And Then There Were Crumbs--A Cookie House Mystery

by Eve Calder

  Sam’s body sagged against the gray wall. His face relaxed. He opened his blue eyes and looked straight at her. “You’d do that? Could you?”

  Maxi smiled and looked at Kate. “I could help,” she said. “The flower shop is right next door. Of course, that dead bush in your window box? That chica is so gone!”

  Kate took a deep breath. She looked at a tentative, hopeful Sam, then back at Maxi.

  “Well, I am kind of between jobs right now. If you’re OK with me being there and running the place, I can do it. But I don’t know when the police will let us reopen. Or what kind of hoops we’ll have to jump through first.”

  “I’m not some charity case,” Sam said defiantly. “I can pay you. I have a little money in savings.…”

  Kate smiled. If Sam’s pride was returning, that was a good sign.

  “Woo-hoo!” Maxi said, grinning. “We’re gonna run a bakery.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that, partner,” Kate said, shaking her hand. “We’re going to run a bakery.”

  Chapter 11

  “Could you drop me off at the resort area?” Kate said as they climbed into Maxi’s battered Jeep. “I’m gonna book into the hotel tonight. Just until I can get back into the Cookie House.”

  “I’ve heard bad things about that ritzy resort,” Maxi said. “Bedbugs the size of roaches. Roaches the size of rats. And rats the size of dogs.”

  Kate grinned. “Yeah, that explains all the celebrities I’ve seen around the pool this week.”

  “Seriously, those resort cooks couldn’t fry a plantain if their lives depended on it. The place is too white bread. You need a taste of the real Coral Cay. How about an authentic home-cooked meal served on a big picnic table under a grapefruit tree?”

  “I can’t ask you to do that. It’s already so late. And you’ve got a family.”

  “Right, so what’s one more person at dinner? Obviously, I was teasing about the bugs and the rats, but if you’re gonna stay, you need to start eating local. The resorts are great, but they’re ex-pen-sive. And bland, bland, bland. A little cubana food will put a smile on your face. And the guest bedroom is lovely, if you don’t mind Star Wars drapes.”

  “I can’t put your kids out. Or your husband. The resort is just for tonight. Then I can get back to the Cookie House. All my things are there in the storeroom, anyway.”

  “Whoa, girl, I hate to tell you. But I was talking with Ray. And he says the bakery’s gonna be closed for a few more days, at least. And some of your stuff’s at the crime lab. But look at the bright side.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I know a very stylish cubana who can loan you some threads. Only—what is it the rich ladies say—‘gently worn.’ And our local drugstore stays open late, so you can pick up some toothpaste and stuff.”

  Kate remembered Ball Cap Man. What if he was after her? What if he followed her to Maxi’s house? If this whole situation with Sam was somehow her fault, that was bad enough. But she couldn’t get Maxi’s family involved.

  “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

  “OK, is it the spicy Cuban food or the Star Wars drapes?”

  Kate laughed. Why did she feel like she could tell Maxi anything without being judged?

  “The truth is, I think I’m being followed. I know it sounds paranoid. But I’m afraid it could be connected with the break-in at the bakery. I saw the guy sporadically for a week or so before that. But that afternoon I saw him a bunch of times. He was driving a rental about a half a block back when my car conked out. And later when I walked to the bakery, he was on foot, too. Like he was trailing me. Then, during my job interview, he parked himself on a bench right across the street. I really hope I’m wrong. But if I’m not, I don’t want him following me to your house. I’ll be safe at the resort. They have lots of security. And your family will be safer that way, too.”

  “Did you get a good look at this guy?”

  “Not really. Just from a distance. I think I’ve seen him a lot over the past week. Always wears big sunglasses and a different hat. It’s possible it’s all my imagination. And when Kyle was so convinced the break-in was a teenaged prank, I didn’t mention it. I was hoping I was wrong. I wanted to be wrong. I should have said something.”

  “Stop blaming yourself. And Kyle is an idiot. Why they’re letting him anywhere near Lord’s murder is the real mystery.”

  “It’s possible this guy is just some tourist visiting the same small town who wants to see a lot of the same things I do,” Kate reasoned. “But I don’t know. And after the break-in, I admit I’m spooked. I don’t want to take any chances. And you have a family to protect.”

