Twice Baked

  Twice Baked: A Rita, Reincarnated Mystery (Book 1)

  By J.C. Kilgrave

  Chapter 1

  I never thought much about how I was going to die. The whole thing just seemed so needless and morbid. In fact, I never thought much about death at all. I was much too sunny a person for that. And besides, who has time to think about death when life is going so great?

  Turns out I should have.

  ^

  “Count it again!” Peggy grinned at me as I closed up the register. This was our second full week in business, and to say things were going well would have been an understatement.

  “I counted it three times already,” I answered, moving from the register to the glass display where we held all the pies; the lifeblood of our little enterprise.

  “I know Rita, but can you believe it?” My best friend was practically giddy, and who could blame her? She had risked a lot. After graduating from Brown with a degree in Business, I convinced Peggy to leave the hustle and bustle of Northeastern greater education and come back home.

  Hey, after that feat, I should have been the one with the degree.

  It wasn’t as selfish a move as it sounds like. Sure, Peggy and I had been best friends since about the time we could form coherent thoughts, and there was no doubt that Second Springs just wasn’t the same without her. But, despite what my future actions might lead you to believe, I’ve never been a self-centered person.

  I persuaded -convinced- well, strong-armed Peggy into coming back here because it was what was best for her. I had listened to her every night on the phone, growing more and more disenchanted as she lost that skip in her step, that joyful lilt in her voice.

  “I mean, it’s just the greatest thing ever!” She laughed.

  It was definitely back now.

  “I’m not sure ‘greatest thing ever’ applies. I’d say the printing press ranks just slightly above us in terms of all time accomplishments, but I will admit that-if things keep going like this- we might actually be able to hire someone to do these deliveries.”

  I pulled out the deconstructed cardboard boxes and started putting them together, preparing for my nightly run.

  “I told you that I would do those for you, Rita. It’s not fair that you have to schlep those pies around town every night by yourself. I’m sure Aiden would appreciate you cutting off early every once in a while.” She winked at me.

  Color rose in my cheeks. I always blushed insanely easily, and I hated that. Not that there was any reason for me to blush. Aiden and I were engaged, after all. He had put a ring on it. It was only fair for people to assume that we were anxious to spend time together.

  But we were both adults. He was busy. I was busy. And Aiden wasn’t the type of guy to need me hanging around him 24/7. It was cool. It was fine.

  “Be that as it may, I enjoy it.” I answered, hoisting up a banana cream pie (Dad’s favorite) and plopping it into one of the now masterfully put together containers. “I only have two to deliver tonight anyway, and besides, I enjoy the walk. It helps me clear my head.”

  “Well , don’t let it clear too much, not when we’re on schedule to turn a profit in three months!” Peggy couldn’t believe it and, in truth, I couldn’t either. Of course, I hadn’t sat through all those first rate business classes, the ones that tell you how insanely lucky you are just to keep your business afloat for the first eighteen months.

  Peggy had been very doubtful when I convinced her that a pie shop was exactly what Second Springs was missing.

  Ever since Mrs. Delta moved down to Miami and took her cream cheese rolls with her, you could not find a good dessert in this town to save your life.

  But even I didn’t think it would take off so quickly. Though maybe I should have. After all, this was Second Springs. Nothing bad ever happened here.

  Telling Peggy goodnight and leaving her to lock up (because I always forgot to), I started what should have been a relatively uneventful ten - minute walk to deliver pies to Mrs. Hoover and then to Dad.

  Of course, it turned out to be neither uneventful or ten minutes long, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

  I passed by Dad’s house first but, since I technically lived there too- at least until the wedding- it seemed more practical to drop the chocolate pecan supreme off to Mrs. Hoover and then come marching into Dad like the banana cream powered superhero that I was.

  When I passed by the house though, just at the edge of the street where ‘Pie Ladies’ Paradise’ was tearing it up businesswise, I saw that his squad car was missing from the driveway.

