“Do you have a flashlight?” Grandma asked.
“Sure, in the glove box,” I said. “Why?”
“Hold on.” Grandma twirled the fire and ash off the end of her smoke and shoved the butt into her pocket. Then she grabbed the flashlight out of the glove box and carefully hobbled her way over to me. “Let’s see if there’s any blood on the depository chute.”
“Great idea.” I turned and opened the shiny metal door. Grandma shone the light inside. We checked for bloody drag marks and were disappointed to find nothing but clean, shiny metal.
“So much for that,” Grandma Ruth said. “Make the deposit. Let’s go home.”
I gave the bank bag one more look over, tossed it into the chute, and dumped it. Then I sighed and got back into the van.
“It was a good idea,” Grandma said.
“Suppose we can speculate all we want.” I shrugged. “But what we really need is evidence. Unless you found out more about Todd Woles. . . .”
“Oh, right, Todd did have a restraining order against George. Meister couldn’t come inside the men’s store or within fifty feet of Todd’s home. You might want to ask Todd about that.”
“I will.” I put the van into gear and rolled through the bank parking lot. “But does a nearly two-year-old restraining order give Todd motive? I mean, George was vandalizing my shop, not his.”
“Guess we’ll have to find out more tomorrow. Take me home. I need my rest if Bill and I are going to search the gutters and sewers.”
I turned back onto Central and took Grandma home.
• • •
Tasha called me later. “Hey, stranger, what are you doing?”
“I’m making peanut butter cookies. I had an order for three dozen.” I put the phone on speaker and went back to measuring ingredients.
“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. I thought maybe you’d run away with Brad.”
I laughed at Tasha’s wild imagination. “Honey, the man hasn’t looked at me twice, except maybe to calculate his bill.”
“I’m disappointed in you, Toni,” Tasha muttered. “I’d have thought you were smart enough to have jumped on the guy. I mean, you’re single with a reason to call. Forget your rules and ask him to dinner.”
“And be billed two hundred dollars an hour? No, thank you.”
Since I wasn’t up to more dating advice, I changed the subject. “Are you and Craig still coming to the memorial service? I mean, I know you’re having your dinner party after. Do you have time to traipse over to the bakery?”
“Of course! I want to come see if I can identify the killer.”
“How can you identify a killer when you weren’t anywhere near the murder scene?” I turned on the mixer and let it cream the butter, peanut butter, and sugars.
“I know, silly, right? You probably think it’s best if we skip out on the freezing-cold fun. I mean, it’s not like I knew George at all.” She sounded like she really wanted an excuse to attend. “Unless you need me to help you serve . . .”
Bingo. “I’ll be fine, either way,” I said. “I’m prepared and I think I’m going to hire a girl tomorrow. She can help me serve.”
“Really? Who?” Tasha did sound disappointed.
“Meghan Moore, she’s eighteen and wants to be a pastry chef. She seemed pretty sincere about working whenever and doing whatever I asked. It doesn’t mean you can’t come.” I threw Tasha a bone. “You know I can always use your support.”
“I’ll talk to Craig and see.”
“Sounds good.” I added the dry ingredients to the mixer after carefully weighing them. In baking—gluten or no gluten—it was all about proper proportion.
“I’m not sure I know the Moores,” Tasha said.
“I know I don’t.” I had the mixer on low for thirty seconds then moved it up to medium. “The parents kicked Meghan out the day after she turned eighteen.”
“What?”
“I know, crazy, right? But apparently they figured they did their job raising the kids and at age eighteen, it’s time to grow up. They literally give each of them a suitcase and a twenty-dollar bill for their birthday and put their stuff on the lawn the next day.”
“That’s crap.”
“I completely agree. But I heard the family’s been doing this for over one hundred years.”
“That doesn’t make it any less barbaric.”
“No kidding. Anyway, she had great references so I’m going to give her a shot. Besides, I’m desperate for help. If she works out, I can do a lot more work and stuff—like errands.”
“And come over and visit your best friend?”
“Hey, how’s the inn?” I asked to distract her. “How’s Kip?”
“Kip’s good. He’s talking about going trick-or-treating this year.”
“Really? I thought he didn’t like scary stuff.”
“His tutor suggested it and that he would earn a reward if he went, therefore he said yes.”
I couldn’t tell if I detected terror or pride in her voice, perhaps both. “Does he have a costume in mind?”
“He wants to go as a third grader.”
I laughed. “But he is a third grader.”
“I know. I tried explaining it to him, but he insists since he is a third grader then he should go as a third grader.”
“How are you going to pull that off?”
“The tutor has some ideas, but we’re both working on explaining the costume part of Halloween.”
I finished mixing the dough and pulled the bowl off the big mixer and set it on the counter. Then I rolled one-inch balls and placed them on the cookie sheets. “Thanks for letting me use your computer the last couple of days. I’m calling Brad in the morning and demanding mine back.”
“How’s the investigation going?” Tasha asked. I heard her eating on her side of the phone. It was after ten P.M. She must have had a busy evening if she was eating after Kip went to bed.
