Free Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) by Heather Justesen

some of the details when we spoke last night.”
    Had I “forgotten” to mention those? Whoops. “Oh, yeah. I’ve talked to a few other people, besides Cole,” I admitted, feeling like a naughty kid who got caught stealing something. “Interesting things going on in this town, aren’t there?” I started steaming the milk.
    “Uh, huh. I’d like a chance to debrief you if you’ve got a couple of minutes.” He spoke loud enough to be heard over the machine, aggravation in his tone.
    I finished the milk and poured in the espresso, gave it a stir, then passed it over the counter to him. “I could manage a couple of minutes if things don’t pick up here again.” I plated up a cinnamon roll for him and brought it around to the table he’d chosen.
    “Okay, so who have you spoken with, and what have you heard?” he asked.
    “Uh uh. You just want me to save you time in your research, but you never reciprocate.”
    “It’s an ongoing investigation,” he explained.
    “Yes, I know.” I lifted my brows.
    He frowned. “Start talking and I’ll give you what I can, where appropriate.”
    I gave him an irritated look. “Fine.” I filled him in on my conversations with Joe, what Connie had said, and her alibi, and what I knew about Mary Ellen’s feud with the deceased.
    “That’s all you’ve got?” he asked.
    “I’ve been a tad busy with work, you know.” I was disgruntled that he thought my contributions, such as they were, weren’t significant. “And, what do you have to say about it?”
    “Jasmin did have violin lessons, no less than twenty minutes before the estimated time of death. There’s no way Connie could have gotten back early enough to kill Francine unless she’s developed the ability to teleport.”
    “Darn. I’d kind of like to see her as the murderer. I’m not a big fan.” I scowled at the nearly eaten roll on his plate, though it hadn’t done anything offensive. He had saved me a drive out to the mall—of course, I still needed new shoes for the wedding.
    “She’s a bit intense, but apparently not our killer.”
    “Any possibilities I haven’t looked at yet?” I asked.
    “Nothing much.” Which was his way of refusing a direct answer. His lips pursed. “There were so many people at the carnival, and most were in costumes. Some people think they saw one person or another enter the back of the booth around the time Francine was killed, but no one seems sure about who was inside the costumes, the stories conflicted, or the individual in question has no discernible reason to want her dead.”
    “Right.” That was something to pursue, I supposed. Ali promised to get me the names of the ladies whose booths were closest to Francine’s, but I hadn’t seen it yet. I mentioned this to Tingey.
    “I’d really rather you stayed out of this completely,” Tingey’s gaze skewered me.
    “I’d really rather murderers would stop killing people I know.”
    “Hey, maybe it’s your fault,” he joked. “Someone’s trying to off random people you’ve spoken with.”
    “Right. That’s completely likely. In that case, you’d better make sure you keep your gun unsnapped in its holster. They might come after you next.”
    He smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    “Any luck finding Cole last night?” I asked.
    “Nope. He wasn’t home. Tried again this morning.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll catch up with him later on.”
    “Huh.” Why hadn’t Cole been home last night? He hadn’t been at work. So where did he go? “Seems suspicious.”
    “We’ll keep looking.”
    I glanced at the trio of businessmen who had come in for a snack before Tingey and now sat in a corner booth. They were paying too much attention to us and I didn’t want to feed the rumor mill by asking more questions.
    But if Cole took off, that had to mean he was guilty, didn’t it? Why else would he have run? “Let me know,” I said.
    “I will. I better get back to work.” He popped the last bite of