by Eve Calder
“A lot of bluff and bluster. Which, from what I gather, was normal for him.”
“Any threats?”
Harp’s eyebrows went up. “Well, he did mention something about money now being better than regrets and empty pockets later. And he reliably informed me that absolutely no one was going to make me a better offer. Or any offer. Seemed rather smug about it, too. I take it that’s what passed for hard-nosed negotiating in his part of the world.”
“Did he ever say what part of the world that was? No one can seem to find any evidence of his existence before he showed up in the U.S.”
“Oh, the plot thickens! He always implied that he was from London. The East End. Before all the art galleries and restaurants. You know, hardscrabble boy from the rough streets. The Artful Dodger made good. Wouldn’t it be rich if the whole Cockney thing was a façade and he really grew up in a middle-class neighborhood in Sheboygan?”
“Well, something with his story is off. Did he ever mention family?”
“Not to me. But before he made the offer, I’d only met him two or three times. He’d popped into the shop. When it came to wines, he could talk the talk. But there was something, I don’t know, studied about it. I remember he said he loved scotch. Claimed his everyday tipple was MacKendrick single malt. Vintage Cask.”
“MacKendrick’s a good name. I’m not a scotch drinker, but I know that much from working in restaurants.”
“Well, that particular variety retails for three hundred dollars a bottle and up. It’s wonderful to enjoy the finer things. And to have the wherewithal to do it. But I suspect he enjoyed the price tag more than the drink.”
“Bragging rights?”
“Precisely. Put cheap rotgut in a glass and tell him it was the good stuff? That man would have never known the difference.”
Harp plucked another sugar-dusted cookie from the box. As he did, Kate caught the flash of something on his forearm. The corner of a large, skin-colored bandage.
“You’ve hurt yourself?” she asked, pointing.
“Oh, that,” he said cheerfully. “The patch. With everything up in the air the way it’s been, I’m afraid I slipped up my own self. Started smoking again. But never fear, I’m back on the wagon again. Almost a week now.”
Chapter 31
Standing on Main Street, half a block from Harp’s store, Kate reached down and lovingly scratched Oliver’s ear. “So what do you think?” she asked, patting his soft flank. “Is he our burglar?”
She had a hard time reconciling the bon vivant shop owner (and beleaguered husband) with the mysterious figure who terrorized her just a week ago. At the same time, something felt “off.” But she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
“C’mon, Ollie, I promised Maxi we wouldn’t be long. She’s holding down the fort—two forts—on her own. Let’s go give her a hand. And a paw.”
As they walked up the block, Kate happened to glance across the street. And spotted a familiar form. “Not again,” she said under her breath.
Purposefully, she turned in the other direction and hustled through the nearest shop door.
“Welcome to Wheels! Would you like to buy, rent, or browse?”
The upper-crust British accent took her by surprise. So did the girl herself. With large china-blue eyes, blunt-cut blond bangs, and pink cheeks without a speck of makeup on her flawless skin. A perfect English rose.
“Could I use your phone? Your landline?”
“Right over there on the wall,” she said, pointing. “So how’s Oliver this morning? Are you enjoying your walkies?”
Kate looked over to see the girl had two biscuits in her hand. For his part, Oliver stared into her face entranced.
Kate grabbed the handset of the wall phone and dialed 911.
“I need Ben,” she said urgently when the operator came on the line.
“Emergency or nonemergency?”
“It’s not life threatening. But it’s very important. He asked me to call if I spotted someone. And I’ve just seen him. But he’s going to get away. Please. I need to speak with Ben.”
“Detective Abrams is off duty. I can put you through to Officer Hardy. Please hold.”
“No! I mean, not Officer Hardy. Detective Abrams. He was very specific that I speak with him only.”
“He’s at lunch. Let me see if I can raise him. Please hold.”
It felt like forever. Meanwhile, she wondered. Did Ball Cap Man know she’d seen him? Would he escape? Again?
Her stomach clenched into a knot. Her throat felt like sand. She drummed her fingers on the handset. Where was he?
