Game of Tarts Read online

  Game of Tarts

  Sweet Shop Mystery #2

  Wendy Meadows

  © 2020, Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Majestic Owl Publishing LLC

  P.O. Box 997

  Newport, NH 03773

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Thanks for Reading

  About Wendy

  1

  I gaze up at an enormous pink bubble of gum expanding into a clear blue sky. When I raise my hand to touch it, the stretched, rubbery surface bounces against the pressure. It sways and hovers there a few feet off the ground. A voice whispers in my head, bubble gum. A sugary, fruity taste washes over my tongue.

  As I watch, the giant gum bubble drifts lower toward me. Just then, the bottom surface touches the grassy lawn. The bubble bursts in my face with a deafening boom. I jump three feet backward and tumble out of bed. I hit the wooden floor hard and jolt out of a sound sleep.

  I swim through acres of bedspread to disentangle myself from the sheets. I emerge to consciousness to see the morning sun streaming through the curtains. My head whips around. The bedside clock reads 9:38 AM.

  Holy Bejezzus! I was supposed to open the candy store over an hour ago. What is wrong with me? Why didn’t my alarm wake me up? I snatch the clock off the nightstand and check the switch on the side. Then I slap my forehead and groan. I forgot to set my alarm.

  I rush for the closet and trip over the bedspread still knotted around my ankles. I stumble and slam into the bedpost. I bounce off with an oof and almost fall flat on my face when I catch one foot in the bedspread again.

  I kick the lump of feathers to vent my frustration, but I walk to the closet like the dignified older woman I’m supposed to be. I get dressed as fast as I can, but I still wind up sticking both feet down the same leg of my pants. I take five minutes more to straighten out the confusion.

  I yank the brush through my hair and snarl it in knots. When I try to free myself, I get it frayed. Even when I unwind it, my hair won’t obey me no matter what I do. I spend far too long trying to plaster down one frizzy wing that keeps popping out of place. Nothing I do will get it to behave.

  I can’t spend any more time on my looks. I bolt out of the house, going a mile a minute. This is one time I wish I had a car so I could get to the shop faster.

  As soon as I get outside, I encounter Mary King coming down the steps of the grand house next door. She wears her supermarket apron, jeans, and white sneakers. Her clothes make her look casual compared to the dowdy dresses she used to wear. A pink scrunchy holds her sandy hair in a ponytail behind her head that adds to the air of carefree youth surrounding her.

  She approaches the shiny red sedan parked in the driveway. I stop to admire the vehicle. “Wow, Mary! Nice car.”

  She breaks into a beautiful smile. Crimson blush colors her cheeks now. I can hardly remember the sallow cadaver I first met when I moved into this house three months ago. “Thanks, Margaret. Ever since I picked up more shifts at the supermarket in Peterborough, I earned enough money to buy it.”

  “Good for you.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you helping me pass the driver’s test,” she goes on. “My mother always told me I was too stupid to drive a car. She said I would wreck and kill someone.”

  “You passed that test all by yourself,” I remind her. “You took the driver’s training course, and you studied every night for a month to get your license. You should be proud of yourself.”

  She lowers her eyelashes before she steals a hesitant peek around her, but her cheeks glow and her eyelids flutter. “I am.”

  “You’ve made amazing progress. No one would ever believe what you’ve accomplished since your mother died.”

  “She wouldn’t believe it,” Mary remarks. “She always said I would never amount to anything.”

  I pause to study her. She’s a different person. She shows some expression on her face when she talks. Every day, she appears happier and more confident. “Do you know what Mary? I think your mother knew all along that you were smart and capable and that you could do anything you set your mind to. She must have known when you got that scholarship to Cambridge.”

  “No.” Mary shakes her head. “She always said I was worthless and no one would ever hire me for anything more than stocking shelves.”

  “She had to say that,” I tell her. “She had to crush your spirit to make you stay at home. She had to make you believe it, but she always knew it wasn’t true. That’s the only way she could keep control of you. I don’t think she ever really believed you were stupid.”

  Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. “Do you really think so? You think she lied to me all those years?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  She blinks at nothing. “I…. I can’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. My mother really thought I was smart. She really thought I could do it.”

  “No doubt about it.”

  Her features clear and her eyes snap at me with new energy. “If that’s true, then there’s nothing I can’t do. I really am smart.”

  “You sure are. You’re a lot smarter than most people in this neighborhood. You’re definitely smarter than your mother. That made her resent you and want to hurt you.”

  She whips around and lunges for her car. “Thank you, Margaret. Thank you for everything. I have to go to work now. See you later.”

