Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 7 - 9

by Stacey Alabaster

  "I'm flattered that you've got so much concern for me." I gazed at him over the top of my empty latte glass while he tried to hide a smile on the other side of the table.

  Soon the cafe was filled with other couples—real couples—laughing and holding hands while they ate their poached eggs and avocado smashes that Valentine's morning. The blonde waitress turned the music up and suddenly the cafe was filled with the romantic melodies of old eighties love songs.

  "I love this one," I said, humming along a little.

  Jackson shook his head and laughed. "I'm sure you've got other things you'd rather be doing on Valentine's Day," Jackson commented. He tried to act all casual. "I mean...don't you?"

  I shrugged a little. "Not necessarily."

  I had noticed, at that point, that our hands had somehow gravitated toward each other in the center of the table. We were only about half an inch away from touching.

  Jackson looked into my eyes and moved his hand just that little closer to mine.

  Is he going to grab my hand?

  Suddenly, I saw a very familiar sight walk past the window.

  Oh no.

  Kenneth.

  Chapter 10

  By the time I'd grabbed my purse and handed the waitress a ten-dollar bill, Kenneth was already halfway down the street.

  I was out of breath by the time I finally reached him.

  "You're really fast." I had my hand on my chest, struggling to get the words out.

  "Guess I wasn't fast enough." He started to take off again.

  "Please, can you just stop."

  Kenneth shook his head but he did grind to a halt. "You know what, Rach, I don't want to hear it right now. I was at that cafe to buy you a Valentine's treat." He shook his head in disbelief again. "But you know what, instead of wasting my time, I am going to get back to work. Happy Valentine's Day, Rachael."

  "Kenneth, please, I can explain. Don't run off again!"

  Kenneth hesitated a moment before he stormed right up to me. At least he wasn't running away.

  "You know what, it was one thing when I thought you were flaking out on our Valentine's Day plans to solve a murder mystery, but it's another thing all together to find that you've bailed on them to go on a date with another man!"

  "It's not what it looks like."

  "You weren't having a romantic coffee date with a guy who's not your boyfriend? On Valentines' Day?"

  No, I wasn't. Well, not exactly.

  "That was Jackson, okay? He's a detective. He caught me investigating the case and I thought I was in trouble! He was going to arrest me."

  Kenneth scoffed. "A cafe is a pretty weird place to take you to lock you up. I didn't exactly see any bars or jail cells in there."

  I really hoped he hadn't seen how close Jackson and I had been to holding hands. "Come on," I said with a smile, trying my best to let him know how entirely, completely innocent the whole thing had been. "I was just trying to smooth things over—get him to drop the charges. So I agreed to have a quick coffee with him."

  Just when I thought I had convinced him, Kenneth suddenly said, "Hang on. He's not...he's not the detective you had a thing with last year, is he?"

  "I...I...um…" I suddenly felt very hot despite the chill. I could actually feel my face turning red. "Not a thing," I explained. "More of a...you know, an acquaintance."

  "So yes, it is him," Kenneth said flatly. Then his voice rose as more information seemed to flood his memory. "He is the guy whose wedding you tried to stop!"

  Well, I had to correct him on that point. "No, I didn't stop his wedding. I was just there, and someone was killed, and the wedding was called off."

  Kenneth shook his head. "But before that happened, you'd intended to stop it! You just didn't get a chance!"

  I shook my head. How did he even know about that? I certainly hadn't told him. Pippa must have filled him in. I'd have to thank her for that later.

  "Kenneth, I really don't have time to argue about this right now. I still have to find out who killed Paul." I was exasperated. "Can we talk about this later?"

  "I'm sure you don't have time." Kenneth buried his hands inside his jacket pockets and turned away. "You never do. Not for me, anyway."

  I barged through the restaurant doors to find someone who seemed like an old familiar pal at that point. Scott. I couldn't quite believe I was so happy to see him—at least he wasn't an angry boyfriend interrogating me, or an angry police detective interrogating me.

