Sugar and Vice

by Eve Calder

  “What are you doing here, Evan?” Kate asked flatly.

  “Some teenager at the bakery said you’d be over here,” he said, looking her up and down. “I wanted to say ‘hi.’ You look good. Really good.”

  “I meant what are you doing in Coral Cay?” Kate said.

  “You know me,” he said with an easy grin that revealed two perfect dimples. “Figured I’d get a little sun. See the sights. Do some fishing.”

  “You don’t fish,” Kate replied.

  “There’s more than one kind of fishing,” he said, pushing aside a curly lock of nearly black hair, as his eyes twinkled. “Besides, this place seemed to mean something to you. I wanted to see it for myself. You visiting for a while?”

  Kate shook her head. “I live here,” she said evenly, trying to focus on a spot past his right earlobe. How could she have forgotten those eyes? And the thick dark lashes. Suddenly, she was unsteady all over again. Unsure.

  “I’m Maxi Más-Buchanan,” the florist said quickly, sticking out her hand, as Kate silently thanked her for creating a distraction. “This is my flower shop.”

  “I’m Evan—Evan Thorpe,” he said, smiling. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in. Is this a party?”

  “Nope, it’s a discovery,” Maxi countered.

  “A what?” he asked, clearly puzzled.

  “We found a super old skeleton in the garden,” Maxi said brightly, as though it happened every day. “We think it could be Gentleman George Bly, one of the early founders of Coral Cay.”

  “Wow, that’s got to be pretty huge,” Evan said. “Congratulations!”

  He looked over at Kate, who was staring off into the distance, stone-faced, seemingly a million miles away.

  “Look,” he said softly to her. “I really didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to see you. The way things ended…” he trailed off. “I wanted to apologize.”

  “You did.” Kate said quietly.

  “I mean really apologize. To your face. I owe you that. Much more than that. Any chance maybe I could take you to dinner?”

  “I’m busy. Although Jessica has plenty of free time. I know because she spends a lot of time texting me photos.”

  “OK, I deserved that. Lunch? Some place very nice and very public. Nothing shady, I promise. Just a friendly meal. Maybe somewhere on the water?”

  “No need, Evan,” Kate replied. “I said everything I needed to say that night. Now it’s time for you to go.”

  His face fell, his broad shoulders slumped. He looked down and appeared to be studying the grass beneath their feet. If Kate didn’t know him better, she’d have thought he was truly dejected. Maybe he was?

  “I’m going to be here, in Coral Cay, for a few days,” he said finally. “I wasn’t kidding about wanting to see this place. And why. Don’t decide now. Just—I don’t know. Think about it. A quick bite somewhere. Old time’s sake.” With that, he looked up and smiled. And it was like the sun had burned through the clouds. “Please, Katie?” he entreated. “Just think about it.”

  “Maxi, it was very nice to meet you,” he said, offering his hand to the florist and clasping hers warmly. “And good luck with your, uh, skeleton.”

  And with that Kate’s former fiancé turned and strode purposefully back across the yard toward the street.

  “Damn,” Maxi said.

  “Yup,” Kate said ruefully. “That’s Evan Thorpe. Now do you understand why I had to put thirteen hundred miles between us?”

  Chapter 4

  Kate fell silent, absentmindedly chewing on her lower lip.

  “Are you OK?” Maxi asked.

  “I’m … yes … fine,” she said haltingly. “It’s just that … that was about the last thing I expected. I finally thought I’d gotten over him. Mostly. Then, bam! Here he is again. My sister Jeanine would be thrilled. She’s still hoping I’m going to ‘come to my senses and marry him,’” Kate said, using air quotes. “Do you know she actually called our reception venue after I’d cancelled and told them the wedding was going ahead as scheduled? That the cancellation had been some kind of prank.”

  “Your sister has nothing to do with this,” Maxi said. “And you don’t have to see him ever again. Just put it out of your mind and pretend he’s still back in New York.”

  “Easier said than done,” Kate said mournfully.

