Gluten for Punishment

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I’ve been meaning to stop in and buy a few things to send to my son, but things have been a bit crazy here at the pharmacy.”

  “It didn’t help that the police had the front of my store roped off.” I tilted my head. “Did you know George Meister?”

  “Yes, we went to school together.” Ralph’s mouth twitched. “His family patronized the pharmacy since it first went into business.”

  “I was surprised I haven’t heard anything about his family.”

  “His mom died a few years ago.” Ralph shrugged. “And George was real mean. He pushed everyone away.”

  “Sounds like you knew him well.”

  “Only a bit,” Ralph said. “Like I said, we went to school together and I’d run into him here sometimes or at the Grey Goose. He was even meaner drunk, if you can believe that. Man’s brain was all in his seat.”

  “He hated the idea of my bakery,” I mentioned. “The police believe he was in the process of spray painting the front of my building with graffiti when he died.”

  “Idiot. No wonder there aren’t too many people missing him. I bet there are even a few who are happy he’s gone.”

  “I didn’t know him well enough to be one of them,” I said for the record.

  “What’s it like being a person of interest?” Craig leaned in closer. “Did they stick you in an interrogation room and question you for hours?”

  My eyes widened in horror. I grabbed on to the cool glass top of the counter to balance myself. “Not yet. God, I hope never.” I tried not to shiver.

  “Tasha tells me they took your computer.”

  “Yes, but she’s letting me use hers until I get mine back.”

  “Tasha is a great woman, isn’t she?” His eyes glistened. The guy had it bad.

  “One of the best. Um, listen, one more thing.” I straightened.

  “Sure. . . .”

  “Did either of you guys happen to be in the store around 5:30 A.M. the other morning?”

  “Are you asking if we saw the murder?” Craig rested his elbow on the counter and placed his chin on his fist. “No. We were here, though.”

  “Yes,” Ralph said. “I came in early to work on the quarterly taxes.”

  “And I came with him to set up the store for the Halloween season.” Craig waved his free hand and I noted the two aisles of costumes and decorations. “Need anything?”

  “Um, no, but thanks for the info. And it was so nice to meet you.” I shook Ralph’s hand.

  “I’ll make it a priority to come by your shop sometime soon.”

  “Great,” I said. “Don’t forget, you get a free cookie with coffee purchase. Oh, and I do ship if you think there’s anything your son might like.”

  “Thanks,” Ralph said, his eyes shining. “That’s good to know.”

  I headed to the door when Craig stopped me.

  “We’ll see you Friday, right?”

  I froze, my hand on the door, and made a face. Crap. “I forgot. I was asked to cater George’s memorial service on Friday.”

  “What time?” Craig straightened. His dark eyebrows went up.

  “I think it’s at seven.”

  He visibly relaxed. “Then we’ll have dinner after the service. Dinner was at eight, we’ll push it to nine in case anyone else wants to attend the memorial.”

  “That’s awesome. Thanks.” I left the pharmacy thinking how nice the two brothers were. Plus they liked my business. It was also good to know other people were on Main Street early in case I felt threatened. I had their number. I just might give them a call.

  • • •

  The men’s clothing store was next door to the pharmacy. The manager’s eyes narrowed as I walked in the door. “May I help you?”

  He was a slight man of about five-foot-eight. It was difficult for him to look down at me but he managed. He was also dressed in a suit that cost more than my entire wardrobe. I tried not to think about it as I handed him my card. “Hi, I’m Toni Holmes. I opened up the gluten-free bakery across the street.”

  He took the card and carefully read it. I was suddenly thankful for the high-quality paper and embossed gold lettering. “Baker’s Treat . . .” he muttered.

  “It’s a Play on words.”

  “Oh, I understand the reference, Ms. Holmes.” He held the card between two fingers as if it were contaminated or something. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m going around introducing myself to my neighbors. Sort of a hi, I’m here, maybe we can share customers kind of thing.” I gave him my best hello-neighbor smile.