  He was just an angry chef interrogating me.

  "Where have you been, Rachael? It's already seven-thirty!"

  "Relax," I said, placing my purse down on one of the tables, which had somehow been cleared and re-set since the last time I'd been in the restaurant. "The news story isn't going to air. Tyson McCall would never want to implicate himself."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Tyson knew Paul," I said, explaining some of the details. "See, it looks as bad for Tyson as it does for everyone else. He's not going to run that story for anything."

  I was a little confused after I'd finished my story and Scott didn't look pleased or relieved to hear any of it.

  "Isn't that good news?" I asked, a little dumbfounded. "You're staring at me like I just told you your restaurant is going out of business. I've saved it. Well, I've at least stalled the ruination."

  Scott's face was still dark.

  "Rachael, look around this restaurant. What do you see?"

  "A lot of red," I answered.

  He didn't laugh at my comment. I wasn't surprised. He was highly strung.

  "You see a full restaurant, ready to open in less than four hours to make tens of thousands of dollars in one day. I don't care that the news story is not going to air!" He looked so angry and wild that he might be about to overturn a table in rage. "So what if there will be no news story at eight? Do you think this saves me?" Scott's face was red and puffy, his chef jacket bulging at the neck where his veins were popping out.

  "We've still got a little time," I said. But things were starting to feel a little hopeless. I couldn't see how Scott was possibly going to be able to open for lunch while the restaurant was still an open crime scene.

  "If this case isn't solved in two hours, I am ruined. This restaurant will go under." Scott glared at me. Suddenly, a strange look overtook his face. His eyes no longer seemed to belong to him, like he was possessed. His eyes seemed to be glowing red. I blinked a few times, sure I must just be so exhausted that I was hallucinating. But when I readjusted my eyesight, that look was still there on Scott's face, even if his eyes weren't literally glowing with fire. It caused me to lean back against my chair. I looked over my shoulder. Where was the fire exit?

  By the time I'd turned back, Scott was right up in my face.

  "Especially, Rachael, if people believe that I am guilty." He shook his head. "We can't have anyone thinking that, can we?" His voice was low and dangerous.

  I pushed the chair back from the table, skidding as I stood up. I had to be ready to run.

  With that, Scott reached behind me and with one almighty move, picked up the table I'd been sitting at moments earlier and turned it over.

  I jumped as plates and glasses slid to the ground, smashing like lightning as they hit the tiles below. I almost swore as I jumped to avoid any shards of glass flying up against my bare legs.

  He really did have a temper.

  "What did you do that for?" I gasped, but I could see that Scott was in no mood to have a rational conversation right then.

  He inched toward me, stepping on the broken glass without a care for the fact that he was pressing broken shards of glass into the bottom of his boots. Or making the mess a hundred times worse.

  All I could think was what a pain that was going to be to clean up before opening.

  But maybe he really had no intention of opening for the lunch service.

  I tried to stand my ground as he came closer. "So why haven't you solved this crime yet, Rachael?" Sco
tt glanced at a steak knife lying on a still-set table. "Is it because you believe that the killer is the one who is paying you? The one standing right before you?"

  The one cornering me while glancing at sharp knives? Um, yes, I was starting to think that person was the killer.

  "I saw you..." I said, backing away when I no longer had the option of standing still.

  Oh my god, why did I ever take this case? Why did I ever think that going into business with a crazy person was a good idea? Why did I ever agree to take his money?

  I reached into my coat and fumbled for my phone, wondering if I could dial 911 without Scott seeing. Or, at least, message Pippa.

  "Saw me what?" Scott asked, sounding annoyed.

  "I saw you yelling at Paul last night, just before he died. Threatening him, actually."

  Some of the anger drained from Scott's face. Instead, it was replaced with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

  "Please don't play stupid," I said, holding my ground, on this point at least. "If you want this case solved, at least own up and be honest."

  "I honestly don't have any clue what you are talking about, Rachael."

