by Maria Geraci
“Exactly. Once I was satisfied that Betty Jean wasn’t lying on the floor with a broken hip, I immediately left her house. After that, I had no intention of returning for the book club meeting. I didn’t find out about the murder until the next morning.”
“And that’s it?”
“What else is there?”
Huh. Everything Shirley has said tonight is true. Not that I ever really thought she was capable of murder. But … well, you never know.
“When you were at the house, making sure that Betty Jean was all right, did you see or hear anything unusual?”
“Just that horrible music.”
“I heard that you were one of the people that Jefferson Pike and Archie Clements swindled in their publishing scam. Is that true?”
Poor Shirley. She looks mortified. “Yes, I was one of their foolish victims. But I’m getting all my money back. Rusty and Travis told me once the FBI clears the investigation, I should get a check. It might not be a lot of money to most people, but five thousand dollars for me … well, you probably know because of your brother, but my late husband didn’t leave me in a very good position.”
“I’m glad you’re getting your money back, Shirley.” And then because I can’t help myself, I say, “So you wrote a novel?”
Her face lights up. “Oh, I’ve written a dozen. Thank you for asking! I have the copies in my den. Wait, let me show you.” She hops from her chair and scurries into the next room. That’s one impressive hip replacement.
Will leans over and whispers, “Now look what you’ve done.”
“Quiet!” I hiss seconds before Shirley comes back carrying a huge manila folder in her hand.
“No one’s read them. Except that Jefferson Pike when he was pretending to be J.W. Quicksilver. He said they were wonderful. But of course, that was because he was trying to get my five thousand dollars.” She frowns. “Do you think he just pretended to read them?” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I know you don’t read these kinds of books,” she says to Will, “but everyone in town knows you have excellent literary tastes. Would you mind reading them and giving me your opinion?”
Will gives me a look, then takes the envelope from her hand and opens it up. I lean over to see to a dozen neat little paperclipped packets inside. Will pulls one out. “The Case of the Perplexed Parishioner,” he reads aloud. “That’s the title of your story?”
She nods enthusiastically. “That’s the first one. They all center around a widow who works as the secretary at a Catholic church in north Florida. She solves murder mysteries.”
“Sounds fascinating,” Will chokes out.
I give him a pleading look. “Will would love to read your stories,” I say.
“You would?” Shirley asks him eagerly.
Will doesn’t miss a beat. “It would be an honor.”
And this is just one of the many reasons why he’ll always be my best friend.
He stands. “I think we’ve taken up enough of your time, Shirley. Thanks.”
“When do you think you can get back to me?” she asks. “With your critique?”
“Um, give me a couple of weeks,” he says.
We’re almost to the door when I remember something. “Shirley, I’m confused. You said you were ashamed about something. Something that you didn’t want Sebastian to find out or you could never look him in the eye again. What were you talking about?”
“Why, leaving the rectory thirty minutes before I was supposed to, of course. What did you think I was talking about?”
Will waits until we’re in the car to bust out laughing.
I slink down in my seat. “Okay, so I was wrong about Shirley.”
Even Paco looks like he’s laughing. I can see all of his teeth. “Did you eat an onion today?” I ask my dog. “Because your breath is out of control.” He clamps his jaws shut. “You did, didn’t you?” He lifts his chin in the air like he’s not going to dignify my question.
“I could have told you that Shirley didn’t kill Jefferson Pike,” says Will. “No special skills needed there. Admit it, Lucy. This is a dead end. We aren’t going to figure this out in the next twelve hours, so we might as well get some sleep.”
As much as I hate to agree, Will is right.
“There’s no need to get my publishing company involved. First thing tomorrow morning, I’ll go down to the police station and tell Fontaine that I’m J.W. Quicksilver.”
Chapter Eighteen
I have trouble sleeping, but I force myself to stay in bed until four, then I get up, take Paco for a walk and start to make the muffins. Betty Jean comes down into the kitchen around four thirty wearing another one of my favorite T-shirts. The slogan reads MUFFINS RULE, DONUTS DROOL.
