Dead Man's Diamonds: A Piece of Cake Mystery (Piece of Cake Mysteries Book 1)

  Dead Man’s Diamonds: A Piece of Cake Mystery

  By

  A. R. Winters

  Dead Man’s Diamonds

  Copyright 2016 by A. R. Winters

  www.arwinters.com

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Dead Man’s Diamonds (A Piece of Cake Mystery)

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  Catching a killer is a piece of cake... Or is it?

  When Mindy Mansfield moves back to her hometown of Santa Verona, and finds herself fighting crime with her best friend, she soon finds herself on the receiving end of anonymous threats, and even worse, unpleasant encounters with her high school nemesis and former paramours.

  Will Mindy unmask the killer before it’s too late? And will her annoying high-school nemesis manage to beat Mindy at her own game?

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  Table of Contents

  Dead Man’s Diamonds: A Piece of Cake Mystery

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter One

  The morning glittered with promise.

  Santa Verona was in spectacular form, and the California fall weather lived up to the tourists’ expectations. The temperature hovered in the eighties, and the sky was a cloudless, azure blue.

  Beth and I were a few miles inland, but I could almost smell the ocean from where we stood, almost hear the chattering of the gulls and the laughter of families hanging out on the beach.

  The arch that was the entrance to the Santa Verona Police Department loomed above us. Like most of the buildings there, the police department was constructed in the Spanish architectural style, replete with a white-stucco and red-tiled exterior. The Spanish theme continued inside, with blue mosaic doorway arches, yellow-tinged walls and potted palms scattered everywhere.

  “I don’t know why I have to be here,” Beth said as we headed towards the entrance. “You’re the one who solved the case.”

  Beth was my best friend in the whole wide world, and the case she was talking about wouldn’t have been solved without her help. Beth was two years younger than me, two inches shorter than me, and had an IQ about two hundred times greater than mine.

  Her hazelnut eyes were kind, and her deep auburn hair was chopped into an easy-to-maintain bob. She wore a smidge more makeup than usual, which was how I knew that, despite her protests, she’d been looking forward to our trip. Probably more than me; I was just here in the hopes of being able to pay some bills.

  I gave her a quick squeeze across the shoulders. “Don’t worry, he’ll be here soon. And you look great.”

  Beth scowled, but a pinkish glow began to spread across her features. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she growled, refusing to meet my eyes.

  “Of course,” I said. “C’mon. It’s showtime.”

  Tourists hovered outside the police department, hanging out on the lawn in front, taking photos and waiting for the start of one of the guided tours of the adjacent historic building. Beth and I ignored them, climbing the short flight of stairs to the entrance. I nervously tucked my freshly straightened dirty-blond hair behind my ears, smoothed out the front of my conservative black-and-blue dress and headed left to the reception desk. Michelle was manning it today—a no-nonsense African-American woman with short-cropped hair, a wide frame, and warm eyes.

  “Michelle!” I gave her a friendly smile and slid a house-sized Tupperware container across the wooden desk. “Look what Beth made.”

  She shook her head in response and pursed her lips, half-disapproving, half-expectant. “Nuh-uh. You know I can’t have these. I’m supposed to be on a diet.” But she lifted the lid anyway and peeked. “Mmm.”

  I knew that the box would be like catnip to the hovering cops, and Jason Rodriguez, a twenty-something-year-old officer with faux-stern eyes, was the first on the scene.

  “Aw, c’mon, Mishy,” he said, wrenching the box out of her hands. “You know you’re on a diet.”

  “Hey!” Michelle stood up, hands on hips. “I’m the one who decides if I’m on a diet or not!”

  “I’ll grab one for you,” I promised her as Beth and I tagged after Jason, who was making a beeline for the bullpen, the open-space work area where most of the detectives had their desks.

  In all fairness, Beth’s desserts are like manna from the heavens. Beth claims that the best thing about baking is the applied chemistry, the perfect combination of ingredients and heat. I think that the best thing about baking is its aftermath—the speedy devouring of whatever emerges from her magical oven.

  The Tupperware container had been opened by the time we caught up with Jason.

  “I have to save one for Michelle,” I said, reaching in and grabbing a cupcake before they were all gone.

  Cops from the surrounding desks swarmed the box, claiming their share before the cupcakes were all gone. I handed Michelle’s cupcake to Beth, who snuck off to hand it to the receptionist and returned a few seconds later.

  There was a chorus of thanks, mostly from mouths half-full of the red velvety goodness that Beth had concocted.

  “So, what’re you up to these days?”

  I turned to face the voice. It was Kylie, a slim brunette who’d recently joined the force.

  “This and that.” I shrugged. “You know, crime-solving, investigating, that kinda stuff.”

  “Santa Verona must be very different from Hollywood.” Kylie had finished her cupcake and was watching me and Beth carefully.

  “Yeah. But that’s a good thing. Hey, do you know if Chief Morgan’s busy right now?”

