“Here, let me carry that for you.” He took the box and I set the alarm system and locked the door behind us. “Wow, what happened here?” He nodded toward the shot-out back light and the faint impression of silver paint left on the door.
I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I was vandalized this morning.”
He drew his brows together and narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You called the police, didn’t you?”
I made a face. “My brother Tim was here. He insisted. So, yes, I filed a police report.”
“Good.” Our feet crunched on the gravel parking lot. We came out onto the sidewalk on Central. “I hope you don’t mind walking.”
“No, actually, it’s good to get out into the fresh air.” I glanced up at the sky, the brilliant blue illustrating that it was too cold now for summer haze. We passed a few trees that had turned color. Their leaves were yellow and red. There was a snap to the air but the sun on my cheek was warm and I walked with a good-looking man.
Sometimes when everything was looking down you had to take a moment and enjoy the small things right in front of you or you’d go crazy. It was something my mom had taught me. I felt a twinge of sadness at the memory.
“A penny for your thoughts.” Sam’s voice soothed my ears.
“I was thinking how lovely this time of year is, what with the trees and the cool air. Much nicer than, say, August, when the air is so hot you can barely breathe.”
“I like this time of year.”
“Do you like the long shadows or the spooky decorations?”
“I like the spooky decorations and more important, the hayrack rides.” He opened the door to the deli and waited for me to walk in.
“Wow, hayrack rides, I’d forgotten about those.”
“The best part is cuddling with someone under the blankets at the bonfire after.”
The light in his eyes did funny things to my insides.
“Hi, can I help you?” A young man with blond hair and a crooked smile asked from behind the counter.
“Yes, hi, I’m Toni Holmes. I own the new gluten-free bakery down the street.” I handed him my card. “Is your manager in?”
The boy, whose name tag read Jared, glanced at the card. “Sure, I’ll get him.” He went to the end of the counter and stuck his head in the kitchen. “Mr. Blake, there’s a lady here who wants to talk to you.”
I felt the heat of a blush at the kid’s shouted words. The diners in the deli stared. Sam wiggled his right eyebrow and I relaxed a bit.
A middle-aged man, shorter than me, bald and about as big around as he was tall came out from the kitchen. He wore a large black-and-white striped apron over a dress shirt and slacks. “Can I help you?”
“My name’s Toni Holmes.” I handed him my card. “I run the new gluten-free bakery down the street. Sam here offered to take me to lunch at your deli, but I have celiac disease and I can’t eat bread unless it’s gluten-free. Sam had the idea maybe we could work together to bring you more customers.”
Mr. Blake eyed Sam and the box and then me. “Go on.”
I gave him my best smile and opened the bakery box. “I specialize in gluten-free baked goods, including bread.” I glanced at his selection of deli meat and noted he carried Boar’s Head brand, which is GF. “You already carry GF lunch meats and cheeses.” I pulled out one of my sub loaves—this one was GF oatmeal. “Smells great, right?” I waved it under his nose. “Now, Jared, is it? If you could take this and cut it I’ll show you how to make a GF sandwich.”
The young man looked at Mr. Blake, who nodded. He took the bread, got out a deli plate, and reached for the bread knife.
“You’ll have to cut the bread with a fresh knife. You don’t want to cross contaminate the wheat with the GF.”
Jared went to the back and came out with a new knife. He cut it and then added the meats, cheese, and condiments I requested. Then he sliced the sandwich in half and added a pickle and a bag of potato chips and set the plate up on the counter.
“And now I can eat at your deli.” I smiled and paid full price for the meal. “There are several people in and around town who have gluten allergies or sensitivities to wheat or barley. These people currently avoid eating in your deli, Mr. Blake, but if you were to offer GF sandwiches and were careful not to use the same utensils, people would be happy to dine here.”
“Really? And where would I get the gluten-free stuff? Your bakery?”
“I would be happy to supply you with a variety of bread types from white to potato to oatmeal.”
“And the price?”
“Can be negotiated depending on the number of loaves you purchase.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his bald head. “We’re known for our fresh breads.”
“I’m a few blocks down on Main and can deliver fresh every morning.”
“How do I know these will sell?” he asked as he looked through the box Sam held out for him to inspect.
“How about we do a trial run? I can offer you the loaves for half price for the first week. If you don’t see an improvement in sales, we’ll call it off. But if you do, you’ll order your GF bread from me. What do you have to lose?”
Mr. Blake glanced at Sam, at the loaves, my sandwich, and back to me. “I tell you what, we’ll give it seven days, like you said. Then we’ll talk again.”
“Great!” I smiled broadly and took the box and handed it to Jared, who stared at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “You can have these on the house today. I’ll send over fresh tomorrow.”
Mr. Blake’s mouth made a firm line and he nodded. “Put those on the counter,” he told Jared. “Then put up a sign that says we offer gluten-free sandwiches.” He reached out and shook my hand. “Good sales pitch, Ms. Holmes.”
“Thank you, it’ll be nice working with you.”
“On a one-week trial,” he said.
“Oh, I think you’ll find you want to work together more than a week,” I said. As long as no one else got killed.
