by Eve Calder
“Have you talked with her in the last few days?” Kate asked. “I’m curious what happens to his big plans now.” And who inherits his fortune, she thought.
Andre shook his head sadly. “She is dead,” he said simply. “Last month. A heart attack. She was not terribly old, but she had always the bad heart.”
“It was stress, pure and simple,” Rosie added. “That man worked her to death. He expected her to be at his beck and call twenty-four-seven. Whatever crazy thing he wanted, whenever he wanted it. And half the time, he’d change his mind at the last minute and demand something else. I think the coullion did it on purpose.”
“That’s awful,” Maxi said.
“Coullion?” Kate asked simultaneously.
Andre laughed heartily, his face turning pink. He nudged his wife’s shoulder with his own.
“Sorry, that just slipped out,” Rosie said with a rueful smile. “French slang. Let’s just say if we were talking about a bull, it’s the part you probably wouldn’t eat. I’m sorry, but if they want mourners at that man’s funeral they’re going to have to rent them by the hour.”
Maxi, finishing a bite of mac and cheese, nodded.
“We don’t think Sam did it,” Kate said. “But Stewart Lord did have a lot of enemies. We were hoping that maybe the Coral Cay Irregulars could take a look at it. And figure out what really happened.”
“Solve an actual mystery?” Rosie asked.
“Why not?” Maxi said. “It happened in our town. And they’re saying one of our own did it. It’s like the puzzles in the books we read. It happened in a closed bakery kitchen. But Sam was the only one in there. And we know it wasn’t him—”
“A mystery in a locked room!” Andre exclaimed.
“Exactly,” Kate said. “So who’s the real culprit, and how was it done?”
Rosie and Andre exchanged a look and both smiled in unison. “Count us in,” she said.
Kate did a quick count in her head. With Gabe and Sunny, that made five—plus herself. Out of fourteen Irregulars. They still had a ways to go to win over the group. And Maxi was right: Dr. Patel and Carl Ivers would be crucial. Having Harp or Barb on their side wouldn’t hurt, either.
“So how do Sam and Barb get along?” Kate asked softly as Rosie and Andre hit the buffet line for seconds.
“Cats and dogs,” Maxi said. “They never agree on anything. Except Stewart Lord. And Cookie. Barb and Cookie were friends. Honestly, I don’t think Cookie ever met a stranger.”
“What did she do before they came here?”
“Cookie was a teacher. Elementary school. And she was great with kids. Even my boys were on their best behavior around her. Kinda like they are with you.”
Kate grinned. “They’ll get sick of me soon enough. Or sick of sleeping in the living room. Do you think Barb will support Sam?”
Maxi smiled. “She went to visit him this morning. Took him a bag of books and magazines to pass the time.”
“I’m surprised he accepted them,” Kate said.
“She told him they were overstocks and she either had to throw them out or pay to send them back. At least, that’s the story I heard.”
“It sounds like she’s in his corner.”
“Barb is practical,” said Maxi. “Whether she believes Sam’s innocent or not, she’s happy Lord is gone.”
“Who isn’t?” Kate said quietly. “That suspect list is getting longer by the minute. I’d love to know what happens with Lord’s plans for downtown now that he’s out of the picture. I don’t suppose there’s been anything on the Coral Cay grapevine about that?”
“All kinds of theories. No real news. Not yet.”
In spite of themselves, Kate and Maxi hit the buffet line again. Kate carved a few slices of Harp’s smoked turkey and dropped them onto one of the scallion pancakes. She followed up with a healthy slice of caramelized onion quiche, while Maxi dove into the lasagna.
“Nutmeg,” Kate whispered to her friend as they split what little was left of Minette’s mac and cheese.
“What?” Maxi asked, mystified.
“The subtle flavor you couldn’t quite place. Minette uses a dash of nutmeg. It brings out the sweetness of the cheese.”
Maxi sampled a forkful from her own plate and sighed happily. “Mmmm, that’s it. So good. Well, at least we solved one mystery.”
