by Eve Calder
“He has two likely candidates. Sam Hepplewhite and Harper Duval. Sam’s been barely breaking even for a long time. And Harp, well, he’s looking at getting rid of his shop for personal reasons.”
“Yeah, I heard about Caroline,” Ben said. “Damn shame.”
“But Harp’s torn about selling. And Lord has seriously underestimated Sam’s tenacity. And his love for the Cookie House.”
“Mi padrino is tough. Like, Cuban tough.”
“Well, Stewart Lord is not a patient person,” Kate said. “And he sets his sights on the bakery. He knows Sam is a proud man who also has a lot of business debts. And medical debts from Cookie. And Lord enjoys a little coercion and shame. That’s in his wheelhouse. He probably figures he can goad Sam into selling. Failing that, he might be able to disrupt business just enough that the bakery goes under. Call in a few favors. Get suppliers to cut off credit. See if he can convince a lender friend to call in a loan or raise the rates. If the bakery went into foreclosure, Lord could pick it up for pennies on the dollar. And a land transaction in downtown Coral Cay means he can get some traction with the phony sinkhole story. A few merchants hear the gossip and want to sell. Nervous bankers hesitate to underwrite the loans. And Lord comes in with his patented combination of lowball offers and ready cash and buys up everything he can get.”
“And as the town started losing businesses and business leaders, the downtown district would get weaker,” says Maxi. “Some people leave town, so businesses fail. Then more people move and more businesses fail.”
“He was creating the perfect storm,” Ben said.
“He was,” Kate agreed. “But he needed one piece of property to kick it all off.”
“The first domino,” Maxi added. “The Cookie House.”
“Stewart Lord broke into the bakery early on that Thursday morning. He picked the lock. Not much of a challenge. He’d been a low-rent criminal back in his native London, all those years ago.”
“How would breaking into the bakery help him buy the bakery?” Ben asked.
“Because he was going to kill the owner,” Kate said.
“But Sam wasn’t there in the middle of the night,” Ben argued. “Sam was at home in bed. Asleep.”
Kate nodded. “But Sam’s rum was there. Everybody knew he kept a bottle under the counter. Lord alluded to it when he swept into the bakery that last morning. So he definitely knew about it.”
“So Lord broke in and dumped the drugs into Sam’s rum?” Ben asked.
“No,” Kate said. “As a former street thug, Lord didn’t want to hang around any longer than necessary. He came prepared. He had his own bottle of rum, purchased earlier that night. Probably dumped out most of it. He wrote off Sam as a drunk. And if a drunk finds a little less in his bottle, he’ll just assume he drank it. No problem. Lord doctored the remaining rum with that heart drug. Then he broke in and switched the bottles.”
“Wait,” Ben said, holding up a burly palm. “Can you prove that?”
“We can,” Kate said evenly. “Sam’s rum of choice is Isla Tropical. They number every batch and bottle. Sam bought his bottle at Causeway Liquors early last month. It’s on his credit card. And I have a copy of his receipt, which has the batch and bottle number. Stewart Lord bought a bottle of the same rum the evening of the break-in. At a liquor store about forty miles north of here. I’ll give you his receipt, too. Lord paid cash. But I have security footage of the sale. The clincher is that after Lord switched the bottles, he kept Sam’s. Like a trophy. It’s in Lord’s personal bathroom at his office. If you check the bottle number, you’ll find it matches the one on Sam’s receipt.”
“What happened to Lord’s bottle?” Ben asked.
“We’ll have to ask Sam. I’m guessing he used what was left and threw the empty bottle out with the trash.”
“The recycling goes out back,” Maxi said. “They come Thursday afternoons.”
“So it was already long gone when we showed up with crime techs the next day,” said Ben, shaking his head.
“If you can track down that bottle, you’ll find it matches the number on Lord’s receipt,” Kate said matter-of-factly. “It should also have traces of the drug that killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. And, if we’re really lucky, you might get a couple of Lord’s fingerprints, too.”
“Wait a minute, if Sam drank the poisoned rum, why isn’t he dead?” Ben asked, exasperated. “And what the blazes happened to Stewart Lord?”