CHAPTER 20
On our way back to the bakery, I noted the CAUTION signs around the gutters and manholes. “Oh, no.”
“What?” Sam asked.
“Grandma Ruth.” I stepped up my pace until I was nearly running. “I told her not to do this.”
“Do what?” Sam kept up with me stride for stride.
“This.” I waved at the caution markers. “Grandma Ruth . . .” I called her name and heard some faint reply. “Bill?”
“They’re down in the sewer.” A man dressed in white coveralls stepped out from behind a city truck.
I knelt down and stuck my head into the open manhole. “Grandma, what are you doing?”
Bill popped into sight. “We’re treasure hunting.” He grinned. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. Treasure to him was a dead animal or an interesting bit of roadkill.
I scowled. “How could you let her down there? It’s slimy. She might fall and break a hip.”
“I will not fall.” Grandma popped into view. “I have a walker.” She shook the metal walker at me.
“Oh, Grandma, who’s going to clean that?”
“Don’t worry.” Bill snickered. “It’s a loaner.” Grandma laughed until she coughed. Bill pounded her on the back. At least they wore coveralls. Thank goodness. I wouldn’t have to smell sewer in Grandma’s clothes for the next three weeks.
“What are they doing down there?” Sam was on his knees next to me.
“They’re looking for possible murder weapons,” I said as low as possible.
“Who’s that?” Grandma asked.
“Grandma Ruth, I would like to introduce my friend Sam Greenbaum. Sam this is my grandma Ruth and her friend Bill Aimes.”
“Hello,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you.”
“Well, well,” Grandma said eyeing Sam. “Toni, you did good.” Grandma’s eyes twinkled as her cap of orange curls jiggled.
“I hope you have
an appointment at the salon before you come to tonight’s memorial,” I said.
“I do.” Grandma looked at her watch and slapped Bill’s stomach with the back of her hand. “Bill, we need to get going if we want to be ready for dinner by five. Nice to meet you, Sam. Toni, my watch tells me it’s time for you to open the bakery. Scoot, kiddo.” She made waving motions with her hands.
I shook my head and watched them both disappear from view. I sat back on my heels and sighed. Then I looked at the city worker. “How did they get down there? I can’t imagine Grandma taking those metal ladders.”
“There’s a set of stairs leading from the bank’s basement. We got permission to let them in there.”
“There’s access to the sewers through the bank’s basement?”
“Yes, of course,” the city worker said. “But only the sewer department has a key.”
Sam took my hand and helped me up. “Thanks.” I brushed the dirt off my knees.
“Why are you concerned about there being a sewer access point under the bank?” Sam asked as we walked around the corner to the back of the bakery.
“There seems to be a lot of talk about connections between the bank and George’s murder.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets.
“Like what?”
“George was suing the bank and tying up Ed Bruner’s sale of the foreclosed farm. Also, there’s the fact George was hit by a blunt-force object that no one has found. Grandma was looking in the sewer to see if the killer chucked anything like a pipe or hammer or big rock in there. Now we find out there is access to the sewer from the bank . . .”
“Sounds entirely circumstantial,” Sam said as I unlocked the door and disarmed the alarm.
“I know.” I pulled off my coat, hung it on one of the coat hooks near the kitchen door, and headed to the front to unlock the shop. “It’s why I haven’t gone to the police with my thoughts. I know what it’s like to be accused based on circumstantial evidence.”
Sam followed behind me as I turned the sign around and unlocked the glass front door. Then I made a beeline for the coffee carafes. It was time to brew fresh.
“Do you have your computer back yet?” His voice was comforting even if the question raised my hackles.
“No.” I bit my bottom lip and poured water into the coffee machine. “I need to call my lawyer about that.”
“What does your lawyer think about you catering George’s memorial service?” Sam leaned against the counter and watched me make coffee.
“He has no say.” I shrugged and hit the Brew button.
“At least they’ve taken down most of the crime scene tape.” Sam looked out the window. The only yellow tape left was wound around the horse trough. Someone had placed a bouquet of flowers by the trough. It looked kind of sad there all by itself.
“Not exactly an outpouring of love, is it?” I stood beside him and studied the sorry little bunch of carnations.
“I think I saw Sherry Williams put them there.”
“Oh.” I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Huh, maybe they had a fling or something.”
“Why do you say that? I mean, I can’t imagine two more different people.”
“Sherry’s the one who set up the memorial. She told me it would be good for business. It would help establish the ghost walk tours she wants to start downtown.”
“Ghost walk tours?” Sam’s eyes were an incredible blue. His generous mouth twitched.
I wanted to breathe him in and hold him in my lungs—more proof that I could not trust my judgment. My divorce had taught me nothing if I was going to fall for the first good-looking guy to pay me the slightest attention. I got back to the subject at hand. “Sherry says they’re all the rage and that George’s murder is the perfect ending point for walking tours of Oiltop’s downtown where they point out all the local ghost legends.”
Sam crossed his arms. “Really, like what?”
“Like the fact that on dark October nights you can see devil worshipers in the attic of the old Baptist church.”