  Kylie glanced at the police chief’s office door, which was shut. “I’m not sure,” she said. “But I’m sure she’ll be happy to chat with you. Especially since you’ve solved quite a few cases since moving back to Santa Verona.”

  I murmured self-deprecatingly. “We’re always happy to help.”

  Kylie looked at me skeptically. “Plus, I guess the chief thinks it’ll be good publicity. You know, celebrity screenwriter assisting the force.”

  The room had suddenly fallen quiet, and I could feel dozens of ears listening in on our conversation. The Tupperware had been emptied of its contents, and the detectives lingered nearby, empty cupcake liners in hand.

  I gulped. “Well, I’m not reall
y a celebrity.” At least, I hadn’t been one in Hollywood, where writers were among the lowest on the totem pole. My Hollywood life had been grueling rather than glamorous, but nobody in Santa Verona knew that.

  “You’re definitely famous here,” Kylie said evenly. “Helping out with crime and all that.”

  Beth and I shared a glance. Sure, I’d played up my celebrity status a bit when I’d returned to my hometown of Santa Verona, but that had been out of necessity rather than hubris.

  When I’d moved home, I hadn’t expected life in Santa Verona to be so expensive, but things had certainly changed in the decade since I’d left the small town. It had burgeoned into a popular tourist resort, and Hollywood celebrities were buying up houses along the beach. Strict zoning controls meant that rent had gone up—and I’d found myself struggling to subsist on the meager royalties that trickled in from my previous screenwriting work.

  So when my reputation as a “celebrity investigator” had spread, I’d fanned the flames a little by allowing the local paper to interview me. It couldn’t hurt, I decided, especially if local fame resulted in more paying clients. For some reason, the Santa Veronians thought that since I’d written about fictional crimes for a TV show, I’d be good at solving real-life ones.

  It had started off with finding missing pets, tailing a few cheating spouses, and looking into a few cases of insurance fraud. But then Beth and I had stumbled across a murder, which we’d wound up solving. Soon after, a wealthy client had hired us to look into a cold case that the SVPD hadn’t solved, and then we’d been asked to investigate a homicide that the SVPD had claimed was an accident. And then there was another case, and another—and before we knew it, our trips to the SVPD offices had become regular occurrences, and Beth and I were on a first-name basis with most of the detectives.

  Of course, the more cases Beth and I solved, the more incompetent the SVPD looked. So we tried to keep the cops happy with regular bribes of Beth’s baking, and I hoped that the vague promise Chief Morgan had made to hire us as SVPD consultants would materialize. I didn’t know how long the locals would keep believing that a TV crime show screenwriter knew enough to solve real-life crimes, and a regular paycheck from the SVPD would be nice.

  Before I could say anything more, the clatter of footsteps resounded in the hallway. The cops around us dispersed, leaving the empty plastic container for us to take home. Beth and I turned to see what all the commotion was, and three men came down to the bullpen, where we were standing.

  “Hi, Beth.” Detective Matt Alvarez smiled at her, his eyes softening like molten chocolate.

  Next to me, Beth’s body language changed, and though I wasn’t looking at her, I knew that Beth was smiling back at the detective. I was certain that Detective Alvarez was the only reason Beth had agreed to accompany me on my crime-solving escapades, and I was grateful for her sudden good taste. Previously, Beth had dated deadbeats and losers almost exclusively.

  I, on the other hand, locked eyes with Matt’s partner, Ethan Powell, and glared. A muscle twitched in my jaw, and annoyance flickered in Ethan’s jet-black eyes. Ethan was taller than Matt by a few inches, and once upon a time a million years ago, I’d found Ethan’s square-jawed, dark-haired looks attractive.

  Before Ethan could say anything, the man standing between the two detectives smiled at Beth. “Imagine running into you here,” he said slowly.

  Beth shifted from one leg to another, and I glanced at the man. His posture was relaxed, his hair a dirty-blond shade similar to mine. But while my hair fell to mid-back, his was shaved short on the sides, and spikey along the middle. His eyes were dark green, matching the t-shirt he wore. A tribal tattoo poked out from under his left sleeve, his shoulders were broad, and his voice deep and lazy.

  Beth stuttered nervously. “Um, yeah. Hi. It’s good to see you again.”

  I looked at Beth curiously, and she smiled hesitantly.

  “Mike used to be in my homeroom,” she explained. “And you guys know he was on the football team.”

  “Hmm.” Ethan looked at Beth speculatively. “So you two were good friends.”

  “Not really,” Beth said. “Mike was too popular to hang out with a nerd like me.”

  “Aw, hey,” Mike protested. “You know that’s not true.”

  “No, it is true,” Beth said. “Unless one of you jocks or cheerleaders needed help with your science homework.”

  I stifled a laugh. Being super-smart hadn’t helped Beth’s social life in high school, nor had it helped that she didn’t have a deceptive bone in her body. She said what she thought, and she hadn’t liked being used as a homework helper.