  "You yelled at Paul for offering to give us free wine last night?"

  Scott's face looked blank.

  Geez, was he really going to play completely innocent? I had seen him with my own two eyes! And heard him!

  Fine. He was really going to make me clarify and use up more time? Did he even care that the clock was ticking?

  "We spilled the wine at our table—well, Marcello did—and Paul offered to give us a complimentary bottle. You screamed at him from behind the bar and told him he was going to have to pay. I assumed that meant that the price of the wine was coming out of his paycheck." I gulped. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if that meant something else entirely."

  Scott still looked completely blank, as though the whole scene had been erased from his memory.

  "Why would I yell at him for giving out free wine?"

  "Um, because all you care about is money and the bottom line?" I asked, throwing my hands up. "You screamed at him—in front of all the customers in the restaurant, too, I might add. Great way to make your clientele feel welcome. I think it actually caused a few people to walk out. It was totally unprofessional."

  Scott shook his head, almost like he was disappointed in me. Not angry, but just disappointed. "You know how committed I am to my business, Rachael." He looked like he was very far away, almost lost, as he pulled a chair out and sat down at the next table over. "I would never yell at a staff member like that and cause a scene." He looked up at me, sort of forlornly. "And I would never have yelled at Paul for giving out a complimentary bottle of wine if you had knocked yours over. I would do anything to keep my customers happy."

  "I— Uh." I was a little speechless, to be honest. What he was saying made sense on some level. I had only seen him, since the incident at least, to be completely committed to his restaurant. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would do anything that would lose business, even if an employee had annoyed him.

  So, it wasn't that I didn't believe him, exactly. At the very least, I believed that he believed what he was saying was true. It's just that it didn't make any sense to me in reality. How could he argue with what had actually happened?

  "But...but...I saw you..." I said. "Saw and heard you with my own eyes and ears."

  "Did you actually see me?" Scott asked.

  "Yes," I answered quickly. "I saw a man wearing a tall chef's hat."

  Scott shook his head. "And that's all you saw. A man wearing a chef's hat. Whoever that man was, it wasn't me."

  Chapter 11

  Why wasn't Pippa picking up?

  Finally, after the fifth try, she answered her cell. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't get Lolly to settle down."

  I would listen to stories about how difficult it was to get the baby to settle all day—when the case was solved, that is. Right then, I had no time to hear about it.

  I leaned against my car and interrupted her story. "I'm sorry. This is important. I don't know if I'm going crazy or if I've just been really stupid...and I'm not sure which is the better option." They both seemed pretty awful.

  "Pippa, you were there last night. Tell me, after Marcello spilled the wine and Paul offered to get us a new bottle, what happened?"

  Pippa sounded confused. "We know what happened. He left to get the bottle and then the chef, Scott, yelled at him."

  "Yes, but, Pippa, was it Scott?"

  "What are you talking about? It was the head chef. He was wearing a tall head chef's hat. So it had to have been Scott, right?"

  I let out a heavy sigh. "Did you actually see Scott's face, though?" I asked.

  Pippa was quiet for a moment. "No," she finally said.

  I shook my head. "All this time we've been assuming it was Scott who threatened Paul. But, Pippa, what if we were wrong?"

  I knew, logically, that less than ten hours had passed, and that it wasn't like we'd invested weeks, or even days, believing the wrong thing. And we had no time. We couldn't go back in time and start over, looking for the right suspect.

  I looked at the time. 8am.

  I felt like we were back at square one. We had no idea who the chef imposter was. Scott had been very clear about one thing: only he ever wore the head chef's hat. Actually, he'd been clear about another thing as well: he hadn't been anywhere near the kitchen nor the bar when the incident had happened. He hadn't even been anywhere near the restaurant.

  "So who was it in the bar?" I'd asked him. "A mirage?"

  Scott had shaken his head. "I only arrived after my manager phoned me to tell me what had happened. I'd only intended to come in for the end of service, to make sure my customers were all happy and that everything was fine for Valentine's Day."

