ACOUPLE OF TIMES during the day, Erin had seen the name ‘Alton Summers’ flash across the screen of her phone. She frowned and ignored it. She didn’t have the time to talk during the work day. She knew who Alton Summers was, and knew he wasn’t calling her to ask her about the ingredients in her red velvet cupcakes.
She wasn’t sure why he was calling her, but she didn’t like it. There was no reason, as far as she knew, for Detective Alton Summers to be calling her. They had concluded their business months before.
“Erin?”
Erin looked down the counter to Vic, completely blank about what Vic had just been talking about or what she had asked. Things were quiet, and Vic had obviously been trying to carry on a conversation.
“Umm… sorry…?”
“Mrs. Foster called. About the Darth Vader cake. She said that Peter practically swooned over it. It was perfect and really made his day.”
Erin smiled. The biggest, most natural smile she’d had in days. She didn’t get a lot of compliments in her life, and they always turned her to mush when they came out of nowhere.
“Aww… That’s just the sweetest. It was so nice of her to call.”
“That’s not all. She said that Peter wanted to know whether you had made the cake. He said that the food you make never makes him sick, and he knew if the cake was from you, he would have a good birthday and not be sick at the end of it.”
Erin blinked, trying to prevent hot tears from escaping her eyes. She smiled even harder.
“Don’t you just love Peter? I think he’s my favorite.”
“Your favorite Foster?”
“My favorite everything. My favorite customer.”
“Not Miss Joelle Biggs?”
“Argh! Not Miss Joelle Biggs. How could you even suggest it?”
Vic guffawed. “I’m just teasing. The woman could make a preacher cuss. So, Peter told all his friends that they should get their birthday cakes from you. Because it looked so awesome, and because then Peter would be able to have a piece of birthday cake whenever he went to a friend’s party.”
Erin nodded and tried to swallow the lump in her throat. “I remember what it was like for my foster sister, Carolyn. How she could never go to a friend’s party and have a piece of cake or pizza or anything else. People would invite her and not even try to have something that she could eat. Our foster mom tried to send her with her own food so that she could eat and not be left out. But she hated to look different. She wanted so badly to fit in, and she felt like the only way to fit in was to eat what they were eating.”
“So, she’d be sick?”
“Yeah. Sometimes she would sneak just a little, and our foster mom wouldn’t find out, so she’d think it was okay… and then she’d end up having so much that she’d be sick for days. And eventually… her body just couldn’t heal itself anymore.”
Vic nodded solemnly. She’d heard Erin talk about Carolyn before, and Vic knew how her story had ended. Erin shook her head, depressed. She knew better than to talk about Carolyn; it always made her impotently angry. So furious that she hadn’t been able to do anything for her sister. So angry that food, something that was supposed to nourish her and help keep her healthy and strong, had eventually killed her. Carolyn was Erin’s inspiration for alternative baking. But Erin still felt so lost and useless at not having been able to help her. In the end, Carolyn had decided that fitting in and looking like everyone else was more important to her than anything else, including her health.
“Sorry,” Vic said softly.
Erin nodded. The happy smile over Peter’s sweet words was gone and she had to force a fake one for the next customer who came to the till. It just happened to be Mary Lou Cox. Erin dropped the plastic smile and sighed.
“Having a rough day?” Mary Lou sympathized. Like always, she looked like she had just stepped out of a salon. Perfectly fit and pressed clothes, not a hair of her blond bob out of place or a smudge in her makeup. But Erin knew that the small, slender woman had a tough life. With all her troubles at home, Mary Lou could have walked around town with a storm cloud hanging over her, but she never did. She was always pleasant and friendly.
“No, not really,” Erin said. “Just feeling sorry for myself for a minute there.”