“Oh my God, I forgot about that old story.” His grin grew wide and his eyes sparkled. “Even in Towanda we knew about that. It was something we used to tell our girlfriends to get them to snuggle close as we cruised by the church. Trust me, it was worth the car ride here.”
“Then there’s Merry Pratt’s suicide from the second-floor balcony of the old opera house.”
“Opera house?”
I looked at him like he should know about the opera house.
“My parents might have grown up here, but I didn’t. They moved an hour south of here before I was born, remember? It’s not like I grew up on Oiltop legends.”
“It’s now the Grey Goose bar and grill. You know, down on the other end of Main Street.”
“Oh, right.”
“And then there’s the town square, where they used to hang murderers and horse thieves after they had been tried in the county courthouse. Rumor is sometimes you can see the white ghostly figures wandering the square.”
“And now there’s your bakery.”
I nodded and drew my lips together in a fine line. “Where George Meister was hit in the head and left to drown in the horse trough.” A chill went through the bakery and I rubbed my upper arms. “The price of a walking tour ticket includes a cup of coffee or hot cocoa and a cookie from the bakery at the end.”
“Let me guess, Sherry’s conducting the tours.”
“Yes.” The brewer beeped letting me know the coffee was done. I filled the carafe and then set up the second kind of coffee and hit Brew. “I negotiated a 10 percent discount on drinks and cookies as long as she averaged thirty tourists a week. Anything less than that and she pays full price.”
“Do you think she’ll have that many tourists?”
I shrugged. “The college students might dig it. Then there’s the Prairie Port Festival and when the county fair is in town. But even with the new lake, it’s not like Oiltop is a booming tourist town. That’s why I set the limit at thirty a week or she pays full price. It’s just too iffy.”
Sam grinned. “I love a woman who knows the art of a deal.”
I set the full carafe on the coffee bar and put my hands on my hips. “I forgot to ask. What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Greenbaum?” I suppose it was a little late to ask him, but it was meant as a friendly if nosey question.
He waved toward his boots. “I’m a cowboy by trade. I run a small spread south of here. But I also do remodeling, carpentry, and subcontracting—a little bit of everything.”
“Wow, sounds like you’re a handy guy to have around.”
“I try to be.” His eyes twinkled and my heart pounded a bit too fast. It was dangerous how quickly a girl could get used to having a man around.
CHAPTER 21
Twenty minutes before the memorial was supposed to start, the bakery door jingled.
Meghan gave him a “Hi, how can I help you?” In the two hours she’d been working she’d only gotten a couple of things wrong. I think I was going to love having her. I hope she loved it, too, and the murderers and vandals didn’t scare her away.
“I’m here to see Toni.” The sound of Brad’s voice echoed through to the kitchen, where I was prepping platters and brewing extra coffee.
“Just a sec.” Meghan walked into the kitchen. “There’s a hot guy out there asking for you. He might be a bit old, but he’s still hot.” Meghan’s eyes sparkled.
“That’s my lawyer,” I informed her. “Tell him to come on back.”
“Will do, Boss.” Meghan left.
I poured coffee into extra carafes as Brad entered the kitchen. He literally took up all the space. He wore a black overcoat with gold buttons, a GQ suit made of a fine dark navy fabric, a pale blue shirt, and a pin-striped maroon tie. His thick golden hair was brushed back and curled at the neck. His bright gaze took in the clean but busy kitchen.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I answered trying to breathe and act normally.
“I heard you were vandalized again last night. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I filed a police report, like you told me to last time. It’s always best to have a record of everything, right?”
“Right.” He glanced around at the steel-and-marble kitchen. “Nice design.”
“Thanks, I knew what I wanted and the landlord agreed to the remodel. Cooler surfaces help to keep dough from sticking.”
“Are you going to have a camera installed on the back door?” He leaned casually against the stainless steel counter. I checked to make sure he wasn’t getting anything on his coat. Thank goodness I ran a clean kitchen.
“Have you been talking to my brother?”
“No, why?”
“He asked the same thing.” I straightened and wiped my hands on a towel. “I’d love to, but I don’t have the extra cash for that expense right now.”
“Get your landlord to install it.”
“It was hard enough to get him to install these countertops. He has no incentive to put in a camera, much less repaint the front bricks and the back door. Those things, I’m afraid, are up to me.”
“I noticed the fresh paint on the front bricks.”
“I didn’t want the spray paint showing for the memorial.” I put the finishing touches on the platters and placed the last one on the rolling rack that held them.
“Yes, I can see how that would be bad for business.” His gaze followed my every move.
I was very self-conscious and caught myself brushing my bangs out of my eyes one time too many. Why did the man have to be hot? And so very much out of my league? Two hot men in one day were really weakening my resolve.
At least Brad had grown up around my family and would never consider me in his league. Brad knew the weirdos I came with . . . no, not weirdos, creatives, Grandma Ruth would call us. It was the main reason I had moved to Chicago. It was a big city and no one knew my family. There was something freeing in that. Not that it had helped me pick a better man.
“Why are you here, Brad? Did you come for the memorial?”
“I came to tell you the police are releasing your computer equipment. You can pick it up anytime at the station.” His smile warmed my fluttering heart.
Gluten for Punishment Page 15