  His right cheek twitched and he crossed his arms. “I don’t see a lot of donut-eaters in my shop.”

  “Right.” I looked around. He had some really nice stuff. I mean, if I were a guy I’d shop there. “If you bring the card in, it’s good for a free cookie with coffee purchase.”

  He held the card out. “I don’t eat cookies.”

  I had to admit, he looked like he didn’t eat cookies or much of anything at all. “I have a wide variety of free trade gourmet coffees and espresso. Come on over and your first cup is on me.”

  His thin lips went thinner. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Is it because of the murder? Because I really had nothing to do with George ending up in the horse trough.” I was getting desperate.

  His dark eyes narrowed. “George Meister was an egotistical bastard. The last thing I care about is his murder.”

  “Wow, sounds to me like George was not your favorite person.” Maybe I still had a chance to connect with this guy.

  “The man had the gall to complain that I rented tuxedos for too much money. He called them cheap monkey suits. I’ll have you know they are Armani and Hugo Boss.” He sniffed and tugged on his jacket.

  “Clearly all of George’s taste was in his mouth,” I said. “Seriously, you’ll love the coffee. You won’t get coffee this good anywhere else in town. Come over sometime and enjoy a cup on me.”

  He pursed his lips. “Perhaps I will.”

  I did a mental “Yes!” and fist pump when he slid the card into his jacket pocket. “Thank you very much. I look forward to seeing you, Mister . . .”

  “Todd, Todd Woles.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Woles.” I headed toward the door and then paused. “You wouldn’t have been here at work when George was killed, would you?”

  “Oh, God no, my store opens at ten. I usually get here at nine-thirty. I’m not a morning person.”

  Not being a morning person was one thing I understood. “I don’t think of it as morning.” I gave him a half shrug. “I think of it as very late at night. See you soon.” I waved. It appeared as if George wasn’t well liked, which was interesting considering Sherry had set up a memorial.

  The last business on this side of the street was an office supply store. The manager wasn’t in so I left my card with the clerk. The young guy had no clue who George was and, like the men’s clothing store, the office supply store didn’t open until ten.

  I crossed the street and stopped at the antique store. It was dark and stuffed with all kinds of things, very few of which might be considered real antiques. But I’d learned from my mom a long time ago that antiquing was an art. It wasn’t about buying real antiques in an antique store; it was about finding a treasure in a pile of junk.

  The bells on the door jangled and I heard a muffled, “Hello, be right with you,” from somewhere in the back. The place smelled of dust and old people, and the floor creaked under my feet as I navigated the tiny isle between “displays.”

  “Hey,” I called.

  “Oh, hi!” A little old woman with white hair, which was teased and sprayed within an inch of its life, popped out from behind a chest of drawers. When I said little, I meant little. She might have come up to my shoulder. She wore a simple sweater set and pair of synthetic slacks with the crease sewn down the front.

  “Hi, are you the manager?” I asked.

  “Owner slash manager, Celia Warren.” She hel
d out her hand. “That’s me.”

  I shook her dry hand and grabbed my business cards out of my jacket pocket. “I’m Toni Holmes. I own the new gluten-free bakery down the block.” I handed her a card. “I’m simply going store to store to say hi to my new neighbors and let everyone know if they come in they can get a free cookie with coffee purchase.”

  “Isn’t that nice.” She looked at the card. “I do like to take tea in the afternoons.” Her eyes were some odd color of gray, but they twinkled. “Isn’t your store where that young fellow died?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “That’s my store.”

  “Terrible thing to happen, just terrible.”

  “I agree. I hope it won’t keep you from coming in and trying out the free cookie. I have tea as well as coffee.”

  “At my age, I’m not about to let some silly crime scene tape keep me from my afternoon snack.” Her smile was positively radiant.

  “Wonderful.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “Say, you wouldn’t have happened to be at work the morning George was killed, would you have?”