  Immediately, I pulled out my phone and tapped his name.

  Dad hated cell phones so much that he almost never answered his, especially in Second Springs where the only thing spottier than cell reception was 4g capability. But I had the number to the precinct on speed dial. And, if I got really pushy, I could tap into the police channel with one of the walkie talkies I lifted from the station. Because, you know, when your dad’s the sheriff, being able to get in touch with him puts your mind at ease.

  “Second Springs Sheriff’s Department,” the voice on the other said through a mouthful of something chunky sounding.

  “Ester, I need to speak to my father!” I yelled because, in addition to being the oldest living person in Second Springs, my dad’s secretary was extremely hard of hearing.

  “The Dodgers?” She asked. “They’re leading 7 to 4, bottom of the 8th.”

  She was also a huge baseball fan.

  “No Ester, not the Dodgers, though I knew I should have bet on that game.” I cleared my throat. “I want to talk to my father! I’d like to know why he’s not home yet!”

  “The Jets?” She repeated, mangling my narrative. “It’s not even football season. And why are you calling about this? This is a place of business, you know.”

  “No, Ester-”

  But she had hung up.

  “Of course,” I muttered. Luckily, this wasn’t the first time I had hit an Ester shaped roadblock while trying to get in touch with Dad. So I knew just who to call.

  “Dwight!” I said, smiling.

  I could hear the nervousness in his voice the instant he answered.

  “Aw Rita, you’re going to get me in trouble, aren’t you?” My dad’s deputy was a good guy; a bit nervous, a little dim. But all in all, he was brave and had a good heart. That heart got him in over his head sometimes, especially where I was concerned. But what are you gonna do? I never said knowing me was easy.

  “Not at all, Dwightie,” I said, which was absolutely a lie. Dwight had been instructed on more than one occasion not to engage with me on the phone and-if he had to- to absolutely never give out the information that I was about to get from him. See what I mean about not easy?

  “I’d just like to know what’s keeping my dad out so late tonight.”

  “That’s police business,” Dwight answered weakly. I could practically hear him biting his lip, the poor guy.

  “So there is something!” I answered, still walking toward Mrs. Hoover’s place.

  “I didn’t say that!” Dwight was in full on panic mode now, which told me two things; that the nervous guy was probably going to have to have to reapply his Speed Stick after this conversation, and that Dad was currently rifling through some case.

  “You didn’t have to,” I answered. “If nothing was going on, you’d have told me he was doing paperwork or in the bathroom or something.”

  “Can we just pretend I said that?” he muttered, defeated.

  “Not likely.” I smiled. “Now spill. We both know I’m not going to stop until you tell me what’s going on.”

  He sighed and, on the other end of the phone, I could hear the background noise lessening. He was going into the supply closet. Or, as I liked to ca
ll it, Dwight’s confessional.

  “Eddie Perkin’s car was stolen tonight. We’re combing the area looking for it.”

  “Really?” I asked, stopping in my tracks and tapping my free finger against my chin under my lip. “Eddie Perkin’s niece is in town, right? The one from Conyers?”

  “Yeah, but she’s accounted for,” Dwight sighed.

  “She might be accounted for now, but I saw her in the drug store last weekend chatting up that sophomore quarterback, Evan Something.”

  “Dwier,” Dwight answered, perking up a little.

  “Right. The two seemed pretty chummy. Now, if I’m not mistaken, didn’t Evan Something-”

  “Dwier,” Dwight corrected.

  “Whatever,” I said. “Didn’t he crash his dirt bike last month while racing it?” I shook my head, because it was all coming together. “And there’s a concert in Hillbrook tonight too, that new alt band, The Other Side of Normal. I’d bet dollars to this banana cream in my left hand that that’s where you’ll find the car.”

  “But the niece is accounted for. Didn’t you hear me?” Dwight asked.

  “Sure she might be, or she might have done what every teenager girl who wants to do something bad with a cute boy has done since the dawn of time.”

