The Bacon Burger Murder: A Sleepy Creek Cozy Mystery, #1

By Rosie A. Point

Murder by burger? Only in Sleepy Creek…

Christie Watson, private investigator extraordinaire, has only just gotten used to the small-town life in Sleepy Creek. After all, she's barely had time to relax since she's solved her mother's cold case.

When Christie heads out to visit Griselda, her bestie, hankering for a delicious Bacon Burger, she walks into a crime scene instead. The newest restaurateur in town is dead… poisoned, and he happens to be Griselda's biggest burger competition.

Chris' best friend is the prime suspect. She has to solve the mystery or see Grizzy take the fall for a crime she didn't commit. 

Sleepy Creek's favorite characters return in this follow-up series to the Burger Bar Mysteries. Grab your copy today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rosie A. Point
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201231163

Book preview

1

Two items had arrived on my desk at noon. One was a sumptuous burger from my best friend’s Burger Bar—crispy bacon over a burger patty smothered in melted cheese, trapped between two soft halves of a sesame speckled bun.

And the second? A letter.

A perfumed, pink envelope addressed to me.

Christie Watson.

My name was scrawled across the front in looping letters. Not a handwriting I recognized.

I’d been living in Sleepy Creek for over two years now, and in that time I’d solved plenty murder cases, including my mother’s cold case, lost my job, encountered people of every creed and attitude, worked as a server, nearly lost and saved a good friend, and started my own private investigation company.

Nothing gave me pause anymore.

Except for this letter.

I didn’t know anybody outside of Sleepy Creek, apart from my old pals in Boston. And they had my cellphone number.

Get your head in the game, Watson, I muttered, and lifted the pink envelope from my desk. My office was small, on the first floor of a two-story office building for rent just off Main Street. The air-conditioning clicked and hummed, working against the heat of summer.

I turned the letter over, but it had no return address.

None of my current clients sent me requests by mail. Shoot, nobody did that anymore. That was what email was for. Or phone calls. Or text messages.

I picked up my letter opener, slit the top of the envelope open then tipped its contents onto my desk.

A pink piece of paper fell out.

All right, we’re making progress. I cast a longing glance at my burger in its box, but my curiosity had already taken over. That had always been my problem. I wanted to know more than I wanted to do anything else.

I picked up the letter and flipped it open.

Hello Christie Watson,

My name is Agatha Dupin. Everyone calls me Aggy, and I guess you can too. I’m writing to you because of my father. And your father too.

I read that line again. My father? I hadn’t known my father. He’d walked out on my mother after I’d been born. I’d never missed him because I’d never known him.

My father was your father’s brother. So, uh, I guess that makes him your uncle? And that means I’m your cousin. Hi!

So, my dad, your uncle, just passed away. From what he told me about you, you probably would have liked him. He was in the CIA, and he said that I should try to be more like you because you’re a successful investigator and you have your own company now. He left me a lot of money in my will, but I’m only allowed to use it if I learn how to be in the police or an investigator or something in law enforcement.

Sorry for being so blunt, that’s just how I am.

Anyway, I’m coming to Sleepy Creek to learn from you. I’ll meet you at your office some time in the morning on June 16 th.

Sincerely,

Aggy Dupin

My mouth had dropped open two sentences into reading the letter. I shut it and massaged my jaw.

Tomorrow was June 16 th.

I gulped. Heat traveled over my skin. The last thing in the world I had expected, or wanted for that matter, was a long lost family member cramping my style. And this Aggy—who the heck called themselves Aggy?—sounded like the type who relished making other people uncomfortable without even knowing she was doing it.

I sprang out of my chair and marched to my office door. I wrenched it open and charged past the tiny walnut desk where my receptionist, Mindy, sat reading a magazine.

Take messages for me, I said. I’ll be right back.

Mindy, a teenager who’d needed a summer job and wore the equivalent of a truckload of makeup to work, rolled her eyes at me. What messages? You worried someone’s going to need you to find their missing retainer again?

That was one time! Work had been thin on the ground lately. No murders. No troubles. Just peaceful Sleepy Creek—I’d never thought it was possible. Just take the messages, OK?

Whatever.