  “Hey, I wonder if that’s our bone guy,” Maxi said, looking out at the street where a middle-aged man in khakis, a Dolphins cap, and a worn, sun-bleached denim shirt was rapidly approaching. He carried a battered leather knapsack casually over one shoulder.

  Kate and Maxi walked over to greet him.

  “Are you the anthropologist?” Kate asked tentatively.

  “Yes, I’m Joe Pollack,” he said, by way of introduction. “Do you know where I can find Marian Blosky?”

  “Dr. Pollack, I’m Maxi Más-Buchanan. This is my flower shop, and we’re the ones who found Gentleman George. Dr. Blosky is inside. She needed to make a couple of calls on the landline. On this part of the island, cell phones don’t work so good.”

  “Would you like a glass of tea or some lemonade?” Kate asked.

  “We’re losing the light. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to start assessing the find. I’m guessing that’s it under the tarp?”

  “We wanted to protect it until you got here,” Kate explained.

  “Definitely,” he said, scanning the horizon. “OK, I know most of Marian’s kids this year. We’ll get started. You’re welcome to stay and watch, if you want. Is this your first time on a dig?”

  “If you don’t count putting in a garden,” Maxi replied. “When we started out this morning, this is the last thing we were expecting.”

  “Yeah, Marian said this one sounded like an oops. Hopefully, we’ll know a little more in the next couple of hours. One thing. Depending on the positioning, we may have to leave him here overnight. If we do, we’ll need to post a security guard. Are you OK with that?”

  “Yes,” Maxi said. “Not that you’ll need it with half of Coral Cay gathered around the pit.”

  “You might be surprised,” Pollack said, shrugging.

  Fifteen minutes later, the crew had gently peeled back the blue plastic shroud, and Dr. Pollack was bent over the exposed area like a surgeon examining a patient.

  As Kate and Maxi watched from the front of the crowd just a few steps away, he removed what looked like a large brush from his backpack and twirled it just above the exposed bone.

  “Don’t see what’s taking so long,” baker Sam Hepplewhite said loudly from the back of the crowd. “’Course it’s Gentleman George. Who else is it gonna be?”

  “Could be one of the crew,” Amos Tully countered. “Or a Spanish sailor they took hostage.”

  “Didn’t take hostages,” Sam replied. “Sea battles were fought from a distance.”

  “George Bly’s band settled this island,” Barb Showalter interjected. “It could easily be a wife or a family member. Even a later descendent.”

  “That too,” Amos agreed, nodding.

  “In any event, this is going to add a whole new dimension to our Pirate Festival,” Barb continued. “Actual history. We could invite in some of the leading experts in American history from the period—”

  “T’ain’t any American history from the period,” Sam said. “This proves we’re older than Plymouth. Older than Jamestown, too.”

  As more bone came into view, Dr. Pollack pulled a magnifying glass and what looked like a small broom from his pack. After a few minutes of brushing, he grimaced, removed his glasses and stood.

  “OK, everyone, that’s a wrap!” he yelled, clapping his hands. “Pack up and move out! We’re done here!”

  Kate and Maxi looked at each other, puzzled, and hurried toward the trench as he returned the last of his tools to the backpack.

  “Do we have to arrange for security, or do you do that?” Maxi asked quickly, as the anthropologist hoisted the bag onto his right shoulder.
<
br />   “You need to call the police,” he said tersely. “This isn’t Gentleman George. I don’t know who it is, but the remains have been in the ground less than ten years. This isn’t an archaeological site. It’s a crime scene.”

  Chapter 5

  “So you have no idea of who that might be out there?” Detective Ben Abrams asked gently. Perched at one end of the little sofa inside the flower shop, he had taken Maxi and Kate through the afternoon’s activities, right up to the point where Oliver had unearthed his find.

  “Of course she doesn’t,” said Sam, who stood protectively behind the sofa where Maxi sat with Oliver at her feet. “What kind of fool question is that?”

  Wide-eyed, Maxi shook her head.

  “It’s not an accusation,” Ben said quietly. “Just gathering the facts we have.”