I point to the shirt. “I hope you don’t stretch that out.”
“Now that’s a proper morning greeting,” she says chirpily. “Nothing like waking up to a good side of snark to go with your coffee.”
“You don’t have to be up so early,” I say.
“I haven’t slept past five since I was seventy.” She takes a sip of her coffee. “Did you figure out who killed Jefferson Pike?”
I put a batch of pumpkin chocolate chip muffins in the oven and set the timer. “No.”
“Don’t look so glum. You can’t win ’em all, kid. That makes you, what? Three for four now?” she says, referring to my track record for catching murderers.
“I guess so.” Except this time, I’ve let Will down. In just a few hours, the world will know that he’s J.W. Quicksilver, and his name will be forever linked with a murder investigation.
I need to make more muffins. Baking for me releases endorphins the way running does for other people. Plus, since I missed my regular baking session yesterday morning, we could use the extra batches to catch up on inventory.
I’m on my third batch of my famous apple walnut cream cheese muffins when Jill and Sarah walk through the door at the same time. “Yum! Someone’s been baking up a storm,” says Sarah, who appears well rested today. She surveys the countertops. “Looks like you’ve been super productive this morning.”
“Just practicing for the day I’ll have to do it all on my own,” I snap.
Yikes. That sounded a bit aggressive.
Jill and Betty Jean give each other a look. Paco looks at me as if to say, Someone hasn’t had their coffee yet.
“I’ll go check out the pantry supplies,” says Jill.
Betty Jean follows her lead. “And I’ll go wipe down the tables. Again.”
They scurry off, leaving Sarah and I alone in the kitchen. Paco looks at the door like he’s thinking about bolting too but then changes his mind and lies back down in his corner.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” I say to Sarah. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“That’s all right,” Sarah says kindly. “I know this Jefferson Pike murder has you busy.”
“Only it shouldn’t. I’m a baker. I own half a café. At least, for now I do. I shouldn’t be running around playing amateur detective. Travis is right. I need to leave the police work to the professionals.”
“But you’re so good at it. If it wasn’t for you, the mob might have taken over Whispering Bay.”
She has a point. But what good are my detective skills if I lose the one thing I’ve dreamed of all my life? Running my own café. I can’t do it without a partner. I don’t have the resources.
If anything, living with Betty Jean these past couple of days has taught me to say what I think. “What good is solving crime if I lose my business? Or my partner?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know what’s going on. I know you want to go into business with Heidi. It’s okay. I don’t blame you. Just … tell me how we’re going to do this, so I’ll know what to expect.”
“You think I want to go into business with Heidi Burrows?” Sarah sounds truly shocked.
“Don’t you?”
“No! At least, not like you think.”
She sits on a stool and chuckles.
“I’m glad you think this is funny.”
She tries to look serious. “Sorry, but the idea of leaving you and going into business with that pretentious Heidi is just … well, it’s ridiculous.”
“I’m confused. If you’re not going into business with Heidi, what are the two of you doing playing kitchen together? And you hired Betty Jean without consulting me. When you offered to loan me the money to pay Will back, I thought it was just you being nice, but now I think it’s because you feel guilty on account of—wait. You think Heidi is pretentious?” I sag against the kitchen counter. “Thank goodness. I thought I was the only one.”
“Half the town thinks that. But she is a good baker. And she makes an excellent donut.”
“Because it’s laden with a mountain of fat,” I mutter.
“Exactly. Heidi came to me a week ago and asked if I’d consider helping her figure out a way to reduce the fat content in her donuts. She wants to offer her customers low-fat options. But I’m not the baker here. You are. I told her I couldn’t help her, and you’re way too busy in our kitchen to help her in hers, so I did a little market research and came up with another idea.” She hops down from the stool, pulls out her work bag and hands me a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?”