  Maxi nodded. “You need to talk to Peter. He works with this stuff all the time. Come for dinner. You can talk to him, then we’ll drive you to your hotel. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 12

  The minute they opened the front door to Maxi’s house, the florist was mobbed by a gang of children. Most of them, it turned out, her own.

  “Can Zachary stay for dinner?” begged the larger of two boys. Kate pegged his age around seven. “Mama, please? Please? I told him how good fricasé de pollo is, and he doesn’t be-lieve me! Please?”

  Kate looked over and saw the other boy—also around seven—standing off to the side. Looking eager. Zach.

  “Mama! Mama! Mama!” said a younger boy of perhaps five while bouncing on sturdy short legs. “I got a sticker at nap time! On my arm! Wanna see? Wanna see? Mama! It’s got a truck on it!”

  Meanwhile, the youngest, a little girl of maybe two, grabbed the leg of Maxi’s white jeans and hung on for dear life. She looked up at Kate with wide, dark eyes and grinned.

  “And Zach’s never had fried plantains. Can you believe it? Not even once!”

  “Well, Miguelito, we need to expand Zach’s culinary education,” Maxi said as she swung the little girl up onto her hip, and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Zach, we would love to have you stay for dinner. Call your mom and make sure it’s OK. And tell her we can bring you home after.”

  “Yahoo! I told you she’d say it was OK!” Michael hooted. “C’mon, you can call her in my room!” And with that, the two raced off.

  Still cradling the little girl, Maxi bent down and examined the sticker on her younger son, who had traded hopping for rocking up and down on his tiptoes. On closer inspection, Kate realized the “sticker” was actually a Band-Aid.

  “Well, that is lovely, Javie! How did you get that?” Maxi asked, kissing him on the forehead and ruffling his wavy black hair.

  “Jessica bit me,” he reported glumly.

  “Did she now? I’m guessing there’s a note from your Miss Maxwell?” Maxi asked.

  Javie nodded. “She says you need to sign it. And I’m s’posed to bring it to her tomorrow.”

  “Mmmm,” Maxi said. “Is this the same Jessica who stole your cupcake at Bobby’s birthday party?”

  Javie bobbed his head. “Miss Maxwell says she likes me. But I think she’s yucky!”

  “I know a Jessica myself,” Kate said sotto voce. “My ex-fiancé’s new ‘friend,’” she explained with air quotes. “I’m with Javie on this one.”

  Sensing a kindred spirit, Javie looked up at Kate, nodding earnestly.

  Maxi giggled. “OK, for you, my young sir, peroxide and lots of it. Go wash that out, and I’ll meet you in the bathroom. And ‘wash’ means ‘use soap.’ Jabón!”

  “Yes, Mommm,” he replied, springing away.

  When he left the room, Maxi said, “Let’s hope Miss Jessica has had her shots.”

  “Amen to that,” Kate said with a smile.

  Looking around, Kate was amazed at how much Maxi’s house was like Maxi herself: bright, happy, and comfortable. Sun streamed through sparkling windows. And every nook and corner seemed to host a thriving plant or colorful flowers. While there were toys all over the place—and constant noise—it was happy chaos.

  The fragrance wafting from the kitchen made Kate’s mout
h water. Savory and spicy. Meaty. That’s when she realized that they had both missed lunch.

  “So has your abuela gotten you a snack, Elena?” Maxi asked the elf in her arms. “Could you eat a little sliver of something while I finish dinner?”

  The littlest Más-Buchanan nodded vigorously.

  “I thought so,” Maxi said. To Kate she said, “You must be starved. I know I am.”

  “I’d love to help with dinner,” Kate volunteered. “How’d you like a trained sous chef? Then maybe I could learn the secret to pollo, uh…”

  “Spicy fricasé de pollo,” Maxi added with a grin. “It’s like chicken stew. Only better. And it’s my mother’s recipe. She’s been simmering it all afternoon. It should be falling off the bone by now. Oh, it smells so good! After I tend to Javie, I’m gonna put on the rice, fry up some plantains, and spell her in the kitchen for a while. If I can get her to leave. Course, if I tell her she’s being replaced by a professional chef we’re going to have one angry cubana. Better you just drink a glass of wine and keep me company. And we can do a little pre-dinner ‘tasting’ to make up for lunch.”