“For a guy eating free sandwiches, he’s awful cranky,” Maxi said to Kate.
“We’re getting to that,” Kate said, smiling. “The next morning, Lord stops by the Cookie House to survey his handiwork. Much to his surprise, Sam is perfectly fine. Working in the kitchen. Just like normal. So Lord decides to prime the pump. Make a scene, embarrass Sam. Get him to reach for the bottle.”
“But that didn’t work?” Ben ventured.
Kate shook her head. “By the time Stewart Lord came through the door, Sam had been on his feet baking for ten hours. He was exhausted. He wasn’t up to sparring. He gave Lord a half-dozen cinnamon buns just to make him go away. Rolls that Sam had made for himself. His own special recipe.”
“Sam was planning to eat them on the beach,” Maxi said. “Like a picnic.”
“Just one thing Stewart Lord didn’t know,” Kate said.
“What’s that?” Ben asked, sitting up straight.
“The secret ingredient in those cinnamon buns? It was rum.”
Chapter 67
Kate sat the pitcher of lemonade in the refrigerator as Maxi and Peter came through the front door.
“Peter helped me string up the balloons, and they look fantastic!” Maxi said proudly.
“Not bad, if I do say so myself,” he agreed. “This place looks a lot like it did for the reopening. Minus the hordes of people.”
“We wanted something small and classy,” Maxi said. “Sam’s not a big fan of crowds. Some cookies and lemonade in the kitchen, then a nice, hot home-cooked meal.”
“From whose home?” Peter teased.
“Bridget’s place—and she’s going to be cooking your dinner, if you’re not careful,” Maxi warned, giving him a playful swat on the shoulder.
“Apparently, her Irish stew sandwiches are Sam’s new favorite,” Kate explained. “Although I wouldn’t repeat that to Esperanza. Bridget said she’d bring over dinner as soon as she saw Ben’s car.”
“We left the front door open but flipped the ‘closed’ sign,” Peter said. “So no more customers today.”
Kate shook her head. “I don’t know how Sam will feel about closing two hours early.”
“It’s our last official act as managers of the Cookie House,” Maxi said. “I say we go for it. But I still can’t believe it took a whole week to get him out. Even after we knew the who and the how.”
“Hey, only TV detectives can solve a crime in an hour,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Real-world forensic tests take real time. And if Kyle Hardy hadn’t literally stumbled onto that rum bottle at the recycling center, we wouldn’t even have been able to do that.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m gonna have to stop calling the bobo a bobo,” Maxi said.
“I’m just glad the bottle was still there,” Kate said. “Especially after all this time.”
“I never doubted it,” Maxi said. “I was a chaperone when Michael’s class went to the center last year. I always thought recycling meant it went into some big machine and boom! New stuff. Uh-uh. First they stash it for a while, like squirrels. Then they process it.”
“Well, that delay turned out to be a win for the good guys,” Peter said. “Not only did the bottle contain a residue of rum and that drug, but it also had a big juicy thumbprint from one Mr. Paul Larde, aka Stewart Lord.”
“Carl dug through his scrap metal drawer and found the hardware he’d removed from the back door of the bakery after the robbery,” Kate said. “Ben’s team lifted a couple of Lord’s fingerprints from that, too.”
“Which the bobo would have found weeks ago, if he’d bothered to look,” Maxi fumed.
“Hey, it’s a new day,” Peter said, pulling Maxi to him and kissing the tip of her nose. “Time to let bobos be bygones.”
Chapter 68
“So, are you gonna take the resort job?” Maxi asked, wiping down the kitchen counters, as Kate scrubbed out the sink.
“Well, Sam’s going to want his kitchen back, and it means I can stay on Coral Cay, so yeah. The manager said they’ll even put me up for a few weeks until I can find an apartment.”
She looked around the bakery. “But I am so going to miss this place. And my kitchen hours will be pretty brutal. At least, to start. I’m going to hate not being able to pop over all the time.”
“Admit it, it’s my coffee you’re really going to miss.”
“Of course. And that coconut cream.”
“When do you start?” Maxi asked.