I burst out of the front door, marched down the road and entered Main Street. People strolled by, chatting, offering greetings and smiles as I passed, but I ignored them. I’d grown accustomed to the Sleepy Creekers, the gossip, the friendliness, but I wasn’t in the mood for it.

Griselda’s Burger Bar with its new sign, written in neon lights with a flashing burger next to it, beckoned. I opened the door, the bell tinkling its usual greeting, and marched up to the bar at the back. I caught sight of my long, dark hair and pale face in the mirror, before my bestie, Grizzy, popped into view with an ice-cream tub under her arm.

What are you doing here? she asked.

And hello to you too, best friend, I replied.

Oh, sorry, it’s just I already sent over this week’s special to you.

You want anotha burger, Christie? Jarvis, the Jamaican chef, called from the kitchen, wearing his usual jolly smile and an apron that read Don’t Kiss the Chef. That was probably to fend off his greatest admirer, Mississippi.

I’m all set, I replied.

What’s wrong? Grizzy asked. Chris, are you OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

I handed the letter over, and Grizzy put down the ice cream tub and accepted the letter. Her eyes widened as she read.

Yeah. I pointed at her. That was my reaction.

Is this... serious? Grizzy flipped the letter over and scanned the blank side as if it would provide more answers. Is this for real?

Typical, I said. Typical Sleepy Creek. Just when things were starting to get back to normal, something like this happens. Some weird cousin crawls out of the woodwork and decides they’re going to cramp my style.

Two things. Grizzy put up two fingers. Firstly, I don’t think you can blame this one on Sleepy Creek. It’s not like this… Aggy person is from here so—

But she found me here. I’m claiming it as another Sleepy Creek thing.

—and secondly, I don’t think it’s possible to cramp your style, Christie.

What’s that supposed to mean? Just because I haven’t had that many cases of late, doesn’t mean I’ve failed as a private investigator. It did mean things were tight financially, though.

Not what I meant, Grizzy replied. But sheesh, I touched a nerve, didn’t I?

So, what did you mean?

You’re the unstoppable Christie Watson. You took down the Somerville Spiders. I don’t think this cousin is going to do anything to stand in your way.

I flopped down on the stool. I’d left my burger back at the office, and now that the initial shock had worn off, the stomach grumbling began. "It doesn’t feel that way. Things have been too slow."

Well, Grizzy said, brandishing the letter, maybe this will shake things up.

Not the type of shake up I’m looking for. Say, Jarvis? What’s the special this week?

Bacon Burger, mon, he called back. You want one?

Please! I’d eat my extra burger at home tonight. It wasn’t like I had anything in my apartment other than boxed mac ‘n cheese. Now that Grizzy and Arthur, her husband, lived together and I’d had to move out, my eating habits weren’t great.

The bell tinkled, and Missi and Vee, the terrible twins of Sleepy Creek entered the restaurant. Missi had her silver-gray hair in curls today, and Vee’s usual plum-colored do had changed to a lighter shade of blue.

It’s a travesty, Missi announced to the room at large. A travesty I tell you.

I couldn’t help but grin. Nothing cheered me up like a little terrible twin drama.

Missi, dear, you’re making a nuisance of yourself.

On the contrary, most of the customers in the Burger Bar looked up from their tables or booths to watch with interest.

I spun around on my puffy red stool. What’s a travesty? I called out.

The cameras! Missi stormed over. Vee trailed her, shaking her head. They both took seats on bar stools either side of mine.

Usually, Missi gave Jarvis a wink and a flirty hello. Not today. She slapped her tote bag down on the counter, growling. That Mona is a menace.

What’s she done now? I asked.

Remember Mayor Samson’s town meeting last week?

Vaguely. I tried to skip town meetings whenever possible. What about it?

Mona Jonah put forward a petition to have surveillance cameras installed on some of the streets in Sleepy Creek. The mayor’s taking the petition seriously, Vee said.

And how do we know this? Because they’re installing a camera right in front of our antique shop! It’s going to block the front windows from view. It’s outrageous. Missi grunted. Double thick chocolate malt milkshake please, Griselda.

Make that two, Vee put in.

Three. I lifted a finger.

Grizzy cracked open her ice-cream tub and set to work making them. So, now what? Can’t you do something about the cameras?

Vee spotted my pink letter on the countertop and lifted