Locked, Loaded, and Baked?: Snips and Snails Cafe, #5

By Elizabeth Rain

What happens when Teenage Hijinks turn into Murder?

 

When the latest in a slew of Dumpster fires at the local campground turn up a finger and a ring, Jack Lovelace smells a corpse...and a job for his girlfriend Juli...Part-time Detective...Full-time Soup Witch at Snips and Snails Cafe...

Add in the bone Juli's half-grown Lab Mix, Holly, digs up and brings home...the human bone...
And now there's a new Mystery in town.

...and then they find the second grave.

Is there a Serial Killer Loose in Veil Falls? Will they find the culprit before a new grave is dug for the next victim?

There's Spells to learn, Ghost's to tame, and a Smidgeon of Romance in the air for Juli and a certain hunky Fire Chief…

 

But first, she'll need to get cooking. If she's to survive what's coming, she'll need a new kind of Hero. And she has just the right recipe to conjure one up…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Sep 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9798223660415

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

He blamed the dog.

If that idiotic pup hadn’t come snooping, digging where she shouldn’t, he wouldn’t have been forced to move the body. And with the entire county losing their minds and sniffing around the area, looking for the matching corpse to go with the arm bone, he needed to dispose of the remains. He needed a crematorium, and fast.

The recent rash of dumpster fires that had plagued the local campground had given him the idea. It had been way too easy to follow those kids, and especially the young driver in the beat-up Chevy pickup. He doubted the kid was old enough to drive, but he had a firm grasp on starting fires alright.

A little research on his end and he’d discovered that the young pyro lived alone with his mother. His dad had died in a logging accident the previous year, leaving him fatherless. He’d also left an entire shed full of his tools and supplies for his job where he’d worked as foreman at Bitters Stump and Tree Removal Service.

The boys had been having a time of it, experimenting with the several containers of stump removal fluid and bags of charcoal left behind in the shed. The teenage boys had been using the leftover combustible materials in their dumpster fires. It had caught his attention for one very important reason. He’d been researching the cremation of human remains. He’d learned that in order for a body to break down into an ashy state, the temperatures had to reach over 1200 degrees Fahrenheit. It turned out Stump Removal Fluid was one of the few liquids readily available on the open market, oil-based paints and thinners excepted, that could reach that temperature. The charcoal was added to maintain it for a longer time.

As an added bonus, using the dumpster to get rid of the evidence allowed him plausible deniability. If the remains didn’t fully disintegrate as planned, the kids would be the logical place for authorities to place the blame.

He stood in the doorway of the shed and looked towards the house, just visible through the trees in the moonlight. It was a Sunday in May. The still frigid nights discouraged late night activities. Nothing moved, and no lights glimmered. He reached down and grabbed the last two containers of stump remover with a groan, shouldering the door closed behind him. It was his last trip back through the woods to where he’d parked the van. He swore violently when he tripped over a stump, nearly taking a tumble and spilling the precious fluid. At the van, he opened the back and set the containers next to four others. Two large bags of charcoal and a bucket containing a pair of homemade Molotov cocktails sat next to the body, wrapped and waiting. He wrinkled his nose as he shut the door and went around to yank the driver’s side door open. At close to a year in the ground, the cadaver had been reduced to bones and sinew by nature. The overwhelming stench of rot had likewise left with the worms, leaving behind an earthy aroma that was more bearable. As he pulled down the lane that ran along a small field and back onto the road, he glanced in his rear-view mirror. The shed had already vanished from view. At some point, he should make plans to return and light a match to it. He needed to destroy any evidence he might have left behind. It would also serve to further point authorities in the wrong direction.

The campground was less than three miles away, but he cut his lights well before he turned down the single narrow entrance to the park, stopping several hundred yards back from the brand new dumpster that had replaced the other two. When he was sure everything was as quiet as it should be at two thirty in the morning, he cut the engine, got out, and went to work.

A half hour later, the half-empty dumpster of camp trash and ruined s’mores contained a soon-to-be burnt offering of a different kind.

Standing well back from the large open metal container, the Molotov cocktail in his hand, he flicked a lighter and lit the protruding cloth wick. He waited just until it caught and started traveling the length towards the neck of the bottle. He drew his arm back, took careful aim, and let it fly.

He had a heart stopping moment of fear when it fell short, glancing off the rim of the lid and bouncing before it descended out of sight into the dumpster. His feet were already backpedaling when the entire thing went up with a whoosh, the back draft sending a spiral of heat washing over him from twenty feet away. The flames shot high, lighting up the night sky as they found a ready fuel source. The charcoal in the bottom would help maintain the proper temperature for the time needed.