  “Well, if you insist.”

  “If it makes you feel better, you can help set the table.”

  “From pastry chef to busing tables in two short weeks,” Kate said, grinning. “My teachers at the institute would be absolutely horrified.”

  “Hey, the plates and glasses may not match, but the food is muy buena. None better. Mi mami is a first-class cook.”

  * * *

  “Oh yeah,” Kate said when she finally got a taste of the spicy chicken stew. “Your mom could open a restaurant. This is seriously good!”

  “Right?” said Maxi as she slipped a forkful into her mouth and closed her eyes. “It’s not just Cuban food. It’s goood Cuban food.”

  “Deja algo para la cena!” A female voice from the den. Stern.

  Maxi giggled. “She’s telling us to leave some for dinner,” she said softly. “Flashback to high school. ¡Si, mami! ¡Es tan buena! ¡Muy buena! ¡Y nos perdimos el almuerzo!” To Kate she said, “I told her we missed lunch. And that we love her cooking.”

  “Definitely. She could teach a class. I’ve worked with pros who never made anything this delicious. But are you sure she’s OK with having extra people at the table?”

  “We always have extra people at the table. Peter, the kids, mi mami—somebody’s always bringing friends. It’s part of the reason we put a large table in the yard.”

  “Part of the reason?”

  “Under that big tree in the evening, you get the best breezes. Even in the heat of the summer. Like natural air-conditioning. You have to be careful in November and December, though.”

  “Why?” Kate wondered if there was another spate of hurricanes late in the year.

  “Grapefruits. You’re sitting there minding your own business—and plunk! She drops one right on your head. Like big, hard softballs. I threatened to make the kids wear helmets. Peter talked me out of it. So we just keep her plucked—like constantly—during the season. On the bright side, lots of grapefruit juice and grapefruit ice and grilled fruit. Grilled is the best. Peter cuts them in half and throws them on the grate till they have those char marks. And I pop them on a platter and drizzle them with a little honey. Yum!”

  They both heard the front door open and slam. “Hey, babe! Whatever that is, it smells great!”

  “Ah, mi amor,” Maxi said with a grin. “I’ll be right back.”

  Kate cradled her half-empty wineglass, looked around the warm kitchen, and wondered: Could she and Evan have ever ended up like this? Contented and cozy? If she could have convinced him to visit Coral Cay? If he hadn’t met Jessica?

  Doubtful.

  Evan was Evan. That’s why she’d fallen for him. And why it never would have worked. Not long term, anyway.

  He must have realized that, too. Lately his phone calls had tapered off. At first, right after she’d thrown the engagement ring at him that horrible night, he’d phoned a dozen times every day. And sent flowers. Gradually, as she refused to answer (and refused the flowers), that dropped to a few calls a day. Then once every day or so. And in the past week: nothing.

  Technically, she’d ended the engagement. But it was still painful. Raw.

  She was almost glad that her phone was locked in the Cookie House. If she couldn’t see it, she didn’t have to deal with it.

  The heck with it, and the heck with him, she decided. This isn’t what could have been. This is where I am right now. And I’m going to eat dinner under a grapefruit tree. Evan Thorpe can’t do that in Manhattan. No matter who he’s with.

  “OK,” Maxi said, reappearing. “Peter’s going to get the troops washed and march them out to the table. And you’ve already set that, so we’re good to go.”

  She grabbed the wine bottle from the fridge, turned to Kate, and grinned. “Pastry chef or no, one good Cuban meal can change your whole life.”

  Chapter 13

  Maxi’s dinner was every bit as good as promised. The light, savory rice sopped up the rich, spicy stew—which brought out the sweetness of the fried plantains. Everyone at the table had at least two helpings. Kate noticed that both Michael and Zach went back for thirds.

  “Esperanza, your fricasé is muy delicioso,” Peter told his mother-in-law, refilling her wineglass. “Fantástico!”

  “Gracias,” she said, smiling shyly.

  Kate was amazed at their outdoor “dining room.” It looked like pictures she’d seen in Tuscan cookbooks. A big farm table under the trees, with a lush carpet of green and blooming flowers everywhere. The tree itself—herself?—sported a healthy profusion of shiny leaves. And if the verdant cloud was any indication of this year’s crop, the Más-Buchanan kids might actually need those helmets.