  “Oh no, dear, I was at my Zumba class at the Y from 6 to 7 A.M. By the time I got down here, the police were already cutting off all traffic to the store. I had to spend the day doing inventory. Absolutely no one came shopping. Such a waste of a lovely day, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. “It was.”

  The fabric store was run by Mrs. Becher and her daughter Amy. Mrs. Becher had been my 4-H sewing project teacher and such a stickler for details that I now had a sewing phobia. In fact, the fabric store made me sneeze . . . several times. I claimed an allergy and simply handed my card, asked my questions, and got the heck out of there.

  It appeared only the pharmacy and the bakery were open early in the morning. Everyone else opened at ten, which meant they didn’t have a reason to be around at 5:30 A.M. Most hadn’t seen anything until they came in, and then all they saw was my place crawling with cops and people in CSU jackets.

  Hopefully, Grandma Ruth had been able to get further with the investigation than I did or I was doomed.

  CHAPTER 14

  "Thanks for letting me use your computer.” I was in Tasha’s office printing out orders for the next day’s shipment. So far my online customers were still buying.

  “Mom’s computer is for work only,” Kip said without looking up. Tasha’s office had a corner especially for Kip. He had his own desk with a small computer and computer games to occupy him while Tasha worked. His hands were currently full of controller as he swung and jerked and hit the buttons necessary to keep the game going.

  “That’s right,” Tasha said gently. “Aunt Toni is using it for her work at the moment.”

  “Mom’s computer is only for Mom’s work,” Kip said and continued with his game.

  “Aunt Toni doesn’t have her computer right now so I am letting her do her work on mine.” Tasha leaned against her desk. Today she wore chic jeans and a sweater set made out of something incredibly soft looking.

  “How come Aunt Toni doesn’t have her computer? Did she lose it?”

  Tasha met my gaze. “My computer is being worked on,” I said. It wasn’t entirely a lie.

  “You should have Craig look at it,” Kip said. “Craig’s good with computers.”

  “I bet he is.” I hit Print.

  “I saw your help wanted sign,” Tasha said quietly. “What happened to Carrie? Is she not coming back?”

  I twisted my curly mass of hair into a sloppy knot to get it out of my way. “Her mom won’t let her come back to work . . .” I glanced over to ensure Kip was deep in his game. “Not until the killer is caught, anyway,” I said low. “Not that I blame her. It’s a little spooky working not more than twenty feet from a crime scene . . . so much for small-town safety.” I logged out of my website.

  “Craig tells me you’re catering George Meister’s memorial on Friday.”

  “Weird, right?” I grabbed my orders from the printer and slipped them into a binder. I’d brought in a ream of paper to help offset the cost of my printing. “Sherry Williams came by, bought me a coffee, and told me they were having a memorial, and that she wanted me to cater. I told her I thought it was in poor taste considering the fact . . .” I leaned over to keep my words from Kip’s ears. “I’m a person of interest, who had been served with a search warrant and all. But she said my catering showed I had no hard feelings toward George for the flour incident.”

  “And you bought that?” Tasha tilted her head and looked at me all too knowingly.

  “She said if I didn’t cater, they’d find someone else.” I clutched my binder. “But I’m the most conveniently located.”

  “Now that sounds like the real Sherry Williams.”

  I tucked the binder into my leather bag and contemplated Tasha. “Did you know Sherry is setting up ghost tours now? She asked me to sign a waiver to allow participants to tour the bakery.”

  “Did you?” Tasha’s eyes went wide.

  I winced. “Yes, but, if it makes any difference, I told her I thought it was in poor taste considering George isn’t even buried yet.”

  “Not to mention any profits you make on George’s death don’t look good to the police.” Tasha put her hands on her hips to emphasize how stupid she thought I was being. Maybe I was.

  “See, that’s what I told Sherry.” I tossed my hands wide in supplication. “But she said the tours would happen with or without me. I felt like it was either sign on and earn something from the misfortune, or don’t and become a look-but-not-touch bakery.”