  "What about the sous chef?" I'd asked Scott. "Would he wear your hat?"

  Scott had answered no. "He wears a black hat. He's not the head chef. It's not the protocol. Not in my restaurant, anyway."

  I quickly tried to explain the situation to Pippa, though it was difficult with Lolly crying in the background. There was also a crashing sound that drowned out her voice for a few moments. I tried not to let my imagination run wild thinking about what Marcello might have broken.

  "So who is our mysterious chef?" Pippa asked when she finally got a chance to reply.

  "I don't know," I said. I was trying not to panic. "Do you remember any details about him? At all? Besides the white hat, obviously."

  "I only saw him from the back," Pippa said. "All I remember is that he was tall."

  I sighed. It was 8:15. We had less than three hours to go. At least we weren't already past deadline, the original one anyway. I intended to hold him to that since the news story never ran at 8:00, which seemed like a very small victory right then.

  "Is anything else the matter?" Pippa asked. "You sound super stressed, Rach. Maybe just take a few seconds to breathe."

  "I had a huge fight with Kenneth." I shook my head. "It was really bad, Pippa. It happened in the middle of the street."

  I could hear the interest in Pippa's voice—and was that also happiness I detected?—which she tried to downplay when she spoke. "Was it about that cake you ruined?"

  "No. I still haven't told him about that."

  "What did you fight about then? Hang on, how did you even manage to see him this morning?"

  Ugh. I really didn't want to tell her about the date—I mean, about the coffee—with Jackson.

  "Just...Valentine's Day stuff," I said, before walking over to the curb and taking a seat. "I don't think the fact that I haven’t had any sleep is helping, with either my love life or the murder investigation."

  Pippa sounded sympathetic. "And is running around town after a ghost chef, a guy we know nothing about, actually going to achieve anything?"

  I stretched my feet out into the street and sighed, shaking my head as I looked up at the now bright sky. "Probably not," I finally relen
ted.

  "Come on, Rachael, why don't you just come home?"

  It was 8:30 by the time I got back to our house. I noticed that someone had thrown a sheet over the stained carpet in the baby's room, but I still knew what lay under it. Canary yellow paint, forever staining the snow white carpet below. I tried to ignore it and rested my head against the sofa, closing my eyes just for a second.

  I hadn't even realized how tired I was until I closed eyes and almost fell into the blackness.

  Man, it would be so easy just to fall asleep right now...and for the rest of the morning...heck, how about the rest of the day.

  I snuggled into the sofa and pulled a blanket over me. I'd just nap for a few minutes, a quick beauty nap, before I tried to untangle this case.

  I didn't know how long I'd been asleep when Lolly's screams broke through into my dreams, dragging me back to reality.

  I jumped awake, throwing the blanket off me. "Pippa! Why did you let me sleep for so long! Or at all!"

  "I thought you could do with the rest after the night you've had." Pippa looked at me apologetically while she bounced Lolly up and down on her shoulder, trying to soothe her. "Anyway, Lolly woke you. So you can thank her."

  "Thank you, Lolly," I said, jumping up from the sofa and pulling my coat back on. "But is Lolly going to tell me who the mysterious chef is?" I threw my hands up. "Is she going to give me back my lost time?"

  Pippa shrugged a little. “I think you’re freaking out over nothing, Rach. It’s only nine. You only slept for thirty minutes. And maybe it's better this way. Maybe Jackson is right; you should just let this one go. Let the cops do their thing. You're exhausted. Get some sleep."

  I had to bite my tongue right then. She was right, I was exhausted, and there was a big danger I could say something regrettable. Her husband was the reason I couldn't just take a break and get some sleep right then.

  Marcello entered the room with his arm outstretched. "I made you some coffee, Rachael."

  I peered into the black liquid skeptically, assuming that it would be burned, or sweetened with salt, or something equally as regrettable.