  “Text?” Dwight asked.

  “Have Eddie Perkins go up to the room she’s sleeping in. If I’m right, and I usually am, he’ll find that his niece is now a stack of pillows under a blanket and that his car is tucked safely outside a concert venue two towns away.” I beamed just a little, the way you do when you solve a crime.

  “You’re amazing,” Dwight answered, sounding noticeably relieved.

  “Don’t you forget it,” I answered. “And Dwight, why don’t you bring this to my dad yourself? Let him believe you came to it on your own.”

  “Is that because you’re looking out for me or because the last time he caught you snooping around his case files he nearly blew a gasket?”

  “Either way,” I shrugged. “Let’s go with the ‘helping you’ bit. It makes me feel better about myself.”

  “If you really want to help me out you could give me some of that banana cream pie you were talking about,” he chuckled.

  “Maybe next time, Slick,” I grinned and hung up.

  ^

  When I made it Mrs. Hoover’s, marching down the old stone steps that led into the valley where she lived, I was yawning more than I’d have cared to admit. Maybe Peggy was on to something with this whole ‘shorter days’ thing.

  Still, Mrs. Hoover was a kind woman and too sickly to get out much. So bringing her the pie was less about decedent chocolate against a caramel laden crust and more about giving the sweet old lady someone to talk to.

  My mouth watered as a breeze wafted the sweet scent up to my nose. Okay, so maybe it was about the chocolate and caramel. Goodness knows I couldn’t blame her.

  I reached for the knob to twist it, because Mrs. Hoover was expecting me and getting to the door was something of a feat for her, but found it already open.

  Narrowing my eyes, I pushed forward.

  “Mrs. Hoover,” I shouted down the eerily quiet hallway. “Mrs. Hoover, it’s Rita Clarke. I’ve got a pie for you.” I moved into the living room, my hand tensing around the bag. “It’s chocolate pecan supreme. Your favori-”

  My eyes bulged wide as I took the room in.

  Everything was a mess. The couch was flipped over. A hole was torn into the carpet and the boards beneath had been plied up with something.

  A fire burned in the fireplace and all the closets were flung open. Someone had ransacked this place, but where was Mrs. Hoover?

  Looking down, I saw a wrench beside the hole in the floor. It glistened red and wet against the fire. And as I moved closer, I saw that was because the head of it was covered in blood.

  I spun, rushing out of the house.

  I kept running, but pulled the phone out of my pocket. Darn. No service.

  With my heart pounding, I raced toward, and then up, the stone steps. I had talked to Dwight up there. Maybe I could make a call now too.

  I settled at the top of the steps, trying to catch my breath and turning back toward Mrs. Hoover’s house. It all looked so peaceful, so normal, just like every other house in Second Springs. The idea that something nefarious had happened there, that this sweet old woman had met some horrid end, it sickened me.

  Calling Dad, I found that he went straight to voicemail.

  I couldn’t risk Ester right now, so I called Dwight back.

  “Hey,” he answered, much more relaxed than before. “Guess what? You were right. I told Eddie to look under the-”

  “Dwight, I need you to listen to me,” I said in a ragged breathed rush. “I think something’s happened to Mrs. Hoover. A hole’s been cut into her floor and there’s blood. I need you to tell my father that-”

  If I wouldn’t have been so frantic just then I might have heard the person as they neared me, as they settled behind me. If I had, then certainly everything would have turned out differently. But I didn’t hear them. I didn’t hear them, in fact, until they were right behind me, until they whispered to me with that gravelly voice.

  “You shouldn’t have done that to her.”

  Startled, I wanted to turn around, to tell whoever it was that it wasn’t me who had done this to Mrs. Hoover, that I would never hurt anyone, let alone a sweet old lady who wanted nothing more than someone to talk to over sweets.

  But before I could do any of that, a shove knocked me forward.

  I didn’t realize what was happening at first, only that the steps were growing closer.