“Don’t I know what that’s like!” Mary Lou said, opening her little clutch purse to carefully count out the money for her purchase. Erin was grateful for the small purchases Mary Lou made at the bakery every few days. She was cost-conscious and could have just gone to a warehouse store in the city to buy twenty-four jumbo cupcakes at a time and stick them in her freezer. But instead, she supported Auntie Clem’s Bakery, paying for the slightly pricey handcrafted gluten-free muffins without complaint. Erin gave her a more genuine smile of gratitude. Mary Lou could sometimes seem distant, but she was a good friend. “Is it because of Trenton Plaint?” Mary Lou asked as Erin put the money into the till.
“No… not just him. I mean, that’s on my mind, of course. Just other things. Life likes to throw you curveballs to keep things interesting.”
“Yes, it does,” Mary Lou agreed. “I sometimes think that it wouldn’t be so bad to be bored every now and then. I really think I could manage without the interesting little plot twists.”
Erin chuckled. “Amen to that.”
Mary Lou gave her a surprised look, eyebrows raised and head cocked but didn’t make any comment. Erin wondered belatedly if using ‘amen’ so frivolously was an insult to the church ladies. Or maybe just completely inappropriate for an atheist to say. She’d have to be more careful in the future.
“Oh,” Erin remembered the entry on her task list suddenly. “I wanted to ask you about the Jam Lady. Vic and I were thinking it would be good to have some jars here to up-sell to customers. I wanted to get the contact from you, to get the wholesale price.”
Mary Lou just looked at her for a moment, and Erin wondered whether she needed to repeat or reword something. Had Mary Lou just been thinking about something else? It hadn’t been a complicated question.
“I’ll find out the pricing for you,” Mary Lou said slowly, “and I’ll bring you an assorted case.”
Erin didn’t see any point in using Mary Lou as a middleman. “Just give me the name of who I should contact, and I’ll buy direct.”
“No, I can’t do that. You know the Jam Lady wants to remain anonymous.”
“But you know who she is. You have to.”
“Yes, but I’m the only distributor. If you want to sell her jams here, you need to deal with me. You can’t go to her directly.”
“You are her distributor.”
“Yes.” Mary Lou nodded.
Vic looked over at Erin and Erin immediately knew what she was thinking. Mary Lou herself was the Jam Lady. She didn’t want anyone to know, for some reason. Maybe building a bit of mystery was part of her marketing plan.
“I see. Okay, then. Can I come over to The General Store later? You can let me know what you find out on the wholesale price of a case, and I’ll pick one up from you? Do you have a full case in the stockroom?”
“Certainly. That would be just fine. I just need enough time to put a call in to the Jam Lady and find out the details.”
“Great. I’ll come over sometime this afternoon, after the lunch rush.
“Perfect.” Mary Lou waved, fingertips only. “Toodle-oo. Hope the rest of your day goes better.”
Erin smiled and nodded. Beside the register, her phone buzzed, and she glanced down at it.
Alton Summers.
“I’m going to run over to The General Store to pick up that case of Jam Lady jams,” Erin told Vic. “And I guess I’ll stop in at The Book Nook and pick up our platters as well. You need anything?”
“No, I don’t need anything. I’ll hold down the fort.”
“Won’t be long, then.”
As soon as she stepped out the door, Erin regretted her decision. It was the hottest part of the day, and stepping out of the air-conditioned bakery into the afternoon hea
t, she felt like a fish pulled out of the water. The air felt thin and oxygen-depleted. She felt like her skin was going to shrivel and bake like a turkey that had been in the oven too long. It was, as Vic would say, hotter than blue blazes.
Erin figured she would be fine as long as she stayed on the sidewalk, in the shade of the colorful sun-blocking roofs that extended from the shoulder-to-shoulder buildings out to the street. She would walk slowly. Then she could stay comfortable and not wear herself out too quickly.
It sounded good, but by the time Erin was a block down, she was sweating heavily. She stopped to rub her forehead and the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t even put on sunglasses. The air in the street shimmered with heat. She hadn’t taken off her apron, and all her clothes were pasted to her.
“I need help!” a shrill voice wailed nearby.