  “Any chance it could have already been there when we bought the shop?” Peter Buchanan interjected, pressing a mug of warm tea into his wife’s trembling hands.

  “Gracias,” she said softly, looking up into his eyes.

  Ben shook his head. “Could be. But the team doesn’t think so. You guys have been here, what, nine years? Between you and me, though, anything they come up with at this point is pure conjecture. We don’t even know for sure if it’s male or female. We can safely say it’s been in the ground less than a decade, so that rules out Gentleman George. Other than that? We’re gonna need more time.”

  “Why were they dressed as a pirate?” Kate asked.

  “We don’t know that they were,” Ben answered. “Whoever it was was wearing boots with silver buckles. Could have been a pirate costume. Could have been a fashion statement. Like I said, we’ll know more in a couple of days.”

  “I know this is a tough situation,” Ben continued. “And the last thing I want to do is make it worse. But I’d really like to have a team out here tomorrow to scope out the rest of the yard, just to make sure we’ve covered all the bases.”

  “When you say ‘scope out’…” Peter started.

  “GPR—ground penetrating radar. They won’t have to dig up or disturb anything. Just a couple of guys walking back and forth with what looks a lot like a big push lawn mower.”

  “Si, of course,” Maxi said, sipping the tea.

  “Good,” Ben said. “I’ll set it up. Should take about half a day. And you can be here or not, whatever you want.”

  “I have orders and deliveries this week,” Maxi protested. “I have to be here.”

  Peter glanced at Kate, a question in his eyes.

  “I’ll be here too,” Kate said, patting her friend’s shoulder and straining to sound cheerful. “You can forward the phones to the bakery when you want a break. Besides, tomorrow’s Monday. And you take Mondays off sometimes, right?”

  Maxi nodded.

  Ben closed the small notebook and slipped it and the gold pen back into his inside blazer pocket. “OK, that about covers it for now. I’ll give you a call as soon as we have any new information. And if you happen to think of anything, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant it seems, give me a buzz.”

  “What happens now?” Kate asked. The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

  “Now we focus on getting an ID and finding out what happened. Could be natural, and someone just didn’t want to pay for a funeral. Or it could have been more nefarious.”

  “Are we in danger?” Maxi asked, setting her mug on the coffee table.

  “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this,” Ben said. “And we should know more over the next couple of days. If it makes you feel better, we can increase patrols past the shop in the meantime.”

  “That would make me feel better,” Peter said. “And maybe we can get some help for the store, in the meantime. A high school kid. Just so you’re not here alone.”

  Maxi shook her head, as she reached down to stroke Oliver’s soft flank. “No. I can manage the shop. If it’s safe, it’s OK for me to be here alone. And if it’s not, I’m not bringing anyone else into this. Besides, we have Oliver. And the bakery’s right next door.”

  “We’ll keep an eye out for each other,” Kate agreed.

  Sam nodded.

  “Of course,” Maxi said, patting the pup’s downy head, as he gazed up into her eyes. “And we know our Mr. Oliver is very good at sniffing out trouble.”

  Chapter 6

  Kate rolled over. The bedside clock read 2:07 a.m. Less than five hours of sleep. But in a few short hours, the residents of Coral Cay would be clamoring for breads, rolls, and cookies. And those don’t bake themselves.

  Luckily, her “commute” was just one flight of stairs down to the bakery.

  Kate stretched and yawned, wondering if Maxi and Peter had gotten any sleep. Last night, she couldn’t tell what bothered her friend more: that someone had used the backyard of Flowers Maximus to conceal a crime or that some people might believe the florist herself was somehow involved.

  After Ben left, Maxi had shut down. Exhaustion and shock, Kate figured. As Peter bundled his wife into his car, he confessed that he was going to try and talk her into taking today off.

  Normally, Kate would rate his chances at precisely zero. But after last night?

  The last time she’d seen Maxi that upset was when Kyle Hardy put Sam in handcuffs and arrested him for murder.

  But that had turned out alright.

  Ben Abrams was a good detective. And she and Maxi had nosed around and discovered evidence that helped clear Sam.