* * *
As they polished off brunch, Kate realized Maxi had been right. While the resort meals had been first-rate, she’d never eaten better in her life than the past couple of days. Between her friend’s house and the book club spread, Coral Cay—the real Coral Cay—was a foodie paradise.
Good thing she didn’t have a car. A little extra walking would burn the calories.
When Barb Showalter stepped to the front of the room, Maxi and Kate exchanged a nod.
“OK, people, now that we’ve cleaned our plates and drained poor Harp’s wine collection, time to discuss the real reason we’re all here—one of the classics from the Queen of Crime herself—”
The florist raised her hand.
“Maxi, something to add? You’ve got the floor.”
She stood. “Ye-es, but it’s not about the book. You all live here, so you’ve all heard the news. Sam Hepplewhite is a friend of ours. He’s a kind, gentle man, not a killer. He and Cookie have helped a lot of us over the years. With money, with time, with advice. Sam’s a big part of Coral Cay. And a big part of our downtown community, too. So instead of talking about a murder mystery in a book, I say we talk about the real murder mystery that happened right here in our own town.”
Barb’s eyebrows went up, and she scanned the room. Some members seemed equally baffled. Others nodded in agreement with Maxi.
“OK, let’s do this right,” the club leader said. “How about we put it to a vote? All those in favor of devoting part of this meeting to the Stewart Lord murder, raise your hands.”
Kate looked around anxiously. Every hand in the room shot up. Except one.
Carl Ivers.
Minette elbowed him in the ribs. He put a hand shoulder high. A low wave.
“All right, it’s unanimous,” Barb concluded. “We have a topic. Who wants to share first?”
Carl fully extended his arm. Barb nodded.
“Look folks, crime—real crime—is a whole different animal. I’ve been a cop and a detective for most of my working life. It’s not what you read in books or see on TV. The clues don’t always line up flush. We don’t have whiz-bang, Dick Tracy forensics. And murderers aren’t always monsters. Sometimes they’re just regular folks who get pushed too far.”
“Who’s Dick Tracy?” Kate heard Bridget ask Andy. He shrugged.
“What I’m sayin’,” the retired cop concluded, “is that this is one time when you want to leave the work to the trained professionals. It’s not like painting your living room or changing out a bathroom faucet. Trust me, when it comes to police work, you don’t want DIY.”
“What if the professionals have arrested the wrong man?” Sunny challenged.
Minette nodded, glaring at her husband.
There was a general grumble of agreement.
“That’s what the courts are for,” Carl said from his seat. “They’ll hear all the facts. If Sam’s innocent, he’ll go free. Maxi, you’re married to an assistant state attorney. You know that’s true.”
“But sometimes mistakes happen,” Maxi countered. “And sometimes people—real people—fall through the cracks. I’m not saying everyone should grab a magnifying glass and crawl through the bushes. I’m just saying that, in this room, we have the eyes and ears of Coral Cay. Kinda like those security cameras they have all over London? Only with people. We can share what we know. And if we come up with anything, we take it to Ben.”
Carl nodded.
“OK, when you put it that way, that could actually be helpful. But remember, we’re witnesses. Not detectives.”
He said that last part gently to Minette, who scowled at him, then turned
her head.
“Hang on, I’ve got something that might help,” said Harp, ducking out of the “cellar” and leaving the door open behind him.
He returned lugging a large A-frame chalkboard. “I got this for signage in the shop. But it might come in handy for this. I can jot down what we learn.”
“A very logical approach,” Dr. Patel said, nodding.
“I’ve got a question,” Barb said brusquely. “Everyone says Sam was alone in the bakery when he made those rolls. But he wasn’t. You were there,” she said, pointing at Kate. “So how do we know you didn’t do it?”
“Now, Barb—” Harp started.