“Grandma learned that George died of blunt-force trauma.” I picked up a fork and began to make the traditional crisscross pattern on the cookies.
“Which means?”
“He was hit in the head by something and fell into the trough and drowned.” I picked up the cookie sheets and placed them in the oven, then set the timer.
“Wow, what kind of object?”
“They don’t know. Grandma Ruth said she was going to look in the sewer tomorrow to see if maybe something was thrown down there. Anything that doesn’t have my fingerprints on it would be good.”
“You mean like a pipe or a bat?”
“Or a brick or a big rock.” I sipped on the glass of red wine I had poured myself. “Who knows? For a while I thought maybe it was a bank deposit bag full of money. You know how heavy they get.”
“That’s a great idea,” Tasha said. “Smash George in the head, walk down, and toss the bag in the depository.”
“Exactly, but then Grandma and I looked in the depository chute and it was clean as a whistle. If someone had used a bank bag it should have left at least a streak of blood, don’t you think?”
“Maybe,” Tasha said. “Or maybe the chute was cleaned.”
“Really? They clean that?”
“Every Wednesday. Remember, I used to work at the bank. Hey, by the way, I heard Ed Bruner had foreclosed on George’s farm. Has anyone asked the banker where he was at 5:30 A.M. that morning?”
“Why? That would only make sense if George had killed Ed, right?” I sipped wine, thinking about the topsy-turvy world.
“No, I heard after Ed set up the auction and put the place up for sale, he had a couple of interested buyers. Then George got a lawyer involved and threatened to draw out the foreclosure as long as possible. It was a big stink. The buyers picked up their briefcases and walked out. They weren’t interested in waiting. They wanted the farm now.”
“Why?”
“Who knows,” Tasha said. “Word is they were taking their money and going home.”
“W
ow. Then Ed did have motive to kill George.”
“Motive and, if you can prove your bank-deposit-bag theory, he had means. What we need to do is prove he had opportunity.”
“Right.” I stared out the window. The kitchen was warm and cozy and styled like the rest of the late-Victorian house with black-and-white tiles, white cabinets, and tiled countertops and backsplash. It was the most recently remodeled room and felt like home.
“Maybe he’ll be at the memorial service,” Tasha said. “You could ask him then.”
“You did say the killer might be at the service.”
“ I did, because I’m smart like that. So, did you find out more about Todd Woles’s fight with George?”
“Yes, you were right. He did have a restraining order out on George.”
“So you have two good suspects.”
“Maybe,” I said, scooping cheese tarts off their baking sheets and onto a cooling rack. “The restraining order is two years old. Why kill George now?”
“Something must have happened,” Tasha declared. “I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, if I were you, I’d keep an eye on Ed.”
The timer buzzed softly. “I will. Listen, I have to go. See you tomorrow around nine?”
“Or earlier if I can have everything ready in time to let me attend the memorial and help out.”
After I hung up, I pulled the cookies out of the oven. Of the two suspects, the banker had stronger means and motive. All I needed to do now was place him at the scene. That was going to be the hardest part of all.
CHAPTER 18
Tim went into work with me. I kept my eye on the bank, but it was dark and had no cars in the parking lot.
“Do you know of any reason for Ed Bruner to be at the bank early in the morning?” I asked a sleepy Tim.
My brother looked at me and drew his eyebrows together in a V. “Hell, no, banker’s hours remember? The guy gets to work six hours a day, like from ten to four or something. I swear, if Dad had been a banker we’d all be set.”
“Dad was a good professor at the school.”
“And lived on a professor’s income with six kids, for God’s sake. We had nothing.”
“Nothing but love.” Mom’s words rolled off my tongue. My brother growled at me. I shrugged and continued to drive. It was going to be a big day. I was nearly done with the catering platters for the memorial. A few more little details and they would be ready.
I still had the children’s birthday cakes to finish today as well. “Do you know any of the Moores?”
“Rob Moore was two years ahead of me in school, why?”
“Does he have a daughter Meghan?”
Tim shrugged then yawned. “Beats me, why?”
“I’m going to hire her. Things have been crazy since Carrie left. I really need more help.”
“Huh. Good for you.”
Brothers are so helpful. I rolled into the parking lot. The light next to the bakery’s back door was out.
“Light’s out.” Tim perked up.
I parked the van. “I see. Hand me the flashlight.”
“What flashlight?” My brother was dense as a cornfield when he was tired.
“The one in the glove box.” I held out my hand while he opened the glove box, riffled through, and slapped the flashlight at me. “Thanks.”
I got out of the van and turned the flashlight on. The light had been broken. I got up under it.
“Wow, BB gun or rock?” Tim offered, his hands in his coat pockets.
I looked around. I didn’t see any rocks out of place. There was a small mark in the back siding. Definitely a BB gun. I shone the flashlight around but there wasn’t anyone hiding in the shadows.
That’s when I noticed it: a giant mass of spray paint on the back door. The flashlight hit the metallic paint and reflected the light back at me.
“What’s it say?”
I swallowed and read out loud. “Stop nosing around or you’ll regret it.”
“That’s a threat.” Tim turned to me. “What did you do to make someone do this?”