  So maybe they could do the same thing again?

  Kate rolled that idea around in her head as she got ready for the day.

  Not for the first time, she missed Oliver. But the pup had realized that something was up last night. And knew where he was needed.

  Kate recalled him sitting patiently by the back door of Peter’s sedan. When the attorney had finally opened it, Oliver jumped into the car. The last thing Kate saw as they drove off was his furry, oatmeal-colored face smiling at her through the back window.

  Could she and Maxi lend a hand this time? It was one thing to dig for information when the victim’s identity was public knowledge. Especially when he was also publicly loathed.

  But how do you uncover the details of a crime when you don’t even know who was involved? Or when it happened? Or where?

  Something told her Maxi’s mind had been working overtime on those same questions last night. Maybe they could compare notes. If she came to work today.

  Clad in trim dark jeans and a white T-shirt, Kate walked gingerly down the stairs into the bakery kitchen and plugged in the coffee maker.

  As Sam’s stylish, black nineties pot burbled and gurgled, Kate grabbed a raspberry yogurt from the fridge and tried to organize her thoughts.

  First up for this morning—breads. Andy and Bridget would need a fresh supply for their pub, Oy and Begorra.

  “Picture the best Jewish deli combined with an authentic Irish pub,” was how Maxi first described the place to her. And all it took was one delicious meal and Kate understood. Andy Levy and Bridget O’Hanlon were both great cooks, but together they were magic. A popular hangout for locals and tourists alike, the pub was also one of the bakery’s best customers.

  Amos Tully wanted a dozen loaves of sliced bread for his grocery store. Along with a few dozen cookies. Kate suspected he was eating most of the oatmeal raisin ones himself. She made a note to include a few extra boxes of those.

  Harper Duval was holding a wine and cheese tasting at his shop, In Vino Veritas later this week. He needed a half dozen loaves of Sam’s famous sourdough.

  “Nothing makes a good cheese taste better—and it will bring out the best in the reds I’m serving, too,” the wine shop owner had admitted.

  Since Sam had scheduled today off, it would be up to Kate to fill the orders and restock some seriously empty bakery cases, too. And after yesterday, she was grateful for the distraction. She scrubbed her hands, slipped on a fresh navy and white striped apron, and floured the stainless ste
el counter.

  As dawn broke, the aroma of baking bread filled the shop.

  Kate refilled her coffee cup, strolled to the front window, and peeked out the blue gingham curtains. Pink clouds danced on the horizon, accompanied by birdsong

  Buoyed, she headed back into the kitchen to plan the day’s first batch of cookies—oatmeal. This morning was an experiment. Some plain, some with raisins, and some with chocolate chips. She was curious which ones the customers would like best.

  Situated in a pale pink Victorian with white gingerbread trim, the Cookie House had been a local landmark for more than a decade. But they had only just added cookies back to the menu—after a three-year hiatus. An event that coincided with Kate McGuire becoming a junior partner in the bakery just a few scant weeks ago.

  She was still fine-tuning the selection of offerings, as she discovered more about their customers’ preferences. It didn’t hurt that, after eight years as a trained pastry chef (and a Girl Scout before that), Kate could suss out anyone’s favorite cookie pretty much at a glance.

  While Sam dubbed it “that cookie nonsense,” he was pretty pleased with the cash register receipts lately. And the idea of having a little extra money in the till and a little extra free time was a big part of the reason Kate now owned forty-nine percent of the Cookie House.

  As she mixed, kneaded, and coaxed the dough, her mind returned to Maxi’s conundrum.

  Her friend ran the thriving shop next door and juggled it with a growing family. No small feat, it meant that some days the florist came in early. Some evenings she worked late. And sometimes she did both—with or without a break in the middle of the day. Even on days the shop was closed—Sundays and some Mondays—the active mom-of-three would stop by to tend plants, check on flowers, take deliveries, and chat with neighbors. Often with her kids in tow.

  The skeleton they’d found had been buried fairly deep. About four feet, Kate estimated. Digging that hole would take time. Time alone and undisturbed in someone else’s yard.