But he wasn’t done. He didn’t have time to admire his handiwork. He turned and ran back towards the van where he’d parked it on the grassy median just off the road next to a small path he’d made earlier the previous day. A medium-sized lodgepole pine groaned and waved back and forth, listing towards the road from the large gash he’d taken out of it earlier. Snatching up the small chainsaw leaning conveniently against it, he gave three rapid pulls on the cord and it started up with a whining roar. He touched the blade to the gaping gash, stepping back as it fell, taking out a scrub cedar and a couple of poplars on the way. It effectively blocked the only way in for the large emergency vehicles. He cut the engine and ran for his van, tossing the chainsaw in the back and getting in. He didn’t hear the fire department, not yet. But they’d be coming in the next few minutes. He needed to be clear of the main road by then. The fallen pine wouldn’t stop them, but it would slow them down. He looked back the way he’d come as he made a right onto the main road. The dumpster was fully engulfed, the dark metal sides gleaming a bright cherry red from the heat. He hoped the entire thing didn’t melt before the evidence was destroyed.

He’d already pulled off the road and out of sight when the first fire truck roared by, sirens wailing. He sat on the hood and lit a cigarette, just able to make out the scene through the trees from the small bluff he perched on. He did so love a good bonfire.

GLENN MATHERS SWORE profusely when he pulled down the long lane into the campground. His partner, Ralph, sat bleary-eyed in the seat next to him, stifling a yawn. Behind them and just arriving was a late model Dodge pickup. Stan Merritt was on call and had been pulled out of bed on the way. They’d beat the cops and the EMTs, but they’d be along shortly. Glenn was first in charge after Jack. This was their third dumpster fire in as many weeks, and he hadn’t called the fire chief for this one. He hadn’t seen the point in both of them losing sleep when it was his shift and Jack’s day off. Ahead of him, he pumped the brakes, drawing the large fire engine to a halt a matter of feet away from the fallen lodgepole pine blocking the road. Gritting his teeth, he cut the engine, and they both jumped out. Glenn moved to the storage compartment and yanked open the door to get the chainsaw. His partner reached past him and grabbed a set of chains. When you lived in the wilderness of the Upper Peninsula, it paid to be prepared.

By the time they’d cleared the road and drove through, Glenn estimated the fire had been going for close to an hour. It showed no sign of abating soon, the heat from the blaze keeping them well back. Beneath the glowing hull of the dumpster, molten steel pooled in puddles as the metal container slowly melted into the ground.

In the course of the next several hours, they spent more time preventing the surrounding woods from catching on fire than trying to put out the furnace-like inferno that had once been the camp dumpster. It was nearly noon by the time Glenn deemed the area contained sufficiently to shut down the pumps and disconnect the hoses from the hydrants that drew their supply of fresh water from nearby Ghost Lake.

His eyes gritty with exhaustion, Glenn looked towards the road where Deputy Sheriff Jerry Watson and his partner, Anna Shilling, continued to direct what little traffic there was around the fire. There’d been no sign of Chief Jokerbridge. Glenn wasn’t surprised. The Chief left the boring stuff to his deputies.

He looked over and caught Jerry Watson’s eye, motioning him over. Jerry spoke briefly to his partner and headed in his direction.

Still warm, but it’s mostly out if you want to get a closer look now, Glenn murmured, nodding towards the smoldering lump of metal.

Jerry shrugged. We should. I’m guessing we won’t find anything more than we did the last two times. I’d like to catch whoever is responsible just so I can give them the bill. Did you notice anything different this time?

Glenn considered. Well, the tree, for one. First time we had to clear the path to get to the fire. And perhaps our little pyromaniac is escalating. This one was hotter. Look at it. That dumpster is burned clean into the ground. There can’t be much left in that mess but ashes this time.

Jerry nodded and walked closer. Glenn followed, scowling at the damage to the surrounding grass and wood margin, the singed bark and the stark blackened branches devoid of any leaves. The dumpster itself had coalesced into a solid mass with no beginning or end. Nothing was recognizable that Jerry could see.

Both men wandered to the other side. Glenn frowned in alarm when something on the edge of the debris suddenly gave a popping hiss and a chunk of metal the size of a small cooler suddenly broke free. It rolled several feet away from the glowing remains.

Jerry stared, blinking. Is that what I think it is?

Glenn nodded in amazement. Looks like someone threw away an old metal ice-box. They don’t make those anymore. My mom used to have one when we were kids. Heavy as sin, but it kept food cold a lot longer than these newfangled plastic based coolers they make nowadays.  

Jerry frowned and moved closer. It’s open. Looks like it didn’t burn through entirely. I’m sure it baked whatever might have been in it though.

