barely resisted the urge to push Carl off his chair and just start the investigation on my own. “Okay, sorry. Let’s see,” Carl said as he started to type. “Let’s start with looking into the police.”

  For several minutes, Carl and I looked through old newspapers flashing across the screen, one after another. There were several minor crimes reported with a small scattering of more major events, but none of it seemed related to what we were looking into.

  “Well, Peter Prentiss definitely wasn’t a slacker,” Carl said. “This isn’t great news, Narel. This guy was putting a lot of people in jail.”

  “We’ll have to see if anything stands out,” I said, leaning over to take the mouse and scrolling through the results. Carl hadn’t been exaggerating. Peter Prentiss was—or rather, had been—much more successful than almost any other police officer in the area.

  “Wait, what’s this?” I asked aloud as one newspaper caught my eye. The headline was, ‘Officer Accused of Planting Evidence.’

  “Oh, wow,” Carl said, leaning forward. “Is this about Prentiss? Was he the one accused of tampering with evidence?”

  “Yeah,” I answered without looking up, still reading the article. “It says here that he was accused of planting evidence on Clint Stockland. Prentiss was accused of planting evidence, but was never convicted of anything.”

  “This is a really bad sign, Narel,” Carl said, look
ing upset. “If Prentiss had been planting evidence, it would explain his ridiculously high arrest rate, but it would also massively increase the suspect list. Not only would we have to suspect all of the people he arrested, but anybody related to them.”

  “That’s probably what we should have been doing in the first place, really,” I said with a shrug. “Police officers make a lot of enemies, you know? This does complicate things a lot more though, I suppose.”

  We sat in silence for several moments until suddenly Carl jumped up. “Do you think that’s why Todd Cambridge was so angry with him?” he asked.

  I thought for a moment before nodding. “Well, I’d say it’s extremely likely. But remember that Prentiss was never actually convicted of planting evidence, just accused. It makes sense that any criminal would make an accusation like that, especially when faced with arrest.”

  Carl sighed and sat back down. “Still, I think that his arrest rate was just too high, and this adds up. It’s easy to see why a respected police officer could get away with something like this, too. Who’s going to arrest him?” Carl asked. I shrugged, not having a real answer to give. Maybe there was something to this after all.

  “It doesn’t really change much, though. At least, not as far as the investigation is concerned. Our primary suspects are still the criminals he’s put away, since they’d have plenty of motive whether he was planting evidence or not,” I said.

  “That’s true,” Carl replied, stroking his chin. “Though I think somebody who was falsely accused would be more likely to want revenge.”

  “Maybe, but if he’s been putting away murderers, wouldn’t they be more likely to, you know, murder?” I asked.

  Carl sagged back into his chair and sighed. “This is much harder than movies make it look. I was hoping we’d find a newspaper clipping that just straight up solved all our problems.”

  Before I could reply, I heard my phone ringing. I got up and looked at the caller ID: Borage. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat before answering. “Hello?” I asked, waiting nervously for a reply.