  I turn away, too. I can only imagine what challenge she’ll take on next. It warms my heart to see her breaking down the barriers holding her back, especially the ones in her mind. It gives me hope for the world.

  I get to my garden gate when I encounter Kyle Davidson coming out of his house simultaneously. He waves and his big Alsatian dog, Jonah, trots toward me. “Good morning, Margaret,” Kyle exclaims. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.” I bend down to pat Jonah. The dog pushes his cool snout into my hand. Kyle never walks him on a leash, but I trust that dog with my life. He might be big and strong, but he’s the steadiest, most reliable dog I’ve ever met. “What do you two have planned for today?”

  “I have a job interview with a confidence training course using my Marine Corps training experience,” Kyle tells me. “I would love to train other Marines. That would be my dream job, but this would be nearly as good.”

  I straighten up in a heartbeat. “Does that mean you’d be moving away from us? I would hate to lose you. You’re such an ideal neighbor, Kyle.”

  “I don’t think so. The course is just over near Hartford, and they have intakes four times a year. I could still live here and go down to the course to run the training.”

  “That’s wonderful, Kyle,” I tell him. “I didn’t know you were looking for a job.”

  “I’ve been looking for a job since long before I moved to Rockshield,” he replies. “I’ve just gotten picky in my ol
d age, I guess. I don’t want to move away, and it’s kinda hard to find anything close enough to home.”

  I relax. “That’s great. I wish you all the best.”

  He points down the street. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you be getting off to work yourself?”

  I blush and lower my gaze. “I slept through my alarm this morning. At least I don’t have to worry about the world ending if people don’t get their peanut butter cups.”

  He laughs. “No, it won’t, though you’d be surprised when you see the way some people act. You might find a few addicts hanging around your store waiting for you when you get there. They’re probably smearing their greasy fingers all over your nice clean windows and drooling on the doorknob.”

  I chuckle to myself and head down the street. I wave behind me. “Good luck with the job interview.”

  We leave in opposite directions. Only after I’m halfway down the block, do I turn on my phone to check my emails. Right away, I see a voice mail. I press the phone to my ear and hear Patty Matthews crackly old voice on the other end.

  “Good morning, Margaret. It’s me, Patty. I just wanted to let you know I won’t be coming into the store this morning. I have a family emergency. I hope you can manage without me. I hope I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll let you know how things go. Thanks. Bye.”

  I frown at the phone. Family emergency? That’s not like Patty. I never even knew she had a family. In the time since my son Zack and I moved to Rockshield, Connecticut, no one has mentioned any family of Patty’s, including her. Maybe it’s some relative out of town.

  I have to smile to myself. She doesn’t even work at the candy store. She just wanders in and does odd jobs to keep herself amused. I suspected she was lonely and had no one else to hang out with during the day. As long as that’s the case, I don’t mind her coming in to sweep the floor and break down cardboard boxes. If that’s all it takes to make a lonely old lady happy, I should be so lucky.

  It’s funny her calling in sick to a job she doesn’t even have. The more I let her work in the store, the more she acts like an employee. Next, she’ll be balancing the books for me.

  2

  I hustle into town, but when I turn onto Main Street, I see the lights on in the candy store. When I get to the front door, I discover Zack behind the counter in his work apron. The jingle bells clang when I walk inside.

  Zack looks up from the jar of Turkish Delight and grins. I dislike that grin. “Well, look who joined us. Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  I slot behind the counter next to him. “You aren’t supposed to be working this morning. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “You were sound asleep. I could hear you snoring from downstairs. I figured you needed your rest after a late night.”

  I snort and elbow him out of the way. “You know perfectly well I didn’t have a late night. You saw me go into my room at nine o’clock last night, so don’t imply anything. I’m too old to be having late nights.”

  He doesn’t laugh the way I expected. He doesn’t even come out with any glancing comments about me having a hot date or tying a few too many on. He doesn’t even smile. “I figured maybe the stress of running your own business might be tiring you out. You’ve been pulling some long shifts lately, Mom. You should slow down.”

  “I can’t slow down.” I take out my inventory record and leaf through the pages. “I’ve got a business to run, and you covering for me once in a while doesn’t change that. I’m still responsible for this place. The whole operation rests on my shoulders. If I don’t do it, no one will.”

  He shakes his head. “You could take a day off now and then. You’ve got me living under your roof. Covering for you two or three days a week is the least I can do.”

  I spin around and narrow my eyes at him. “Two or three days a week! Are you insane?”

  “Why not? I can push candy to the local school kids as well as you can, and you can do your inventory on the days when you are working. You don’t have to be here every single day.”