  And then there was pain and darkness.

  By the end of it, I was covered in blood and pie. Chocolate sauce and banana cream lay wasted all over me.

  I couldn’t move. I couldn’t talk. I could only look up at the sky, at the stars and the moon as they watched me helplessly.

  I blinked tears out of my vision, and then a star shot across the sky. A shooting star.

  I made a wish, and then everything was gone.

  Chapter 2

  I woke standing. No, woke isn’t the right word. That would imply that I had been sleeping, which wasn’t technically the case. I couldn’t really explain what had happened to me or how I got here- on the side of some windy, barren road under a plastic canopy.

  I just was where, a minute ago, I wasn’t.

  As long as we’ve got that cleared up.

  I shook my head, blinking fog out of eyes that felt all wrong and trying to remember what had happened to me.

  What was the last thing I remembered?

  Chocolate pies, tumbling down stone steps, and bloody wrenches. Had that been me or a character in a movie? Had it been real life or a book I had read while half asleep? Everything was so foggy and jumbled up. This wasn’t like me. This was-

  A car horn blew beside me, and I jumped. My body felt strange though; a little slower, a little lighter.

  I looked over for the source of the noise and found that the very rude (and startling) sound came from a dusty old red pickup truck.

  The bucket of rust idled on the side of the road. An older man in a cowboy hat sat in the driver’s seat- half leaning out the window- and chewing on a gnarled toothpick.

  A dog sat perched in the back with a shaggy red mane that was somehow so dust-free that he practically sparkled.

  “Oh God,” I murmured, startled from the jolt.

  “Not quite,” the old man grinned from his seat. “But I’ll take the compliment nonetheless. Now, are you ready?”

  “Ready for what?” I asked, looking around me for clues. Having a dad that’s a sheriff teaches you to be resourceful. It also teaches you to be paranoid enough to always cover your tracks when you want to sneak out in the middle of the night, but that’s beside the point.

  Dad had prepared me for this moment since I was a little girl.

  “If you find yourself in a spot, and you don’t know where y
ou are or what you’re going to do,” He’d always said. “Look for landmarks. That way, when you get a chance to call for help, you’ll be able to tell them where you are even if you don’t know.”

  So, looked look for landmarks, I did.

  Only, there didn’t seem to be any. This was a standard two lane road, just like the one that ran to and from Second Springs. And this canopy, it lacked everything except a nondescript green bench and one of those reflective orbs you see on the side of the road.

  Does ‘nothing’ count as a landmark? I suppose I could tell that to Dad.

  But as my eyes-which still felt all wrong, by the way- traced that reflective orb, it drug across something very strange.

  The reflection I saw in it, my reflection…it didn’t look like me at all.

  I had blond hair that curled at my shoulders. But the woman in the orb, she had straight red hair. I had dark blue eyes that Aiden said looked like the sea at night (so romantic!), but orb girl stared back at me with bright green peepers.

  And don’t get me started on the outfit. I would never be caught dead in floral, even though the orb girl didn’t seem to share the same fashion sense.

  But who was she, and why was she staring back at me from the place where I was supposed to be standing?

  “Get a good look?” The old man chewed on his toothpick and tipped his hat forward.

  “Who-who is that?” I asked, motioning to the orb with a shaky pointer finger.

  “Well, I ain’t exactly a genius, Honeybean. But I’m gonna take a guess and say that it’s you.”

  “It’s not,” I answered. “It’s definitely not.”

  “Maybe it is now,” he grinned. Leaning across the seat, the old man opened the passenger door and patted the seat. “How about you let me give you a ride and I’ll explain everything?”

  “A ride?” My eyes narrowed. “I don’t even know where I am.”

  “Well,” he answered. “I’ve been around a long time, and I’ve found that where you are ain’t exactly as important as where you’re going.”

  “And where’s that?” I asked, confused enough that I could have mistaken sugar for salt. “Where am I going?”