After what seemed like an eternity, Kate heard a familiar voice on the line.
“Detective Abrams. Who’s this?”
“Detective, thank goodness. This is Kate McGuire. The man with the ball cap. He’s here.”
“Stay calm. Where are you?”
Kate looked around the store. “It’s a bike shop. Downtown.”
“Tell him you’re in Wheels,” said the English girl, who had obviously overheard every word. “Ben’s likely just down the street at the pub. They’ve got chicken pot pie today,” she added helpfully.
“Wheels. I’m at Wheels. He was right across the street. The shop with the blue and white awning. But I’ve been on hold forever. He’s probably slipped away again.”
“What’s he wearing this time?” the detective asked.
“Faded olive ball cap. Cream-colored Hawaiian shirt with some sort of pattern. Tan cargo shorts. Big sunglasses. Gray sneakers. White socks. And he’s carrying a large brown shopping bag.”
“I’m on it. Stay where you are inside the shop. Don’t leave. I’ll come for you after I canvass the neighborhood. Just sit tight.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted your lunch,” Kate said, near tears. It was all she could think of to say.
Chapter 32
The girl handed Kate a paper cup full of milky hot liquid. It smelled of bergamot. Earl Grey tea.
“Tea makes everything better,” she explained. “Maybe not completely, but it certainly helps. And I put some sugar in it, too.”
Kate felt like an idiot. She’d ruined the detective’s lunch. And made a fool of herself in the process. She sounded like a hysterical ninny. And at this rate, everyone in Coral Cay was going to hear about it. Small-town secrets, indeed.
“I’m sorry. I feel so stupid. A man’s been following me. Since I arrived in town…”
“A stalker? That’s awful. You’ll be safe here. Besides,” she said, smiling, “we have Oliver to protect us.”
“I’m Kate McGuire,” she said, putting out her hand. “I’m helping out with the Cookie House.”
“Clarissa St. John. Claire. My boyfriend mentioned you. Gabe Louden?”
“Gabe saved my life when I first got to town. My car broke down on Main Street. And I was on my way to a job interview at Fish-a-Palooza.”
“Nasty place. You dodged a bullet there. So how’s Sam doing?”
“Better. Although we’re still trying to figure out what really happened, so he can come home.”
“Gabe mentioned that. I wanted to come to the book club meeting, but I had too much to do here. Stewart Lord was a vile pig. Whoever killed him probably had an excellent reason.”
With a clear grudge and a British background, did Claire know more about Stewart Lord than she was letting on? Something about his hidden past?
Then again, anyone who ever met the developer seemed to feel the same way.
“So you sell bicycles?” Kate asked, glancing around.
“Sell, lease, and rent. I also repair them. And I have the grunge on my smock to prove it,” Claire said, grinning. “You may not have noticed, but for the locals, bikes are quite a popular way to traverse the town. No noise, no pollution, no petrol. And you can go pretty much anywhere you like. Including over to the beach. Tourists rent them for an afternoon. Makes them feel like they’ve gone native. And I have those big three-wheeled trikes that the retirees seem to favor. Even a
few fat-wheeled ones that they can ride on the wet sand, just above the water.”
Kate had seen the racks full of bikes around town. And people zipping here and there on two wheels. But somehow, she’d never made the connection.
“Just out of curiosity, what would it cost to buy a bike? I mean, I was thinking of something with baskets to deliver orders from the bakery.”
“I have a couple of models in stock that should be just your size. You’re about five-eight?”
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“Bike mechanics are like tailors,” Claire said, shrugging. “And if your bike isn’t a good fit, you’re better off walking. Too small, and you work too hard. Too large, and it’s out of balance. Right, Oliver?”
The pup looked up but wisely said nothing.
“The one I’d recommend is practically new,” Claire continued. “It came in a few months ago, and I’ve been using it occasionally for rentals. But I could retrofit it with baskets, or braces for baskets. That way, you could add and remove them as needed. It’s not quite how you want to deliver a wedding cake. But for anything else it should be perfect.”