“Ten days,” Kate said, pausing. “Until then, I figure I can give Sam a hand and get the bakery fully stocked. If he lets me bake. And you have to help me convince him to keep going with the cookies.”
“Convince him? That man makes a mule look easygoing. But I have a little something that might help.”
She dried her hands, walked over to the table, grabbed a notebook, and pulled out a sheet of printer paper with a colorful bar chart. She held it up in front of Kate.
“What’s this?” Kate asked.
“I used our access to the bakery to organize Sam’s books. This shows how the business was doing before you showed up. And this,” she said, pointing, “is the two weeks following the big reopening. While you were selling cookies and doing special orders.”
“Oh my gosh, Maxi, this is great!”
“Yup. A guy like Sam needs to see the facts in black and white. Or blue, green, and red, thanks to my snazzy printer. Javie’s teacher calls them visual aids. And now that Sam’s had a nice little rest and put on a few pounds, he might just see the sense in doing something that actually makes his business grow.”
“Well, I’ve got a visual aid of my own,” Kate confessed, rinsing her hands and quickly drying them. “I’ll show you, but you’ve got to promise to give me your honest opinion. If it’s bad, I need to know. I’m so tired at this point, I can’t tell.”
“Hey, I can be super mean. Like those judges on that singing show.”
Kate carefully lifted a tall cardboard box up and off the counter and stepped back to give Maxi a better view of what was underneath.
“Oh my gosh,” the florist said, clasping her hands under her chin. “That’s us! That’s the Cookie House! Made out of cookies. How did you do that? It’s wonderful!”
Kate grinned.
Maxi shook her head in astonishment. “You even got the little window boxes. With the new little bushes. And the color. Perfect. How? When?”
Kate sighed. “It took a while. And I didn’t get much sleep the last two nights. But I wanted to surprise Sam. And I wanted to show him what this place could be again. Bread is important. It’ll keep you alive. But people have milestones. They need to gather, to celebrate. A wedding cake, a birthday cake, a special cookie. It feeds the soul. We need that stuff, too. It’s the difference between surviving and living.”
“Is this…?” Maxi asked, pointing.
“Oliver. It didn’t seem finished somehow, and I couldn’t figure out what was missing. Then it hit me. Or, rather, looked up into my face.”
“It’s so real. It looks just like him. Fluffy.”
“Well, to be fair, I used the real thing for a model. The little guy is very patient.”
“You even got my flowers out front,” Maxi marveled.
Kate nodded. “Want to hear something weird? I know I’ve only been here a few weeks, but this place feels like home. Not just Coral Cay, but here. The Cookie House. Don’t tell Sam, but I am really going to miss it.”
“Maybe he’ll let you rent the upstairs room,” Maxi said.
“I was kind of hoping he might. But I think the resort would frown on that. I just found out they want me to sign something promising not to do any commercial baking on the side. So if they discovered I was living over the bakery where I used to work…”
“Now that’s just selfish. What if mi niños want some of those really good camp-out cookies?”
“Gifts for friends and family are fine. They even said I could contribute to charity bake sales. But that’s about it.”
“Ay, that’s nice of them to let you. Especially since it’s your time and talent.”
“Does Oliver ever visit the resort area?” Kate asked suddenly.
“Where Oliver goes is a real mystery,” Maxi said. “That puppy has a life of his own. But I’ve never seen him over there. And I’m not sure it would be a good place for him, either. They’re super strict about rules and stuff. And he’s kind of a free spirit. Why?”
Kate felt herself tearing up. It was stupid, but she’d come to think of Oliver as “hers.” Or was it that she was “his”?
Maxi studied her friend, then handed her a paper towel.
“So rent a place in town that’s Oliver friendly. I’ll help you find something this weekend. In your spare time. When Sam doesn’t have you chained to the oven.”
Kate dabbed her eyes. “Really? That would be great. That way, maybe we can still make time to meet for coffee. Or lunch. And we can both keep an eye on Sam. And what’s going on around town.”
“And you could take more classes at Sunny’s,” Maxi said. “You gotta take care of yourself, too. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up just like you-know-who.”
They both heard the shop bell and looked up. Kate quickly lowered the box over the house. “That can’t be him yet. We’re not ready!”
