The Salmon Burger Murder: A Burger Bar Mystery, #5

By Rosie A. Point

The worst way to welcome new neighbors is definitely murder.

Christie Watson has never been closer to discovering the truth about her mother's murder—a cold case she's been tracking for quite some time. She's desperate for the truth, but it seems there are others who are desperate to keep her from finding it.

When her new next-door neighbor drops dead, the suspicion lands squarely on the shoulders of the two elderly women, who wouldn't hurt a fly—but definitely a burger. Christie has to clear their names or risk losing them for good.

All while the true murderer watches from somewhere close by. Who could it be?

Enjoy another meaty burger bar mystery this afternoon. One-click buy your copy now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Apr 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201646639

Book preview

1

Ipaced back and forth inside Griselda’s kitchen, stopping every now and again to stare at the offending plate of chocolate-chip cookies she’d left out for me. Next to it, two empty cups sat waiting, and next to that, the coffee pot, the brew not yet made.

You’re fine. It’s fine. This is totally fine, I muttered, pausing mid-stride and directing the words at the cookies. This is good. This is the first time you’re going to have access to your mother’s case file, so that’s good. There’s no reason you should be nervous.

Curly Fries, Grizzy’s resident fat cat, quite literally, watched me from next to her empty kibble bowl. It was her usual ‘stare tactic.’

Don’t judge me. I pointed at her. But that was like telling water not to be wet.

I had waited weeks for this. At least the last two—at first, when I’d come to town I’d been afraid that getting involved would open all kinds of emotional wounds. My mother’s case had both been my focus and my fear.

Now, it was too late to turn back.

Liam was on his way. He’d want my opinion on the documents and pictures he had. I prayed there weren’t pictures of her in there, but there would be, of course. I could only hope he would have the sense to keep them from me.

This was the trouble. It was her case, and I had to remain professional. Somehow. Professionalism had not been my strong suit this past month. Maybe ever.

A knock came at the front door, and my heart leaped.

He was here.

Stay there, I said to Curly, for no good reason. It felt right to say something, at least.

I headed through, opened up, and found Liam waiting in his uniform on the front porch. He had a manila folder tucked under his arm, relatively thin. Sparse, actually—there weren’t many documents in there.

Never judge a case file by its thickness. There might be a good amount of evidence.

Hi, I said.

Are you ready for this, Christie? You in the right frame of mind? he asked, glancing over his shoulder, left and right.

The sunny street outside was empty, apart from a Honda Civic parked in front of our next door neighbor’s house. A car I didn’t recognize. And then there was Liam’s cruiser.

Chris?

I’m ready, I said, and stepped back to admit him. Come on, let’s get some coffee. I mean, do you want some? Calm down.

Sure. I can make it. Seems like you’re a little shaky.

I didn’t argue with him. He’d been to Grizzy’s house enough times now that he knew where everything was. Liam placed the folder on the table, then set about brewing us a pot. I sat and stared at the file.

Have you looked at it yet? I asked.

Preliminary glance. He brought two mugs down from the cupboard. There’s not much to go off of in there. Look, Chris, we’ll work it out. I’ve got my questions for you. I can finally share information with you because you’re a witness. A family member. So, just … don’t stress. We’ve got this. He poured the coffee and came over.

I accepted the mug from him with thanks, took a sip and grimaced at the bitterness. All right. I’m ready.

Liam opened the file and extracted several documents and images—Polaroids that had been taken years ago. There was an image of my house—the very same that had been razed to the ground to hide evidence of my mother’s murder.

The detective didn’t extract any images of what had been left of her body. I forced myself to take another sip of the coffee.

All right, I said, scooching forward. What do we got?

From what I can tell, the lead detective on the case did his homework as best he could, but there are pieces of the puzzle missing that don’t make sense. Liam turned a page. The case as it stands is as follows: the victim is murdered between the hours of 8-and-9pm at night. No witnesses. No one hears anything.

I had been at a friend’s house. I had come home to the fire. Another sip of coffee went down. Right.