Erin looked around, startled. The street was nearly empty. No one else was stupid enough to be out walking in the heat of the day. They ducked from their air-conditioned cars into the air-conditioned buildings. They didn’t walk a couple of blocks to run errands like a dumb tourist.
“Help me!”
Erin saw a familiar yoga-clothed figure across the street, looking around frantically. Erin did a quick check for traffic out of habit and crossed the empty street to see what was wrong.
“Miss Biggs? What is it? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know! He’s in there. I can see him. But he won’t answer the door and let me in. I don’t understand what’s going on. Why won’t he come get the door?”
Erin glanced at The Bake Shoppe. The interior windows were covered with brown paper, though there were a few cracks and rips.
“Who’s in there? Trenton?”
Joelle nodded. “Trenton. Yes.”
“He’s probably just working in the back and can’t hear you. Did you try the back door?”
“No, he’s not at the back door. I can see him.”
Erin took a step closer to The Bake Shoppe. “You can see him?”
“There, look!” Joelle pointed to one of the rips in the brown paper.
Erin peered into the shop, cupping her hands around her eyes to block the glare of the sun off the glass.
“I don’t see anything…” The Bake Shoppe appeared to be empty. What was Joelle Biggs getting so hysterical about?
“Look behind the counter. On the floor.”
Erin lowered her gaze, and Joelle was right. Erin could see a man’s shoes just poking out from behind the counter. He was probably kneeling. He was using a power tool or had headphones on and couldn’t hear his girlfriend knocking.
“Does he have a cell phone? Have you tried calling him? He probably just can’t hear you knocking.” Erin rapped as loudly as she could on the glass, but the noise was muted and probably didn’t sound like much more than a tap from within.
Joelle took out her phone and fumbled with it. “He should be able to hear me. I’ve been knocking and knocking. He was expecting me.”
“You know how men are. He just lost track of time.”
Joelle managed to tap or swipe Trenton’s number, and held the phone to her ear, jiggling impatiently. “Something is wrong,” she insisted. “I know something is wrong. He never ignores me.”
Erin suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. They must be pretty early in the honeymoon stage if Trenton never ignored his annoying girlfriend.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll go around and see if the back door is unlocked. You can stay here and keep calling and knocking.”
Joelle’s eyes were so wide, Erin could see the whites of her eyes all around the iris. She looked like a deer, eyes wide, frozen in fear.
“I tried calling 9-1-1,” she said, “but it doesn’t work! It doesn’t go through.”
“There’s no 9-1-1 service in Bald Eagle Falls.”
“Well, what do you do if there’s an emergency, then?” Joelle shrieked, grasping Erin’s arm so tightly that her acrylic nails bit into Erin’s flesh. “What the hell kind of backwater place is this?”
“Look. The police department is just down there.” Erin pointed. “In the municipal building. A couple of blocks. You can hop in your car and get down there quicker than you can get ahold of someone on the phone. They’ll dispatch Officer Piper or one of the others if you think this is an emergency. But I think you’re overreacting.”
Joelle pushed Erin aside to look in the window again, pounding her phone against the glass. Erin winced, but neither the glass nor the phone broke.
“You go around back,” Joelle ordered. “I’ll get the cops!”
“Okay.”
Erin started down the block to get into the back alley access. All the buildings were attached to each other, so there was no way to get through to the alley without either going around the block or cutting through one of the other shops. Erin walked briskly despite the heat, some of Joelle’s anxiety infecting her. What if something really had happened to Trenton? But that was silly. She could see him right there, kneeling over something behind the counter. Something that he was fixing. Joelle Biggs was just an insecure, hysterical girlfriend. Trenton would laugh at her for being so worried. I was just cutting tiles, woman. What are you so worked up about?
Erin stumbled a little over the uneven edge of a sidewalk block and continued, eyes down so that she wouldn’t trip again and end up sprawled on her face. That would be a fine thing, Terry Piper coming to check out The Bake Shoppe and finding Erin there with a broken, bleeding nose from a face plant into the pavement.
