“I don’t know how surprising that was,” Lucy said dryly, but Claire needed to get her thought out before she lost it.
“But…the cake…” Claire murmured and then said louder, “…they must have known that the cake was an almond cake. Maybe Mrs. Park told them that was what she ordered? People don’t just carry around cyanide. But cyanide smells like almonds. I can’t see that someone didn’t plan for that poison specifically. But how to get rid of the rest of the family so only Mrs. Park died. How did they know that’s what was ordered? Unless Mrs. Park was a suicide by cyanide.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” Lucy said. “Really easy actually. Everyone who knows them knows Mrs. Park sends out people from the family dinner who have upset her. She…well…she wasn’t a very kind woman.”
“Would you explain, Lucy?” Scott asked, frowning. He looked as clueless as Claire felt. “Sends people out?”
“It was sort of well-known that Gertrude Park would go over the things she’d learned about her family at the start of dinner. She’d send away anyone who had displeased her right at the beginning, after chewing them out.”
“Like a naughty child?”
Lucy looked disgusted as she nodded.
“But Ethan Park is in his late 40s or early 50s,” Scott said. His expression was flabbergasted, which was exactly how Claire felt. Who would put up with being sent away from dinner like a child? Let alone repetitively?
“I know,” Lucy said. Her nose was scrunched up and she nodded emphatically. “I don't think I could have attended those dinners, no matter how much money the old lady had. Everyone who knew the Parks say Mrs. Park held that money over their heads like a poisoned carrot…” She realized what she said and then added, “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“We know,” Scott assured Lucy and then scratched the back of his neck as he thought about what they’d been saying.
“Is the money why her family put up with what Mrs. Park was doing?” Claire had been hard-up before, but she couldn’t imagine being treated like a child forever on the promise of future money. It wasn’t even guaranteed money. Mrs. Park could have left it all to her rat or to charity or to her maid if she wanted to.
“I’d say that money was pretty much the only reason any of her kids had anything to do with her. Helen Nathans didn’t even let that pull her in very often. She told off her mama after Mrs. Park flipped out over the baby. They didn’t talk for years. Not until after Helen married again and her husband adopted Michaela. They seemed to get much closer after that. At least according to Millie…”
“Oh my,” Claire said, shaking her head. She’d lost her first husband and the pain of that loss was something she carried even though she’d fallen in love again. But that loss had taught Claire to enjoy the precious moments. Poor Mrs. Park had thrown away years of enjoying her daughter and grandchild. That was as sad a story as Claire could have imagined.
Lucy nodded again and then shook her head as she added, “If something happened during dinner…well…she’d send everyone away,” Lucy explained. “My friend Millie worked for Mrs. Park for years. She told me about dinner after dinner where Mrs. Park would send people away. She’d sit alone at the table, the scritch-scritch-scritch of her knife and fork in the totally silent dining room. Millie had to stand by the table in case anyone needed anything during the dinner. When Mrs. Park sent everyone away, she had to stay and watch Mrs. Park eat alone.”
“Just surrounded by empty or half-finished plates and eat as though they were all there?” Scott asked.
Lucy nodded and said, “She’d eat slowly, drink her wine, have after dinner coffee. All while sitting at an empty table.”
“Ouch,” Scott said. He and Claire agreed with that sentiment. Eating alone after sending your family away was no way to live. Making your maid watch you do it was worse.
“Millie said sometimes Mrs. Park would make them all come and then send them away for no reason. Just wait for them all to appear and when the table was set, and Millie would announce that dinner was ready, Mrs. Park wouldn’t let any of them in.”
Claire took a deep breath. Her stomach was starting to hurt because of the conversation, the lack of food, and too much coffee. Usually, she’d have eaten a little something at the bakery by now, but she hadn’t had a chance before then decided to smother her twisting stomach with some of the chicken fried steak. She’d known Mrs. Park was a sour old woman who spread dissent, and Claire wasn’t going to pretend that she’d liked her, but her life made Claire physically ill. Eating didn’t help, as good as the breakfast was. Her stomach snarled at the images that were running through Claire’s head. Even if those images weren’t all that surprising. Adults treated like children, grandchildren ignored, supposedly wayward daughters only acknowledged again after marrying.
“Who could have found out what she ordered?” Scott asked. “Whoever planned this had to have found that out.”
Claire considered for a few minutes and then said, “Probably anyone if someone just asked. Or even looked. Our special orders are kept in a book at the front of the bakery. It’s one of those pads of order forms where you fill it out and there are multiple copies underneath. Given that there was a week from when Mrs. Park picked up her last cake and made the almond cake order and when she picked up the almond cake, anyone could have read them over. Especially if the person knew our system.”
“Have you seen any of them before?” Scott asked jerking his head towards the Park women and their quietly intense argument.
Claire nodded and said, “Michaela Nathans was in the bakery when Mrs. Park chewed us out about the cake from last week.”