“It’s an idea I came up with in one of my marketing classes.” Sarah flushes. “I didn’t want to tell anyone until I’d finished my first semester. Except Luke. He knows, of course. But I’ve gone back to school part-time to get my business degree.”
“Sarah! That’s great!”
“It’s all online nowadays so it’s super convenient, but I am burning the candle at both ends. That’s why I hired Betty Jean, because we need the help. But you’re right, I should have okay’d it with you first.”
I read through Sarah’s marketing plan. Then I read it again for good measure. “You want me to supply muffins for Heidi’s bakery?”
“And the Piggly Wiggly. If you think you have time. Let’s face it, Lucy. You make the world’s best muffins. Why shouldn’t the rest of the planet get in on it?”
Sarah leans over my shoulder and points to a column on the page. “We can market them as Lucy’s World-Famous Muffins. It’s a win-win for everyone. Heidi can offer her customers some lower fat options, and we can use the local grocery store for market testing to see if we want to sell your muffins on a larger scale one day. But for now, if my numbers are right, just selling to Heidi and the Piggly Wiggly will increase our profit margin. You can pay Will off faster. Or me. If you decide to take me up on the loan offer.”
I’m stunned. “And Heidi has agreed to sell my muffins in her bakery?”
“She’s not dumb, Lucy. She knows it’ll be good for her business. Look, hiring Betty Jean gives you more time in the kitchen doing what you do best. Baking. And it gives me some time off to study. But if you don’t want her around, I’ll make something up and let her go. We can find someone else.”
“Find someone else? Just when I’m getting used to her?”
Sarah laughs. “I hate to say this, but you’re actually beginning to sound just like her.”
“Bite your tongue.” Boy, have I gotten everything wrong lately. First, there was the Jefferson Pike investigation. I was so certain that Archie must have killed his partner. Then there was the thing with Shirley. And now Sarah. I think my Spidey sense needs an oil change. “So we’re good? Still partners?”
“Always.”
“In that case, I’m okay keeping the loan the way it is. Will doesn’t mind, and I don’t either anymore.” I playfully cringe. “And, do you mind if I leave a couple of hours early today? I promised Will I’d meet him for something really important. I’ll be back by two to do final cleanup. As a matter of fact, I’ll show Betty Jean how to do it.”
Sarah, who hates final cleanup more than anything, grins. “You’re on.”
At quarter to noon, I hang up my apron and grab my car keys. Betty Jean is in the kitchen, chopping apples. “Do you mind covering the counter? I need to do something. I already ran it past Sarah.”
“Jeez. What did you people do without me? Sure, go on.” She puts down the knife and waves me off.
“Thanks. When I get back, I’ll go through the final cleanup with you.”
“Oh goody. I can hardly wait.”
I chuckle to myself, then head outside into the bright sunlight. It’s a gorgeous December day, but suddenly my stomach is curled in knots. Poor Will. What’s going to happen to him?
I click on Paco’s leash. “C’mon, boy. We’re going to visit Cindy.” He happily jumps in the car.
When we arrive at the police station, the parking lot is full. Five dark-colored sedans take up the first row. “Those are FBI cars,” I say to Paco. “What are they still doing here?”
I spot Will’s car in the next row. My heart is beating so fast, it feels like it’s going to burst from my chest. I head into the station. Cindy looks up at me, but she doesn’t smile. “Lucy,” she says in a low voice. “Now isn’t a good time.” Paco starts to go through his trick routine, but she barely looks at him. He sits up, dejected.
“What’s going on? Where’s Will?”
“Will Cunningham?” She shrugs. “I think he came to see Travis.”
“Why is the FBI still here? I thought they took Archie Clements yesterday and left.”
“That was the plan. Not that the FBI tells me anything, mind you, but after you left last night all heck broke loose.”
When I left the police station yesterday, Agent Billings was going to try to cut a deal with Archie Clements. A lighter sentence in exchange for his giving up the money. Billings had leverage too, in the form of Anita Tremble. The whole thing seemed pretty cut-and-dried, but obviously if the feds are still here, something must have gone wrong.