“No, she’s right,” Kate said, standing. “And that’s a fair question. First, Sam hired me strictly as counter help. Even though I’m a pastry chef, he never let me bake. That wasn’t what he needed. Second, he checked my references and my credentials thoroughly. I mean he called nearly everybody I’ve worked with in the past eight years. Along with several of my instructors at the culinary institute. He didn’t even care about my pastry skills or my degree. He wanted to verify that I’m honest and trustworthy. And he did that. Last, and maybe most important, he was alone in the kitchen baking all that morning. I was working the counter. When Stewart Lord came into the shop, Sam stepped out carrying the finished rolls and asked me to leave the room. So you have Sam’s word—and mine—that I was never alone with those cinnamon buns.”
“And all of that’s in the police report,” Carl added, nodding.
“What the police report doesn’t say is that I moved here from Manhattan about a week ago. Sam gave me a temporary job and was letting me live upstairs until I found a rental. And a permanent gig at one of the resorts. That morning was the first and only time I ever met Stewart Lord. I’d never even heard of him before. But I know Sam is a good guy. And I know he didn’t do this. I just don’t know who did. And neither does Sam. He’s as baffled by all of this as the rest of us.”
When Kate finished, her knees buckled, dumping her into the chair. Maxi smiled over encouragingly.
Barb nodded, apparently satisfied. And Harp gave her a small smile.
“OK, so what do we know?” he asked, chalk at the ready.
“Lord treated his workers very poorly,” Andre said. “We knew his assistant. We would talk. Some of the stories…” He shook his head.
“OK, Lord was a bad boss,” Harp said, neatly printing “employees” with “bad boss” in parenthesis next to it on the board. “That means his workers might have a motive. This assistant, has she talked to the police?”
“Muriel Hopkins died last month,” Rosie said. “She’d been ill for years. Heart condition.”
Harp nodded.
“But the truth is, Stewart Lord worked her to death,” Rosie blurted. “Bullied her to death.”
“What about all the owners of homes and shops he bought out on the cheap after every storm?” Amos Tully asked. “There was a rumor he was making deals with some of the insurance companies to drag out the claims process. So folks didn’t have a choice if they wanted to survive. They had to take Lord’s lowball offers. He’d get land on the cheap. Insurance companies got to skate on payouts. Win-win for everybody but the property owners. That was me, it’d make my blood boil.”
“OK, so we put ‘former landowners’ on the list,” Harp said. “But given the scale of the man’s business dealings, we’re going to need a much bigger board.”
“Shorthand it for now,” Barb said. “Let the police sort it out.”
“Fair enough.”
“If that’s really true, any of the insurance people in on the deal might have a motive, too,” Andy said. “Especially if a reporter or regulator suspected what was going on.”
“Lord would be a loose end,” his bride agreed.
Harp printed “insurance execs” with two question marks.
“Since Lord was a successful businessman, a money motive would make sense,” said Dr. Patel. “Did Sam have anything to gain financially from his demise?”
“He didn’t,” Gabe said. “Lord had made a couple of lowball offers on Sam’s shop. Even though I think Sam was seriously considering unloading the bakery, he was adamant he’d never sell it to Lord. He didn’t even want to turn the place over to someone who’d possibly sell out to Lord. And, from a practical standpoint, Sam would have gotten a lot more money from just about anyone else.”
Off to the right side of the board, Harp wrote: “Sam ≠ selling to SL.” Under that, he printed: “Sam ≠ $.”
Kate remembered listening to Sam and Lord from the kitchen. The taunting. The threats. No way she was sharing that.
“Sí,” Maxi added. “Sam warned me about Lord, too. He was afraid the guy would try to buy Flowers Maximus for much less than it was worth. Like we’d ever sell.”
“Who inherits Lord’s money and business now that he’s gone?” Minette asked.
Carl Ivers folded his arms across his chest and shook his head.
“He wasn’t married,” Rosie said. “We learned that from Muriel. And his parents were gone.”
“In Christie’s books, there’s always a long-lost relative,” said Annie. “And yeah, I understand this is real life. But Lord could have a sibling or a cousin we know nothing about. It would be nice to learn more about his family. And if he has a will.”
“Hundo P!” Andy exclaimed. “A couple of bad cinnamon rolls and somebody’s gonna get filthy rich.”
“And you can bet that skunk won’t be leaving a nickel to charity,” Tully said.