Glenn bent closer, the heat from the smoldering mess intense enough he feared his eyebrows might singe clean off. He gasped, blinking. Um, Jerry?

What?

Do you see that? Am I seeing things...because that sure looks like—

—A bone. A finger...and a ring, Jerry gasped, reaching for his radio.

Glenn took a step back and likewise reached for his own phone. It was time to call Jack, the fire chief.

WHEN THE CALL CAME in, Jack was happily wading through his third helping of Grans’ and Grams’ famous enchiladas, loaded with extra sour cream dotted with Frank’s hot sauce.

He caught his girlfriend Juli’s eye as he snagged the annoying phone out of his back pocket and swiped right.

Hello.

Hi, Jack. Um, we have a situation here.

What’s that?

There’s been another dumpster fire.

Jack gave a heavy sigh of frustration. That’s hardly breaking news, Glenn. This makes the third, I believe.

Right, right you are. That’s why I didn’t call you before now. I didn’t think we’d need you.

Something in his voice made the hair on Jack’s neck stiffen. Only now you do? Spit it out, Glenn. You interrupted Gran’s Enchiladas.

There was a pause. Wow. I don’t suppose you could get her to save me a couple of those things?

Glenn! Jack said sharply.

A sigh. Right, sorry. Well, this one was over the top. Burned hotter and longer than the other two. But that’s not why I called. Do you recall those old coolers they used to make? The metal ones? Weighed a ton.

Jack frowned impatiently. Yeah, I do. The point, Glenn; get to it.

Yeah, well, someone must have tossed an old one in the dumpster before the fire. Somehow, it survived mostly intact. When the fire was out, it broke free from the rubble. It wasn’t empty, Jack.

Jack’s eyebrows shot north. He waggled them a bit in Juli’s direction for good measure, pleased when her cheeks warmed. So what? Did you find a blackened skull inside? he joked.

There was a long pause. No. Just a bony finger. And a ring.

He gasped, his eyes going wide. What! Don’t touch a thing. I’ll be right there.

I STARED AT THE ANNOYING grimoire, reclining in the middle of the prep table in the small café I owned. I’d inherited Snips and Snails from my Uncle Jedediah almost a year ago. At the same time, I was tasked with solving his murder and discovered that, like my uncle, I had a natural knack for finding trouble and solving mysteries.

And making soup. After all, I was descended from a long line of Soup Witches.

I’d moved to Veil Falls from Alice, Michigan following a nasty divorce almost a year ago and discovered that life after 40 could be filled with magic. It turned out the restaurant didn’t just serve healthy sandwiches and delicious cocktails that Brownie, my cousin the bartender, dreamed up. It also served the magical soup du jour I prepared daily from scratch out of the sentient recipe grimoire that came with the restaurant.

Only, who knew that a possessed book could also be so annoying? But as the grimoire, Percival, loved to remind me, he had once been the private chef of King Arthur before his untimely death, and he wasn’t used to serving those he considered beneath his station. He thought it was his lot in life to help me decide which magical recipe was appropriate. I was equally determined he wouldn’t.

That’s cheating! How else will they learn the discipline necessary to study for their exams if you make it easy for them? Two bushy eyebrows narrowed on my person, his eyeballs barely visible through the two narrow slits in the leather cover. He shuddered in place on the long prep table, tottering on four spindly legs, appalled by my audacity.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. Barely. They are in first grade. They have ten words, and how is a soup that is delicious and chock full of vegetables that comes with the added benefit of temporarily increasing their ability to memorize spelling words cheating?

He pursed his lips, a leather slit in the cover, puckering mulishly. What about their parents? How does it benefit them?

I sighed, chopping carrots with increased ferocity, hoping I didn’t lop off a finger in irritation. It doesn’t. But they will enjoy the rich broth, and when their children bring home As, they can decorate their refrigerators. Oh, and did I mention it has vegetables?

"You did. Twice. I still think the You’re Baking my Ham-hocks Potato Stew would be a better choice. It would pair wonderfully with that new porter that Brownie just ordered in from Stiles’ Brewery.

My lips twitched. I have every plan to make that sometime next week. But the indications are complicated, and it comes with a long list of warnings and consequences if I mess it up. Besides, Olivia shared with me that her students are struggling with this week’s unit of words in particular. They are homophones. You know, words that sound the same but are spelled differently and have different meanings? I agreed to look for the appropriate soup. She agreed to send home notes with $5 coupons to her students’ parents. It’s a win-win for everyone.

Before he could come up with another argument for me, I held up a hand. Percival Gideon could go on all day if I let him. Enough. Turn to page 219. I have to have this simmering in less than an hour.