“I’ll just wait here. If you don’t mind?”
“Suit yourself,” says Cindy. “But you’re going to have a long wait.”
I find a chair and a magazine. The next hour goes by excruciatingly slowly. Where’s Will? Is he being questioned by the FBI? By Travis and Zeke? I hope he’s not behind bars. It occurs to me that maybe I should start to find him a lawyer when I hear his voice down the hall.
I jump from my seat. Travis and Will emerge from the back hallway.
“Lucy.” Travis frowns. “What are you doing here?”
Will catches my gaze and gives me a look that tells me “no.”
No what?
No, don’t say anything? No, don’t do anything?”
I’m so confused. And nervous.
“Hi!” I sound like I’ve just sucked down a whole balloon full of helium. “What’s going on? Why is the FBI still here?”
“You tell her,” Will says to Travis.
“Last night, Archie Clements confessed to murdering Jefferson Pike. He’s been singing like a canary to the feds for the past four hours. Giving up all kinds of details on their real estate con. He gave up the money too.”
“But that makes no sense. He told me he didn’t kill Jefferson.”
Travis gives me a weary look. “Not that again. Lucy, admit it. You were wrong. Archie Clements lied to you.”
I am not wrong. Am I?
“So, J.W. Quicksilver … ”
“Looks like we don’t need him, after all. The judge called off the court order.”
I heave a sigh. “That’s great. Isn’t it?”
“It’s great for J.W. Quicksilver,” says Travis. “He’s off the hook for Pike’s murder, and he’s still anonymous.”
“What does this all mean?”
“It means that after the feds finish talking with Archie, we’ll officially charge him for Jefferson Pike’s murder. But it looks like it’s going to be a long Saturday.” He turns to Will, and the two men shake hands. “See you later, Cunningham.” He nods at me. “Lucy.” Then he winks at Paco and disappears down the hallway.
“Wow,” I mouth to Will. “What just happe
ned?”
“Crazy, huh?” He glances over at Cindy, who’s watching us. She immediately goes back to her typing.
“Let’s go outside,” Will says.
Once we’re in the parking lot, he tells me the rest of the story. “I got here around eleven, but I couldn’t get in to see Travis or Zeke on account of everyone was involved with Archie’s confession. Turns out, I never had to tell them who I was. Now that they have their killer, they couldn’t care less about J.W. Quicksilver.”
I shake my head. Crazy doesn’t begin to describe the last couple of days.
“What are you going to do now?” I ask. “Are you going to stay anonymous? Or are you going to tell everyone who you are?”
“I don’t know. What do you think I should do, Lucy?”
“Oh, no. Don’t put that on me. You do what you think is right.”
Then I think about it a minute. My best friend needs my advice. So I should give it to him.
“Listen, Will, you don’t owe anyone anything. You have every right to keep a pen name. Jefferson Pike was wrong when he said you were asking to be scammed. In every way that counts, you were just as much a victim of Jefferson Pike as any of those people whose money he took. Don’t let him suck the creative juice out of you. Keep being J.W. Quicksilver if that’s what it takes to keep writing those awesome books of yours.”
He grins. “Gosh, Lucy, I’m getting choked up.”
I playfully punch him in the shoulder.
“How about I buy you lunch?” he says.
“How about a raincheck?” I look at my watch. It’s two thirty. “I have to go show Betty Jean how to clean up after a shift.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Dinner tomorrow night at my parents’?”
“Where else would I be on Sunday night?”
Paco and I get in the car, and we head back to The Bistro.
Archie Clements confessed to Jefferson Pike’s murder. Only I know he’s lying.
It makes no sense. Why would he confess to something he didn’t do?
I try to reason it out like a puzzle. Did he have motive? Yes. Jefferson and he argued about the publishing scam. Archie isn’t violent, but everyone has their breaking point.