“Nothing.” I half shrugged.
“Toni . . .”
“Grandma Ruth and I might be looking into the murder.”
“Oh, man, sis, are you nuts? Whoever killed George has to know you’re trying to figure out who he is.”
I unlocked the back door and opened it. “I must be getting close,” I pointed out, “or he wouldn’t feel threatened.”
“Let me go first.” Tim hit the lights and stepped inside. I was right behind him and turned off the alarm as he checked the office. “It’s clear.”
I locked the door behind us and held on to Tim’s shirt as we checked out the rest of the bakery. “No one’s here,” I said with some relief. “The alarm didn’t go off.”
“Do you have a camera on your rear entrance?”
I pursed my lips and cracked my knuckles. “No. I didn’t think I needed it.”
“This is crazy.” Tim’s face grew red. “What if you’d come here alone? What if whoever killed George was waiting for you? Geez, Toni, you’re not safe here.”
“Oh, come on.” I could feel my anger rising. Someone was scaring me and I didn’t take kindly to it, so I took it out on my brother. “This is Oiltop, for God’s sake, population ten thousand when the college isn’t in session and fifteen thousand when the school is in. It’s a heck of a lot safer than Chicago.”
“If it’s so safe, how come some guy was murdered a few feet from your front door? And why are we so worried about you we’re not letting you go to work alone?” Tim flapped his hand around, his voice rising.
I raised my voice and stood toe to toe, nose to nose with him. “I didn’t kill the guy. And I have no idea who would vandalize my place or why. Plus, I never asked you or Grandma Ruth to take me to work. So you can go home and forget worrying about me.” I had my hands on my hips, and I could feel my temperature rise.
“I’m here because you need a keeper.” Tim pointed at the back door. “I don’t want to wake up one day and find the cops at my door telling me they found your body in the street.”
“Technically, it’s my door.”
“What?” Tim jerked back at the low blow. I was too angry and scared to be ashamed as his face flushed. “Fine. Do whatever you want. You’re a grown woman and I can’t worry about you. Just make sure you make a will or something, will you? I don’t want Mom’s house stuck in probate for fifteen years.”
“Great. Fine. I’ll have Brad get right on it. I suppose you think I should leave the house to you.”
“Damn it, Toni, I don’t want the house. I want you safe. Why the hell do you think I stay up late every other day and see you safely here? I’m doing it because I care about you and, from the looks of your back door, someone needs to be here.”
I rubbed my temples. “I have a security company.”
“You need to have them put an outside camera in the back.”
“Fine.”
“Good. Now call 911. When the cops get here, I’ll head home.”
I wanted to stick my tongue out at him for making me mad and for being right. I hated it when my brother was right. I picked up the phone and dialed 911. Starting my day with a visit from Barney Fife was not going to be fun. But the day could only get better from here. Right?
CHAPTER 19
Meghan stopped by around ten-thirty that morning. She looked exactly the same as she had the day before, only this time her black hair was pulled back, exposing several piercings on her ears. “Hey, Ms. Holmes. How are you? I thought I’d stop by in person and see how it was going.”
“I’m good.” I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped out into the shop. “I called your references and they were quite good.”
Meghan nodded and tilted her head a little in expectation.
“Can you start this evening?”
“Yes!” Her expression broke out into a wide smile. She literally jumped up and down on her toes and clapped her hands. �
�You won’t regret this, Ms. Holmes. Seriously.”
“Like I said yesterday, there’s a memorial service tonight at seven and I’m catering. You’ll need to be here by five-thirty. And remember to wear a white button-up blouse, black slacks, and good black walking shoes. No boots.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll also need you Saturday from ten A.M. until four P.M. The shop is closed on Sundays. I’ll post next week’s schedule before you leave on Saturday.”
“Great!” She bounced.
“Wear your hair pulled back and out of your face. You can keep the eyebrow piercing but don’t add to your visible piercings, and no tongue piercings as customers need to be able to understand you when you talk. This is a business and we try to be as professional as possible. The goal is to build customers, not chase them away.”
“I understand.” Her tone was solemn but her expression shone with happiness.
“See you at five-thirty.” I watched her walk out; her happiness lifted my mood. It had been hell dealing with Officer Emry on the vandalism this morning. He’d taken pictures of the painted message and then made scrapings of the paint before he left. It had taken me an hour to scrub the message away. I wondered if I could ask the landlord to repaint the back door along with the front bricks.
The whole episode had pissed my brother off and put me an hour behind. But it was good to know I had help starting tonight. Thank goodness for Sam and Meghan.
• • •
Sam showed up at 12:30 P.M. right as I turned the OPEN sign over to CLOSED and marked the BE BACK IN AN HOUR sign.
“Hey.” His expression was warm, his mouth turned up and his dark gaze interested. “Are you ready for lunch?”
I took off my apron and grabbed my jacket. It was a black-and-white houndstooth, which matched the black slacks and white shirts that made up most if not all of my wardrobe. “I’m ready.” I grabbed the big box full of twelve-inch, gluten-free rolls and jerked my head toward the back. “Let’s go out this way.”
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