Caramel Macchiato Murder

Text copyright 2023 Laura Pauling All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, except for brief passages in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, blog or broadcast. This is a work of fiction, and is produced from the author’s imagination. People, places and things mentioned in this novel are used in a fictional manner. Edited by Cindy Davis Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs 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 a Baron & Graystone short story Macadamia Fudge Murder Holly Hart Cozy Mysteries Also by Laura About Laura Chapter One The house had to be haunted. That was Belle Baron’s first thought as she sat in her beat-up car and peered at the Victorian monstrosity. Honestly, she’d been lucky to make the trip here, lucky the car didn’t break down on the highway and leave her stranded. It had happened before. It was only a matter of time before it happened again. Belle didn’t want to be here, in the town of Everly. At the house of her Great Aunt Eliza, and for some reason, Eliza had sent a letter requesting her presence. About something important. Blah. Blah. Blah. Belle had many messy and complicated feelings when it came to family, any family. She had good reason. She studied the house. Maybe it was the way the old structure stood, leaning to one side like a puff of wind would knock it over, or a sneeze, the kind that came on suddenly. Or maybe it was a trick of the light or the fact the rest of the house was a disaster. There was the peeling paint, the rotting front porch, the crooked shutters and grimy windows. Was that a broken window on the second floor? The weeds had long ago choked out any purposeful landscaping. The whole thing should be bulldozed. And then there were spiders. There had to be spiders. With a sigh, she decided to at least let her aunt know she had arrived. She didn’t have to stay longer than a few minutes if it didn’t go well. That wouldn’t be too hard or painful. She stood at the door, eyeing with great suspicion the parts where the front of the house met the roof, the place most apt for spiders to dwell. She let out a squeak when the door swung open. Belle recognized her Great Aunt Eliza immediately, the piercing green eyes connected to the last name Baron, the way she stood tall and straight, except now seemed shorter, almost shriveled. Or had Belle grown taller in the past fifteen years? There was her aunt’s hair, pulled back, now silver, now thinner. There was that way she had of looking at people, like she could see through you, to your innermost secrets and it always brought a blush to Belle’s cheeks, as it did now. Belle swore she was even wearing the same dress as she did all those years ago. A gray frumpy thing that belonged to a different era. Along with Eliza came the wash of nostalgia, of memories, like the scent of baking cookies, nature walks through the backyard, Eliza encouraging her to observe the details of the animal tracks in the dirt, of the milkweed and the green cocoon of the Monarch. Next came the sting and the burn of the day her aunt turned her back on her, and Belle went to live with her aunt and uncle about one hundred miles away. Eliza didn’t smile, but she stepped aside. She acted humble and gracious in her actions, but remained unreadable. Was she sorry? Was she regretting all the missing years? Did she ever think about the past, the bright smile of a girl who adored her, the braids the girl insisted on wearing every day, the pancakes drizzled with syrup they made every weekend? Did she remember the love and the trust and the bonding, the connection, the family, all the things that lay beneath, buried under the memories? “I was hoping you’d come,” she said. There were so many conflicting emotions raging inside Belle, even though she had spent the entire drive here convincing herself she didn’t care anymore. Now the same question flooded through her. It was always the same question. Why didn’t you fight for me? Belle stepped inside and noticed right away the deterioration of the place. Everything faded, everything worn and weary, everything in disrepair, like the outside of the house. Same furniture, different house. Belle followed her great aunt to the parlor and took a seat at the small circular table. She perched at the edge of the chair, uncomfortable, her feet itching to run. Eliza sat across from her, almost sagging, not just her body, but her cheeks, her neck, her chest, but she hadn’t lost the fire for life. It was there, simmering in her eyes. “Well, I’m here.” What else what she supposed to say? “Yes, thank you for coming.” Eliza always had a way of looking at Belle, and Belle usually spilled her guts, but this time, she bit on her tongue. She had nothing to say. She didn’t call this meeting. A crackly sigh escaped Eliza. “It was time we talked.” The silence that followed made Belle want to leave; it was prickly and uncomfortable, like the burden of conversation was on her, but to be clear, it wasn’t. This silence wasn’t a quiet silence; it was filled with all the unspoken words and the pain from the past. Eliza shifted in her chair, some look in her eyes that acknowledged Belle’s feelings in all this, like what she was about to say would be