  But Maxi was right. The cool, salt-air breeze—laced with the scent of tropical flowers—was better than any air-conditioning.

  Was it just a few weeks ago she was braving exhaust fumes and killer work hours in the city? She smiled. Coral Cay was definitely a move in the right direction.

  With the kids gone from the table, followed by Esperanza (who went inside to watch her “stories”), the three of them had lingered. Enjoying the cool of the evening.

  “Maxi says you have a bit of a problem,” Peter said quietly. “A stalker.”

  “I don’t know what he is. Or who he is. I only know I started seeing him a day or so after I arrived in Coral Cay. Regularly. The afternoon of the break-in, I saw him more than usual. And that break-in? It wasn’t teenagers.”

  “OK,” Peter said encouragingly. “And you know this because?”

  “Because no teenager I’ve ever met wears hard shoes. I heard the footsteps across the kitchen floor. It was a man. One heavy-footed man.”

  “This guy you saw. When you spotted him that day, what was he wearing?” Peter asked.

  “Tan ball cap, khaki shorts. Some kind of a Hawaiian shirt. Medium blue, I think. And sunglasses. Always big sunglasses.”

  “So probably no hard shoes.”

  “You’re right,” Kate said. “Unless he went home to change. And you wouldn’t put on dress shoes for a break-in. Just the opposite.”

  “So your stalker probably isn’t your robber,” Peter concluded.

  “Wait, you believe me? About the stalker? You don’t think I’m crazy?”

  “The man lives with me, my mom, and three kids,” Maxi said, leaning forward. “He’s seen crazy up close and personal. No offense, but you don’t qualify.”

  Peter smiled and sipped his coffee.

  “Look, in my experience, women have pretty good radar,” he said finally. “And this guy’s tripped yours, for some reason. The animal part of your brain—the part that senses danger—is trying to tell you something. My advice is ‘listen to it.’ Take some precautions. Don’t go off by yourself. And I’ll talk to Ben. That way, if you see the guy again you can phone the station. Ben doesn’t have to pick him up or arrest him to have a ch
at and find out who he is.”

  “What about the burglar?” Maxi interjected.

  “Unfortunately, that was Kyle’s case. And he bungled it. Didn’t even take fingerprints.”

  “Bobo,” Maxi concluded.

  “Grade A prime bobo,” Peter agreed.

  Now Kate was smiling. Seeing these two together, she couldn’t help herself. Peter was calm and unflappable. Maxi was a hummingbird—constant motion and energy. Yin and yang.

  “The bakery is closed for now,” Peter said. “And I hear they’re gonna be patrolling that block pretty heavily, too. Regular crawl cars. So if your burglar wants to try it again, let him.”

  “What about Sam?” Maxi said. “Can we get him released? At least before the trial?”

  “You know I can’t talk about that.”

  Maxi gave him a look.

  “I’m just glad it’s not my case. I’d have to recuse myself.”

  “Only if you wanted a wife to come home to,” Maxi said with a smile “He didn’t do it. You know he didn’t.”

  “I can’t picture the Sam I know doing that. He’s family. He’s sat right here at this table more times than I can count. And Stewart Lord was a sadistic bully. It wasn’t enough for him to get what he wanted, he liked to break people. He’d been after Sam—and the bakery—for a while. Maybe Sam just snapped. I mean, in this case, I almost wouldn’t blame him.”

  “Temporary insanity?” Kate asked.

  “More like temporary sanity,” Peter said. “Lord was what his own countrymen call ‘a nasty piece of goods.’ Did you ever meet him?”

  “Once. I was working the counter when he came in that morning. He started leering, and suddenly Sam was there shooing me out of the room.”

  Peter nodded. “That’s both of them in a nutshell.”

  Kate wrapped both hands around her coffee cup as a birdcall pierced the night air. If she hadn’t left—if she’d waited on Stewart Lord—would Sam be safe at home right now?

  “So if the burglar is after the bakery and not you, why don’t you stay here until the bakery reopens?” Maxi asked. “Trust me, no one in his right mind is gonna break into this place.”