His pages riffled in irritation. Abruptly, his legs collapsed beneath him and, with a huff, his spine gave an audible crack. The book opened wide, and the pages fluttered by, creating a slight breeze. Abruptly, they stilled on the correct recipe and I leaned in, running my finger down the list of ingredients lightly, and stirring a ticklish giggle.

My smile widened, and I moved towards the walk-in cooler to collect the rest of what I needed.

Out front, I heard the front door open and shut at about the same time as the door at the top of the stairs by the back alley closed softly with a click. Brownie had arrived to open the bar, and Bertie was just coming down from her apartment above the restaurant to put the kitchen to order and round out the rest of our substantial menu. Bertie Keystone concocted an ever changing variety of dishes that kept Snips and Snails busy from the time we opened past 11:00 until we closed around 6:00 each evening. I was the Soup Witch, but beyond the spelled soups I created, my ability as a chef was sadly lacking. Bertie had been a sous chef before I’d snatched her out of the box behind my restaurant where she’d been living and hired her. Well, really, that had been Gilly who had done that. And the irritating feline had never let me forget it, either.

Bertie smiled at me as she tied a snowy white apron about her person, adjusting the tiny chef’s hat that sat atop her blonde curls. She glanced at the box of alphabet pasta sitting at my elbow and brightened. "So, you’re going to try it? The Spell, Spell, Alphabet Jumbles Chicken Vegetable Soup?"

Yeah, the name alone is a mouthful.

Bertie gave a decisive nod. Good, that poor grandson of mine is having a time of it. He failed last week’s spelling test. And that was after both Olivia and I spent over an hour with him, going over the words. Even Riley tried to help him out...

Riley can spell?

Don’t sound so surprised. Riley is smart.

Riley is a cat.

Don’t let Gilly hear you say that. She threatened to scratch Tiny’s eyes out last week over a similar slight.

I didn’t think you understood them?

She chuckled, pulling a large container of steak from the fridge she’d had marinating overnight. Or so Joseph informed me. He understands them both, you know, she murmured with pride, beaming.

Hearing every word they say is overrated, you know, and besides, Gilly has been threatening to scratch that ghost’s eyes out since I’ve known her. Tiny lives to annoy Gilly.

I know. Joseph is coming by after school today. Olivia has a meeting after school for an hour. I think Riley misses him. He’s been moping about. He wouldn’t drink his cream last night.

Don’t let Gilly catch you giving him that. She says it messes with his tummy.

Bertie smiled but didn’t respond, her attention on the recipe in front of her. I went back to finishing mine.

Shortly after three, the bus pulled away from the front door of Snips and Snails after dropping Joseph out front. Bertie was waiting for him, and I watched her swoop in to give his squirming body a hug. Like his best friends, Holly and Riley, he was never still.

I gave my dwindling pot of alphabet soup a stir and looked at the front door where Holly, my 6-month-old Lab mix, and Riley, a seven-and-a-half-week-old kitten, both patiently waited for him to come through the door.

I stifled a groan. Between the three of them, there was no end to the shenanigans they could get into. I just hoped that Olivia’s meeting didn’t run late.

I asked Joseph if he would like a bowl of soup before he ran off to join Riley and Holly. You want an A, don’t you, Joseph? I cajoled.

He gave me a mulish stare. It has carrots in it. I hate carrots.

But these are special carrots, and so are the other vegetables. They are...magic.

That’s what mom tells me when she fixes her split pea and ham soup. Horrid stuff.

Yes, well. I’m a Soup Witch. Did you know that?

Yes, Grandma told me. Can I go play with Holly now? he added hopefully.

I tried to remember there had been a time when I really wanted children. I tried another tack. He was six. He could be bribed, couldn’t he?

You won’t have to study for an hour after school. You’ll have more time to play with Holly and Riley.

His expression turned sly. If I eat a bowl, can I have one of Grandma’s Caramel Apple Dumplings for dessert?

I brightened, giving him a brilliant smile. Deal!

He dropped his backpack at a table by the fire and took a seat. Holly and Riley took up watch on either side of him. He looked up at me. And chocolate milk. It has calcium. Good for my bones.

I scurried off to do his bidding. Brownie caught my eye from the bar. He shook his head. Played, he mouthed.

I ignored him as I went to get Joseph’s chocolate milk. He was just jealous.

An hour later, as Olivia and Joseph left, Jack came in. He spied me from across the restaurant and gave me a tired smile as he took a stool at the bar. We were moments away from closing and the place had mostly emptied. I had time to join him. He ordered a bowl of my alphabet soup and Bertie’s pulled pork sliders with her from scratch barbecue sauce. Brownie set a diet Coke in front of me and I sighed. I was still working, so none of Brownie’s pretty cocktails for me.