  “Well, that’s pretty convenient for her.” Tasha crossed her arms.

  “I know. The whole encounter felt a little like a mob threat. You know, pay us for protection or take the consequences . . .”

  “Did you tell Brad?”

  I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “No. Do you think I should?”

  “Well, he is your lawyer. He could advise you on whether it’s a good idea or not, plus you get to call him.” Tasha smiled. “I almost wish I had a reason to call him.”

  “Trade ya,” I teased.

  “No way.” She held out her hands to ward me off. “No murders at my inn, thank you very much.”

  “What? You don’t want to be part of the ghost tours? Why not? Think of the extra income you could gain.” I was being sarcastic and Tasha knew it.

  “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Kip said loudly, still not looking up from his game. “They are products of people’s imagination.”

  “Yes, honey.” Tasha ruffled his blond hair. “Yes, they are. I’m going to walk Aunt Toni out. Are you going to be all right?”

  “It’s Mario, Mom,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Of course I’ll be all right.”

  Tasha and I walked out into the hall. “Hmm, you know being part of a ghost tour might be a great idea.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her index finger to her lips. “I’m going to do some research. This house is over a hundred years old. Someone must want to haunt it.”

  I shook my head. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to call my lawyer and prep for these orders.”

  “You mean you have other people to question about George’s murder.”

  I froze. “What?”

  She pulled me aside, out of range of the office door and the lobby. “Oh, please, Craig totally caught on that you were looking for the real killer. It was kind of nice and sneaky though, giving away free cookies to find out who was around.”

  My cheeks grew hot again. “I told Grandma Ruth I wasn’t any good at this detective thing.” I moved down the hall.

  Tasha matched her stride to mine. “I don’t blame you. If it were me under suspicion, I’d try to figure out who did it, too. So, who did you talk to?”

  “Well, Craig and Ralph, plus the owner of the men’s store.”

  “Todd Woles?” Tasha raised an eyebrow

  “Yeah, why?”

  “He might be a good suspect.” Tasha’s eyes glitte
red.

  I stopped, drew my eyebrows together, and pursed my mouth. “Why?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Last year, Todd and George got into a big fight. I heard Todd called the cops to force George to leave the store. In fact, he might even have a restraining order out on him. You should check that.”

  I guess I could see Todd calling the cops on George if George were half as mean to Todd as he had been to me. “Wow, I will. Crazy. Do you know what the fight was about?”

  Tasha shrugged. “There are a couple of theories but no one really knows.”

  “Todd did call George a bastard.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, something about George protesting the cost of Todd’s tuxedo rentals.”

  “Sounds like George.” Tasha shook her head. “He was a farmer through and through.”

  I headed for the door, my mind whirling.

  “Oh, and be sure to pay attention to who all shows up at the memorial,” Tasha said as I opened the door.

  “Why?” I scrunched my eyebrows.

  “Because, silly, everyone knows the killer always returns to the scene of the crime. The memorial is the perfect time.”

  “Oh, right.” The thought of the killer returning to my bakery made my stomach clench. My feelings must have shown on my face.

  “Don’t worry.” Tasha patted me on the shoulder. “Craig and I will be there to make sure nothing happens.”

  “What do you mean? Why would something happen?” I narrowed my eyes.

  “Because you’re looking for the killer, silly. After today, everyone knows you’re nosing around, which means whoever did it might see you as a threat. But . . . no worries. Your friends will keep you safe.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I stepped out into the dark night and tried to brush off the warning. “Go do your ghost research.” Tasha yelled good-bye and headed inside. I stopped on the sidewalk and studied the star-filled sky. Well, Mom, I thought, if ever I needed a guardian angel, it’s now.

  I checked around the van before I hopped in. I locked the doors quickly, started it up, and looked over my shoulder. The van was empty and I was simply being silly. But Tasha had spooked me with her whole everyone-knows-you’re-looking-into-the-murder statement.