“So we put down ‘family’ with a question mark,” Harp said. “And I’m writing ‘will’ in all caps. I’d like to get a look at that myself.”
“I, as well,” said Dr. Patel, inclining his head slightly. “‘Follow the money,’ as the journalists say.”
“We need to know more about the women in his life,” said Sunny. “After all, poison is often a woman’s weapon.”
“Or a sneak’s,” said Kate. “Another reason it wasn’t Sam. He’s not a sneak.”
“And he’d have never used Cookie’s bakery to kill someone,” Maxi added. “He loved her too much.”
“That’s actually a pretty good point,” Barb conceded.
“Unless he just saw red and did it on impulse,” said Tully.
“The police haven’t released the name of the poison that was used, but judging by the effects, it wasn’t some everyday household chemical,” Annie argued. “Most likely a drug of some sort. And not a common one. Not something you just have lying around. That kind of murder takes planning.”
“Another reason poison is favored by women,” Sunny concluded.
Harp added “poison = planning” to the list on the right.
“You said his assistant died last month?” Bridget asked.
Rosie and Andre nodded.
“Did he replace her?
“I have not heard,” Andre said. “We knew Muriel because she came into our shop. She loved antiques. And she was charmed by Coral Cay. She talked about buying a little house and settling here when she retired.”
“A new assistant would have access to him,” Bridget said. “And his food. Maybe she didn’t want to end up like her predecessor, so she wrote a new script.”
Sunny smiled, clapping her well-manicured hands. “Girl power.”
Harp wrote “new assistant” with a question mark.
“There wasn’t any assistant with him that morning,” said Tully. “I saw him in that stretch limo he always swans around in. But he had a driver. Did the chauffeur go into the bakery?”
Kate shook her head. “No, he waited outside. Lord ate one of the rolls in front of Sam and took the rest with him. So the driver could have gotten his hands on them later.”
Harp wrote “driver” on the chalkboard.
“Did Muriel have any relatives?” Gabe queried. “Someone who’s angry about her death? Maybe wanted to get even?”
“Family vengeance?” Kate asked.
“A
n ancient and time-honored motive,” Gabe replied. “Look at the Iliad.”
“I don’t think Muriel had much in the way of family,” Rosie said.
“She had a cat,” Andre supplied helpfully.
“And a job that took up seventy hours a week,” Rosie finished. “That’s why it was such a special occasion when she had a few hours to come out here.”
“Sam may have had the opportunity, but it doesn’t look like he had a motive,” Harp said, studying the chalkboard.
“Depending on the poison, he may not have had the means, either,” Annie said. “I’d love to see the forensic report.” She looked at Carl. “Is that possible?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to Ben. Or Kyle. And the state attorney’s office.”
Kate looked at Maxi, who gave an infinitesimal nod.
“Mmmm-hmmm, not exactly the slam-dunk case we keep hearing about,” Minette announced to no one in particular.
“Shall we put it to a vote?” Harp asked Barb. “To see where we stand?”
She nodded decisively.
“OK, just based on what we’ve learned so far,” he said to the room, “who thinks Sam is innocent?”
Fourteen arms shot up.
“Who thinks the case needs more evidence—one way or the other?”
Carl Ivers raised a lone hand.
“And who’s convinced that Sam Hepplewhite killed Stewart Lord?”
They all looked around the room. Kate’s face relaxed into a smile. Maxi bounced excitedly in her seat.
Not a single hand.
Chapter 17
Late that afternoon at the jail, Sam seemed buoyed by the news that his friends and neighbors were convinced of his innocence. That and the leftovers from the buffet.
“This lasagna is mighty good,” he said, shoveling it in like he hadn’t seen food in a week. “Who made it?”
“Andy and Bridget,” Maxi said.
“Figures. Those two know their way around a kitchen. Spring onion pancakes are pretty tasty, too. Especially with this roast beef. Not like the meat they serve here. Hamburger today was like shoe leather. Tough and dry. Tell everybody ‘thanks.’ Still don’t know what’s gonna happen. But thanks all the same.”