You look beat, Jack.

He reached over and tucked an errant curl behind my ear, the rough brush of his fingers making me lean in.

Better now, but yeah. Glenn tried to spare me right up until he recovered the body part.

Conscious of the two little old ladies on his left who were paying way too much attention to their Bloody Marys not to be hanging on every word, I leaned in and wrinkled my nose.

Jack’s cologne was intoxicating. The ashy aroma rolled off him in waves. I tried not to breathe too deeply. So...a finger?

Jack sighed, setting his sandwich back on his plate and looking at it regretfully. Yeah. More bone, though. And it had a ring still attached.

Do you think it could be part of the arm bone Holly found?

Don’t know. Lyle is still there with his crime scene technicians, seeing if they can recover any other body parts. I asked him the same thing. He seems to think it’s possible. The ring lends the idea that the victim in the fire was female. He hasn’t said much about the ulna and radius we found. But the decomposition is similar.

I frowned. But that arm bone wasn’t missing any digits. I remember that much.

Jack scowled, retrieved his sandwich, and prepared to take a bite. People have two arms, Juli.

Didn’t you say you thought those dumpster fires were the work of teenagers?

I did. Now I really hope I’m wrong. Nasty business, burning a body that way, he mumbled around a bite. At least we can assume whoever it was, was already dead.

That will be a small consolation to the relatives. I just don’t get it. Why in a dumpster, of all places?

Jack shrugged and took another huge bite, hunger winning out over the dark nature of our conversation. I had to wait until he finished for him to respond. Then I wished he hadn’t.

I have a theory on that one. Something that struck me about all three fires. We had a hard time getting close enough to put it out. The heat contained in those metal tubs was so intense it melted clean through the bottom and onto the ground. Made a pretty effective crematorium.

So you think maybe someone was trying to get rid of evidence.

He shrugged, plopping several French fries into his mouth and reaching for his napkin. Makes sense, don’t you think?

It did. It doesn’t explain motive for their deaths.

A body burned that badly? It hides more than just the identity of the victim.

When Jack’s phone rang, he jumped before he pulled it free of his jacket and answered.

Oh, hi, Lyle. Yeah, here at Snips and Snails with Juli. What did you find?

I leaned in closer, hoping to hear Lyle on the other end, but the restaurant background noise drowned out any chance of that. Jack’s brows swung north in surprise.

Wow,  that was quick work. Thanks for the update. Let us know what else you find.

He hung up and looked over at me. Lyle has a preliminary match already on that finger and the radius and ulna Holly found. He says the rate of decay appears the same. He has to have more tests run, but he says both sets of bones are most likely from the same body.

But we don’t know who it is. Someone should run a search on missing persons here and in the surrounding counties. The state of those bones sets it back at least, what, six months or more ago? Maybe they’d get a hit. 

Jack looked thoughtful. It’s possible. I wonder what whoever did this was hoping to accomplish?

I think it was because Holly dug the body up. I don’t think our Jane Doe was supposed to be found, do you?

Jack stood up, pushing a twenty beneath his plate and grabbing his jacket. No, I don’t. Maybe the victim just wanted justice for her bones.

Spooky, Jack. And they say I’m the witch.

CHAPTER TWO

"But Mama, I’m nearly 8 weeks old! " Riley whined.

Gilly, resident mascot of Snips and Snails, narrowed her feline eyes on her youngest kitten. "That’s too young to be out on your own without supervision. You’re still just a baby."

Riley hissed, his tail flipping in agitation. "There’s Joseph, Olivia, and Harold. They’ll watch me."

Gilly sniffed, her eyes narrow. "They are humans. They don’t know how clever a kitten you are."

Riley puffed up at the unexpected compliment before his eyes grew crafty. "Think of all the sleep you’ll get when I’m on my own."

"Don’t change the subject. Look what happened last time. That idiotic dog took off, and you followed. What if a cougar or a bear had snatched you up? Or an owl. And the humans had nary a clue you were missing. Did you think I didn’t know about that?"

Riley plopped on his bottom in a huff. That was exactly what he’d thought. "I’m not a baby, you know," he complained.

Her worried gaze softened. "You’re my baby, Riley. And twelve weeks is soon enough to lose you to your forever home. You’ll probably forget to visit..."

"Never, Mama. At least once a week I’ll make sure Olivia brings me to Snips and Snails for the day, I promise."

Gilly’s whiskers twitched in sudden amusement. "I’m