  I shake my head and turn my steps toward the stockroom. “I can’t. I need to manage this place. That’s what I signed up for, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  He picks the inventory book out of my hands. “You didn’t sign up for an early grave. Go home, Mom. I got this, and you obviously need to catch up on sleep.”

  “I will not go home!” I throw back my shoulders to confront him. “I’m not a kid you can order around. This is my store. If someone’s going home, it’s you, Mister.”

  He cracks a wicked grin at last. I knew giving him attitude would break down his reserve. It always does. “So…. are you saying you want me to leave, because I could, you know.”

  He moves his hands to his apron strings threateningly. My hand shoots out to stop him. “No! Stay here.”

  He gives an evil chuckle under his breath. “That’s what I thought. You need help, Mom. Maybe you should think about….”

  I hold up my index finger. “Don’t. Don’t even say it.”

  “What?” He blinks his doe-eyes at me. “Don’t say what?”

  “You were going to suggest I hire Patty to work here regularly. Well, you can just forget it. I won’t hire her. I would rather hire someone else.”

  “I wasn’t going to suggest that.” He stops and looks around. “Where is Patty, anyway?”

  “She called in with a family emergency. She left a message on my phone.”

  Zack moves back to the counter. He arranges packages of jelly beans under the glass, and I breathe a silent prayer of relief. He’s not going anywhere. I couldn’t run this place without him, and we both know it.

  “I’m glad she’s not coming in,” he remarks. “It seems like we never have the place to ourselves anymore. I’m telling you, Mom, she’s taking advantage of you. You should give her the boot.”

  “She’s a harmless old lady,” I tell him, “and she’s not taking advantage of me if all she does is sweep and break down boxes.”

  “She talks too much,” he mutters. “Her cat probably got stuck up a tree. That’s probably her big family emergency.”

  I have to laugh. “As far as I’m concerned and as long as I’m not paying her, she can come around as much as she likes. It gets lonely in here by myself all day long.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Mom.” Zack straightens up to face me. “I think we should both work in the store from now on—on a daily basis, I mean. You’ve got enough business that it’s too much for one person. I’ll work here each day from now on. I’ll serve the customers and you can do the management stuff.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.” I fidget from one foot to the other at the thought. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You’re not asking me. I just suggested it. Come on, Mom. Think about it. This is a two-person operation now. If the traffic gets heavy, you can help me serve customers, but you need to focus on ordering, costs, and keeping this place running. You can’t do that if you’re spending all day on your feet handing out licorice.”

  I study him sidelong. “Are you serious about this?”

  “I am. If you’re seriously considering hiring someone, it should be me, not someone you don’t even know. You said before we left the city that this place would be your legacy to me. You said if it worked out, you would bequeath it to me. Well, what better way for me to earn it than to help you build it up?”

  I blink at him in wonder. “I never really thought about that. I always thought you would go off and do your own thing.”

  “Maybe I will, but you have to admit, Mom, this place got busy a lot faster than we expected. We have customers coming in all the time. You need another pair of hands, so what better pair than mine?”

  I burst into a grin. “Okay. You talked me into it.”

  He hands me the inventory book. “Good. Now get to work, slave. I want that inventory done by eleven o’clock.”

  3

  I come out of the inventory room and hold the boo
k out to Zack. “All done, Admiral Sir.”

  He takes it out of my hands. “Good job, sailor. Now I think you better man the counter for a while. Everybody keeps asking for you.”

  “What did I tell you? Maybe I should teach you to do the management stuff while I serve the customers.”

  “That’s an intriguing thought, but I….”

  Before he can finish his sentence, the door rattles open again. Mr. Stewart barges in and slams the door extra hard.

  My spirits sink at the sight of him, and I can barely summon the energy to mumble, “Good morning, Mr. Stewart.”

  He doesn’t approach the counter. He strides along the front window and points across the street. “Can you believe that? Of all the inconsiderate, selfish, arrogant, insulting….

  “What is, Mr. Stewart?” I interrupt.

  “That!” He jabs his finger at the window. “Do you see that big delivery truck parked in front of my shop? This is the tenth time this week. That idiot doesn’t even recognize when he’s interfering with my ability to run a business.”

  I look out across Main Street. Mr. Stewart’s dog grooming establishment sits directly opposite my candy store. A gargantuan semi truck occupies almost the whole street. A massive crane takes up the rest of the space. Its swinging arm lifts piles of building materials off the truck and sets them down next to the new building going up in the lot next to Mr. Stewart’s.

  “I thought I saw a sign out front announcing Freeman’s Coffee Canteen,” I remark. “What is he building now?”

  “How should I know?” Mr. Stewart snarls. “He’s a menace to the whole town.”