A minute later, Claire wheeled a baby-blue ladies’ bike from the storeroom.
“The style is retro cool, but it also has five speeds, so you’ll have some versatility.”
“This is gorgeous,” Kate said. “It looks brand new.”
“Very low mileage, as the used-car salesmen say. I could put click-in brackets here, on the back carrier, to accommodate different-sized baskets or trays. And it already has the basket in the front.”
“I hate to ask, but how much?”
The door opened and Ben Abrams stepped inside the shop. “Ladies,” he said with a tip of his Panama hat. “Good news, bad news. The guy slithered away again.”
Kate’s face fell. Claire, who looked almost as upset as Kate, patted her on the shoulder.
“The good news is, several of the store owners got a nice look at him,” the detective said. “I talked with them. And if they spot him again, they’re gonna call me. Quietly. And the more eyes and ears we have, the better.”
The detective paused, pulling out a small spiral pad. “I have a general description of this guy. About five-five, five-six. Late forties. Deep tan. Kind of burly,” he shrugged. “Lot of that going around. And one of the witnesses mentioned a New York accent. Maybe Brooklyn. Could be the Bronx. Heck, for all Phyllis knows about New York, it could be Yonkers or Bean Town. What I’m trying to say is, you got a couple of ganders at this guy. Is there any chance you might know who he is? Or is there any reason someone might have had to follow you here from New York?”
“No, none,” Kate said plainly. “I broke off an engagement. But he’s already moved on to someone else. That’s why we broke up. I have a sister and brother-in-law in New Jersey. It definitely wasn’t my brother-in-law. And besides, they have their own lives. My ex-landlord just sold her apartment building for a small fortune, so she’s happy. The last restaurant I worked for went under, so everyone there is scrambling for a job. And that sums up my life in New York. I was working sixteen-hour days. I didn’t have time to make enemies. Besides, I have a pretty good memory for faces. You kind of have to in my business. And I’ve never seen that guy before I arrived in Coral Cay.”
Ben nodded. “OK, I had to ask. And you were right to call. Do it again if you see him. Doesn’t matter if I’m at lunch or mowing my lawn, the operators will patch you through.”
Kate nodded, shaking his hand. “Thank you. And I really am sorry about your lunch.”
“No big deal,” the detective said, bending to give Oliver’s neck a friendly scratch. “I was just finishing up. Only thing I missed was dessert. Strawberry shortcake. And Doc Patel would probably pin a medal on you for that. Oh, I meant to tell you, the crime lab’s finished with your cell phone and those books of yours we collected from the bakery. You can stop by the station and pick them up anytime.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“Take care, ladies, Oliver,” Ben said, tipping his hat as he turned to leave. “Just keep an eye out. We’ve got the whole town watching for this clown. We’re gonna get him.”
Kate nodded, her smile tight. When the door closed after him, she sagged against the counter.
“I’m so sorry they didn’t catch your villain,” Claire said earnestly. “But Ben’s right. If everyone’s looking for him, they’re either going to collect him or scare him away. Win-win, as you Yanks say.”
Kate smiled in spite of herself. And gazed longingly at the sky-blue bike. “You’re right. And I’m going to put it out of my mind. Now, how much is this beautiful thing?”
“Rent it first. That’s what I always recommend. That way, you can test whether it’s a good fit—for you and the bakery. How about we say seventy-five dollars for the week for the bike and a new helmet? If you like it, we’ll consider that a down payment. And you could pay off the remaining three hundred dollars in installments.”
Kate did some math in her head. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars was a chunk. Especially when she didn’t know when or how Sam would be able to pay her. But she could put the first seventy-five dollars on her card. Even her overworked plastic could handle that. A bike would enable her to get those early morning deliveries to the yoga studio. The revenue from that alone would practically pay for it. And if she didn’t have the money next week, she’d just have to bring it back.
She fished the plastic card out of her jeans pocket and presented it to Claire, grinning. “OK, you’ve got yourself a deal!”