  I was about to ask him what he was doing in the police station, but before I could say anything, Mike said, “I’ve seen your photos in the press—you know, now that you two are helping to fight crime in Santa Verona. Aren’t you going to be hired as a police consultant?”

  “Yeah,” said Ethan sardonically. “Because writing about crime gives you the same qualifications as someone who’s actually gone to the police academy.”

  “I know a lot about crime,” I said, crossing my arms. “I did tons of research for the show I worked on.” Plus, I was a good observer, and Beth was good at chatting with suspects.

  “We’ve solved lots of cases as private investigators,” Beth piped up loyally. “Mindy’s good at this.”

  Ethan rolled his eyes. “Mindy’s been lucky so far, that’s all. She isn’t even a registered PI. And if the chief hadn’t been looking for some publicity, she’d never have considered making you two consultants.”

  I raised one eyebrow. “Isn’t it terrible if an ex-screenwriter can solve a case that the cops can’t? Good to see your police academy training being so useful.”

  “It’s good to see your Hollywood training being so useful,” Ethan retorted. “Aren’t we all lucky you’re back here to bother us again?”

  “They have solved cases,” Matt reminded him. “They might be helpful to the department.”

  Ethan and I glared at each other silently.

  “Have they hired you officially yet?” Matt asked.

  I softened my gaze and smiled at him. “Not yet. We’re here to see the chief about that today.” Especially because the consultant role was supposed to come with a regular paycheck. I like to make people happy, and the landlord would be pretty happy if I could pay my rent on time.

  Ethan made a dismissive, low-throated noise. “Good luck with that. I’m sure the chief doesn’t actually intend to hire you. We don’t need a screenwriter tagging along.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Beth and I wouldn’t be ‘tagging along.’ We’d be helpful. We’ve done a good job so far, and we’d probably find out more than you.”

  Ethan’s mouth set in a grim line, his eyes unsmiling.

  “Even if they did get hired,” Matt reminded him, “they’d probably be assigned to a different team. Or maybe not.” He looked at Beth again and smiled.

  “Hey, since you two are going to be consultants,” Mike said, “maybe you can convince these guys that I’m innocent.”

  My attention focused on him instantly, and I remembered my previous curiosity as to what he was doing in the station. “What do you mean, innocent?”

  “This is police business,” Ethan said brusquely.

  Mike ignored him and said, “They think I killed my uncle, Timothy Broker.”

  I felt my eyebrows slide upwards, and Beth said, “You mean, Grumpy McGrumperson? No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Mike. “He really was a grumpy old man.”

  “And now he’s dead?”

  Ethan’s eyes darted behind me, and he said, “We should get going.”

  “But perhaps we can help,” I said hopefully. Working with Ethan would be a pain in the keister, but an SVPD-stamped paycheck would make up for that. “Maybe you guys overlooked something.”

  “Indeed,” said a steely voice from behind me. “And what makes you think that?”

  I swive
led around and looked into Chief Christina Morgan’s intense gaze. Chief Morgan was Santa Verona’s first African-American police chief, and only the second woman to hold the title. She was a good few inches taller than me and as slim as any Hollywood starlet. Her black hair was relaxed straight and cut into a short, no-nonsense bob that fell just above her shoulders, and she wore the same gray pantsuits to work every day. She wasn’t a woman who messed around, and her ruthless efficiency and loyalty to her officers had made her one of Santa Verona’s most respected police chiefs.

  “I don’t know all the details,” I admitted. “But Chief, you know Beth and I are good at uncovering things.”

  “They’ve been lucky so far, Chief,” said Ethan from behind me. “And with all due respect, I don’t think they’re right for the force.”

  “Times are changing,” Chief Morgan said slowly. “Criminals are getting smarter, and we need to take risks if we’re going to keep up with crime.”

  “Well, Beth here is good friends with the suspect,” Ethan said, a smug lilt to his voice. “They’re personally involved in the case.”

  “I’m not good friends,” Beth protested. “Mike and I were in homeroom together, that’s it.”

  Chief Morgan looked from Ethan to Beth, and then back at me.

  “It’s true, they weren’t good friends,” I said. “And you know we can help out on this case.”

  From behind me, Ethan said, “Can we really risk the department’s reputation like this, Chief?”

  Chief Morgan gave me a regretful look. “I’m afraid Detective Macaulay’s right. If we’re going to hire you two as consultants, we can’t have the very first case be controversial, especially if you’ve fraternized with suspects.”

  “It’s a small town, Chief,” I said. “Ethan, Beth and I all went to high school together. Which means Ethan knows Mike personally, too.”

  “I was two years above him, in the same year as Mindy,” Ethan said. He left out the bit about having been my high school sweetheart. “Mike and I were definitely not friends.”

  The chief nodded curtly. “I’m afraid Macaulay’s right about this. The SVPD hopes to hire you two as consultants in the future—but not this time. This case isn’t for you.”