“We’ve got decorations and food. We’ve got a house made of cookies. We’re ready. And the bakery looks great. Sam’s gonna think he’s in the wrong place.”
“Hello, ladies, brought a few nibbles for the man of the hour.”
“Harp,” Kate said. “Come on in.”
“This is a cocktail party in a bag,” he said, setting the canvas sack on the kitchen table. “A little sparkling cider, strictly nonalcoholic. Along with some savory butter crackers. And a generous chunk of this gorgeous soft cheese from Belgium. Just got my hands on it. Wonderful stuff!”
“Oooh, this is nice,” Maxi said, setting the items on the table. “Thank you!”
“Is he here yet?” Amos Tully called from the doorway.
“Not yet,” Kate said. “Ben’s bringing him. Apparently, they have some papers to sign first.”
“Don’t see what’s taking so long,” the grocer complained. “The man’s innocent. You open the cell door and let him walk out. It’s that simple.”
“It certainly should be,” Peter said, clapping him on the back. “In the meantime, can I get you a glass of lemonade?”
“Wouldn’t say no,” Amos replied. “Figured you might need a few supplies for this shindig. Got paper cups and plates. And a pound of that coffee Sam likes. And a few cans of tuna fish and deviled ham. Sam likes his canned meats.”
Maxi slid an eye over to Kate, who tried not to giggle.
“Sam will love this,” the florist said, hefting the brown paper bag. “Let me put these in the pantry.”
“Hi there, are we too late?” a familiar woman’s voice called from the shop.
“Rosie!” Kate answered. “We’re back here. In the kitchen.”
Rosie and Andre bustled through the swinging doors.
“We know it is like you say, ‘coals to Newcastle,’ but we wanted to drop off something sweet,” Andre said.
“Pralines,” Rosie said. “A little ‘welcome home’ gift for Sam.”
“Oh, these look delicious,” Kate said.
“They should be,” Rosie said with a grin. “They’re the real deal straight from New Orleans. A little candy shop right off Bourbon Street.”
“You’re in plenty of
time,” Peter said, checking his watch. “They’re not here yet, but it should be any minute.”
“You do know that if you leave that front door unlocked, anyone could just wander in,” Sunny called as she breezed into the kitchen. “Brought a little turkey casserole. Something Sam can heat up for later,” she said, depositing a covered baking dish onto the crowded table.
“Pretty soon we’re gonna need a bigger kitchen,” Maxi whispered to Kate. “So who’s that big blond guy behind Sunny?”
“Pothole,” Kate said quietly. “Definitely a pothole.”
“Hmmm,” Maxi said, surveying him. “Nice pothole.”
“Hey, are we too late? Is Sam back yet?”
“C’mon back, Gabe!” Maxi called. “We’re all in the kitchen.”
“Hey, it’s a party!” he said cheerfully, hefting a basketball-sized object wrapped in foil.
“We weren’t quite sure what to bring,” Claire added. “So we decided on a ham. It’s one of those spiral-slice ones. Sam should be able to get a few meals out of it.”
“Already brought him ham,” Amos sniffed. “And mine won’t go bad.”
“By the way, Carl and Minette were coming up the walkway behind us,” Gabe said to Peter. “Looked like she had a pie. Doc said he’ll stop in, if he finishes early. And I saw Barb Showalter and Mrs. Kim heading this way with gift bags.”
“You didn’t see Ben’s car, did you?” Peter asked.
The mechanic shook his head.
“Guess who’s here?” Minette called.
“The fire marshal?” Maxi whispered to Kate. “Because this kitchen is seriously crammed.”
“Oh my,” Minette said as she and Carl walked into the kitchen. “Are we the last to arrive?”
“If they’re not, we’re gonna have to move this party to the lawn,” Maxi said to Kate.
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” Kate said. “Guys, if we all reconvene on the front porch, we can greet Sam as soon as he gets out of the car. And Maxi and I will set up drinks and a nosh on the counter in the bakeshop. That way, everyone can circulate.”
“Right this way,” Peter said, holding open one of the swinging doors. “And I’ll bring out a tray of cold lemonade and some cookies to get everyone started.”