Chapter 33
Maxi was on the phone when Kate walked into the flower shop.
“It has been crazy since you left,” she said, hanging up the phone. “Cra-zy. The word is spreading about Muriel. About the police investigating her death now. So we’ve lost a few people from the painting crew.”
“But they don’t even have any results yet. It’s just a theory. One of many.”
“I know. But a couple of the parents, they don’t want to take any chances. So they told their boys to come home. Or go to the beach. The good part is that most of the crew is still here.”
“That is good news, I guess.”
“And there is other good news. I talked to Carl. The kitchen is in super good shape. But the storerooms upstairs need fresh paint. He’s got some stuff that has no smell. No gassing? And they’re gonna get those rooms done tonight. He left a chart, in case you want to pick the colors.”
Maxi handed Kate a brochure.
“No VOC? This is perfect for the bakery.”
“It’s also pet-safe, so it’ll be better for you-know-who.”
“Oh, these are beautiful,” Kate said, studying the chart. “I like this one. The butter yellow.”
“That was my pick, too,” Maxi confessed. “But I thought maybe that very light blue for el baño? It’s almost white with just a tiny bit of blue. Super relaxing.”
“Oh, that would be pretty. Should we ask Sam? It’s his place, after all.”
“Nah, Sam wants to delegate. So we let him delegate. Besides, after cleaning up the mess made by the bobo this is the fun stuff.”
“Speaking of fun stuff, I think I bought a bike.”
“You think? Did someone take your wallet and say, ‘Oh, by the way, here’s a bike for you’?”
“Pretty much. I ducked into a bike shop to call the cops after I spotted Ball Cap Man again.”
“No! Are you OK? What happened?”
“I interrupted Ben’s lunch. They didn’t catch the guy. The pub is serving chicken pot pie and strawberry shortcake. And I bought a bike. Well, I’m renting it for a week. With an option to buy, if I can come up with the payments.”
“Claire’s place?”
“Yeah. I thought I could use it for deliveries around town. For the bakery. She’s going to deliver it here tomorrow.”
“Oooh, bike deliveries are a great idea. Cookies on Wheels. Cookies to Go. Cookies on
the Go. The Cookie House Express. Well, we can come up with a name later. And Claire will give you a good price. Not like those places near resort town. So I’m dying to know. What happened with Harp?”
“He was a perfect gentleman. But he could be our burglar.”
“What? No! Harp would never burgle. Harp would hire someone to burgle. And he’d make the guy wear white gloves.”
“He loves anise. He wears hard shoes. Granted, some first-class hard shoes. And he smokes.”
“I never knew Harp smoked. Caroline hates smoking.”
“Old habit, it sounds like. And with all the stress lately, he started in again. But he just quit. He’s on the patch. And, by my calculations, he quit just after the break-in.”
“What about his aftershave?” Maxi asked. “Was it the same one?”
“Totally different. His is, well, nice. The other one really wasn’t. That’s what I meant when I said it could be him.”
“Ay, but why would he do it?”
“That doesn’t make sense, either. Harp is thinking about selling the shop. But he seems torn, so he really hasn’t put it on the market yet. Lord heard about the situation with Caroline and made one of his famous lowball offers. When Harp turned him down, he went through the same song and dance he did with Sam. Promised him that no one else would ever want the place.”
“He was a horrible man,” Maxi said. “Squeezing people when they’re hurting.”
“But everything we’ve heard about Lord was that he was a very sharp businessman. Telling someone they won’t get a better offer? That’s pretty standard. Mild, even. But Lord seemed to believe that getting his hands on their property at a rock-bottom price was a sure thing. Almost like it was his right. And when he came into the bakery, he acted like he already owned the place. Why?”
“Because he was awful?”
“No. I mean, yes, he was awful. But I think there was more to it than that. You said he had plans for redeveloping Coral Cay?”
“That was the rumor. More resorts and some very expensive condominiums. And a casino. Maybe a golf course. Peter even heard he was asking questions about putting in an airport. For those little planes the rich guys fly.”