The house is set on fire. The fire services respond to the blaze at around 9:15pm. It’s out of control. Ruled as arson, obviously, and the victim is extracted from the wreckage. Murder committed with a blunt weapon, he continued, extracting a picture from the pile and sliding it over. A kettlebell. It had a little yellow placard next to it. Still have the murder weapon in evidence. No fingerprints, no DNA due to degradation.

A kettlebell, I said. It’s not your mother. It’s a victim. It’s any old case. That’s rage.

You think so?

I’m assuming this was the victim’s kettlebell. The murderer must not have come prepared. Meaning he entered the house, found a blunt weapon and used it. In a rage.

Premeditation is still an option, Liam said, tapping his fingers on the picture then slipping it away again. As for suspects. I’m fresh out. I’ve got a list of the people who might’ve wanted to see the victim murdered but most of them either have an alibi, are dead, or were put in prison by her.

My ears pricked up at the mention of that. It made sense that they would want her dead. She had brought the Somerville Spiders, a notorious Bostonian gang, to its knees before moving away to Sleepy Creek.

Let’s take a look.

Liam slid another piece of paper out, and we pored over it.

Miles Finnegan—no longer a Spider. Name changed?

Gregory O’ Connor—died in prison shortly after conviction.

Jason Walsh—died in his home. Knew something?

Missy Murphy—missing, potentially on the run after the collapse of the Spiders.

The list went on and on. Suspects were either missing or dead or just not connected to the victim in any way. Some of them had alibis for the night of the murder, others had been unreachable, and it was no wonder the leads had fizzled out.

There were too many to consider, and most were inaccessible. But I had names, now. I could use this list and do a little research of my own. My mother’s case wouldn’t be solved in a day, I got that, but it was a start.

Still, why couldn’t this be simple? I itched to chase up these leads myself, to find these folks and question them for information on what had happened that night.

I made copies of everything in the file using Grizzy’s scanner-printer combo in the study, then came back.

Now. Liam slipped the pages out of my grasp once I’d sat down. There’s one link left. You.

If you really think I murdered my own mother, you’re delusional. You saw my name on the list. I had an alibi.

Christie, Liam said. Of course, I don’t think that. And yeah, you did have a rock solid alibi. I was talking about your testimony. What you could add to the case.

I took a breath. I didn’t know anything about this. I came home after spending time with a friend and discovered the house on fire. I didn’t see anything or know anyone who would want to hurt my mother. Shoot, I didn’t even know she’d moved us to Sleepy Creek to protect us from the Spiders at the time.

But … did you see anyone else around town? Anyone who was familiar. Perhaps someone who might be in Sleepy Creek now? Liam asked.

"So, you do think all the murders are connected."

Given what we found out about George Brighton and Paul, we can’t rule it out.

Loopy Paul had been a Spider before my mother had gotten him out. He’d died trying to warn me about a potential Spider on the loose in town. Now, that man was behind bars and refusing to talk without a lawyer present.

Yet, the crimes had continued.

Right, I said. I don’t recognize anyone strange. Unless you count the twins, and they’re not the type of strange we’re looking for.

Liam got up and organized the papers into the case file. He offered me a smile. I should get these back to the station and start work. If anything comes up for you, let me know.

I will. I got up too, and Liam gave me a quick hug.

We walked to the door, and I opened it.

There you are! Missi and Vee stood on the front porch together, their arms linked.

Good morning, ladies. Balle tipped an imaginary cap then swept out of the house and down the steps toward his cruiser.

The terrible twins waited until he was out of sight before pouncing. Where have you been this morning? Missi asked. You missed a total meltdown in the Burger Bar.

A meltdown? Mona again?

No. Georgina, Missi said. Furious that she didn’t get enough cheese on her burger. Can you believe the cheek?

We didn’t come here to gossip, sister. Virginia had chosen a floor-length flower-patterned dress while her sister wore a pair of khaki shorts and a sleeveless blouse. We came to ask for your help, Christie.

With what? I asked.

Missi and Vee exchanged a glance. Let’s talk inside.

2

"W hat can I help you with?" I stepped back to admit the twins.

Missi pranced in like she owned Grizzy’s house, and Vee glanced left and right then entered as well.

What’s going on? I asked. You’re acting secretive.

There’s nothing wrong with keeping secrets in this town, given what’s been going on, Missi said.

I led them through to the kitchen,