Erin reached the back of The Bake Shoppe without incident and went to the door. The handle was locked. Unlike the back door on her shop, The Bake Shoppe door had a window. It was open, the screen keeping bugs out but allowing a breeze in. If there had been a breeze. It was probably pleasant during the evening but should have been kept closed during the day while the air conditioner was running.
Erin peered through the door, pressing her face against the screen and squinting. There was a direct line of sight from the back door, through the kitchen, to the front counter. The front door and back door didn’t line up; the back door was closer to the center of the store. Erin could still see Trenton’s feet, just beyond the edge of the counter, but she could also see farther behind the counter, where she could see that Trenton was not kneeling, but lying.
For the first few seconds, it just seemed unreal. Erin looked away, glancing around for a camera. It was obviously a hoax. A high school film project or some amateur set-up. But there was no one behind the store but her and no sign of a cameras inside the kitchen or the store. Just Erin. And Trenton lying behind the counter.
Then her brain started trying to fill in the cracks, slowly trying out scenarios and then discarding them as they didn’t fit. Trenton was lying down to look under the counter for signs of rodent or bug infestation. He was having a nap. He was trying to scare his girlfriend. He was… hurt or sick. That was the only scenario that made sense. Erin couldn’t discern any breathing, but she was too far away and looking through a screen that obscured details. If he were in medical distress, he might need immediate attention. How long had Joelle been knocking and pleading for someone to help her? How much time had they already wasted, walking around and peeking in windows?
Erin tried the door handle again. It was still locked. But when she yanked on it, there was some give. Erin looked down at it. There was splintering around the door frame. The door had been shut, the latch pushed into place, but it looked like it had been broken at some point and not properly repaired. Erin gave a yank and got the door halfway open. She yanked on it again, harder, and it popped free in her grasp. Erin took the opportunity and ran into the bakery. She hurried up to Trenton and grabbed his arm, shaking him.
“Trenton? Trenton, are you okay? Do you need help?” She had certified as a first aider when she was doing home care, and the approach came easily to her lips. There was no resistance from Trenton. No response. “Trenton, my name is Erin. I’m going to help you!”
He was a big man. She remembered how he had towered over her. And he had a thick, well-muscled body. All dead weight. Erin grabbed his shoulder and his belt and put all her strength into turning his torso over. She grabbed the back of one thigh, bent his leg at the knee, and used it to lever him the rest of the way over.
“Trenton? Can you hear me?”
She bent over his face, listening for breath, as she settled him flat on his back, adjusted his neck, and watched his chest. No rise or fall. No movement of air on her cheek or breath sounds in her ear. Erin started chest compressions, counting aloud to herself. Did she dare give him rescue breathing as well? Without a mask or any kind of protection? She knew nothing of his life or his lifestyle over the past twenty years since he had taken off. He could have been an intravenous drug user. A sex worker. Anything.
While she did the compressions, she studied his face and his arms. His face, while covered in a short stubble starting to show signs of gray, did not look old or like he had abused his body with hard living. He looked like an aging athlete, not someone who had lived on the streets.
On his arms, there were no tattoos, no tracks. She looked back at his face as she lowered her mouth over his. She gave his mouth a quick rub with her hand to clear away any spittle. The skin around his mouth was pale. Almost blue. She gave him two full breaths, watching his chest rise with each exhalation, and then started compressions again. One, two, three…
There was banging on the window. Erin could hear it clearly. Not the muted taps that she had predicted it sounded like from inside, but a clatter of noise. She could hear Joelle’s thin voice again, followed by Terry’s baritone. Erin kept pumping, considering what to do. She knew she shouldn’t abandon the CPR to let Terry and Joelle into the store. She had to just keep going until someone with authority told her to stop.
Terry Piper would figure it out on his own. When he couldn’t see her and she didn’t come back around the front of the store again, he would go around back. He would find the back door open, and he would enter.
She could hear them calling both of their names. Demands of ‘Trenton’ and ‘Erin.’
Dairy-Free Death Page 4