Scott and Lisa winced for Michaela and Claire felt the need to point out, “I can’t remember if we mentioned the flavor of cake, but…it was possible.”
“Except,” Scott said, “that doesn’t prove anything. And even if Michaela knew what kind of cake, she could have told any of the rest of her family. Or any of the others could have been in the bakery to grab a scone and glanced the special orders over. The food at that bakery is so good a lot of people stop in and grab something.”
“I’ll ask Mrs. Applegate and Sandy,” Claire said, adjusting the salt and pepper and ketchup bottles, lining them up. “Any of the Park family could have been in the bakery in the last week. Just because I didn’t notice doesn’t mean that didn’t. I had no idea who those women were until you pointed them out to me. It’s just coincidence that I met Michaela.”
Scott rose from the table, leaned down and said, “I’m going to make a call.”
While he was gone, Claire finished her meal. Her stomach had calmed down enough that she could enjoy the food. Probably because she’d realized she needed to count her blessings that though there was a real reason to investigate the bakery and Claire for the murder, her friends—never once—thought she’d done it. She was lucky to have such good friends.
Chapter 6
When Claire and Scott left the café, the sky was the sort of brilliant blue that seems only possible in some sort of tropical paradise especially with the backdrop of verdant green trees. The temperature, however, was a brisk 50 degrees with a cool ocean breeze. The air smelled wet even though there wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky and the colors were so bright it seemed as if they had entered a movie set of heaven rather than somewhere real.
“It is so beautiful here,” Claire murmured. She paused outside the café door to breathe it in and as she appreciated the beauty, Scott wound his fingers with hers.
“I love how you always stop and appreciate,” Scott said, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.
She grinned at him and then admitted, “You’d be astounded every time you glanced around if you had moved from Arizona too. When I decided to travel here, it was the pictures of how beautiful it was that drew me. I never thought I could live here though. I’m not sure there’s anywhere more beautiful on the whole planet.”
“No arguments here,” Scott said. “I never want to move
away. I called my friend and my boss. They’ll cover for me tomorrow and we can see what we can find out.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Claire said, but she caught the flash of excitement in his eyes and said, “But you want to.”
He shrugged sheepishly and said, “Well…yeah…”
She laughed delightedly and then stage-whispered, “I want to figure this out too.”
Scott left to take the later ferry shift, and Claire made her way back to the bakery. While they worked Claire and Mrs. Applegate discussed the Park family.
Claire took a moment to glance through the special-order book and realized that Leah Park had ordered a retirement cake for someone named Tracey. It had been ordered three days after the almond cherry amaretto cake, so she could have easily seen the first order. Claire mentally moved Leah Park, wife of the oldest son farther up the suspect list and asked Mrs. Applegate, “What do you know about Leah Park?”
“She and Ethan were high school sweethearts, went to the same college, married afterward. They’re the typical small-town love story.”
Ahhhhh, Claire thought. That’s sweet.
“They have three or four sons. Most of whom are troublemakers that get out of everything because their parents step in,” Mrs. Applegate’s mouth twisted and Claire was surprised to see the flash of disgust on her face.
“Those boys run wild and their parents just fix things every time they mess up. There’s gonna come a day when they can’t take back what they did. When not even their mom and dad can fix it.”
Oh, Claire thought, all delight in the Leah and Ethan Park story fading. Mrs. Applegate wasn’t a person to just arbitrarily dislike kids like that. They must have done something that really upset her, or she was worried for them. "
“They need engaged parents,” Mrs. Applegate said, and Claire knew it was the second option. Mrs. Applegate was awesome.
Claire squeezed her hand and said, “Maybe they’ll be okay.”
Mrs. Applegate formed a loaf of bread and then said, “Mary Miller has little girls. She didn’t start having children until about thirty, so they’re…maybe…in grade school.”
Claire considered that. What would drive a mother of little children to kill? Not that Mary had, but that was the question wasn’t it? What drove this person to kill? If they knew why she was killed, they’d be able to narrow down who did it. Only…it seemed there were so many reasons to kill Mrs. Park.
Means motive opportunity
The money had been there for as long as their family had existed, so something must have driven the killer over the edge. Financial trouble? A changing will? Some other cruelty on Mrs. Park’s part that pushed the killer over the edge?
“Any rumors about Mary?”
Mrs. Applegate considered and then shrugged. “Just the normal stuff. Her husband works a lot, the little girls seem nice, they have a nice house. A nice car. Nothing over the top but nice enough. She comes in pretty often, usually for my chocolate dream cupcakes,” she added with a note of satisfaction. “I saw her in here within the last week.”
Claire took in the fact that Mary Miller could also have known what kind of cake they were making and then asked, “Why doesn’t she have a super nice house too?”
“Mrs. Park only helped Ethan get started. The other two kids, the girls, were on their own. Well, I think she might have paid for Mary’s college, but…definitely not Helen.”
“Oh geez,” Claire said. “Really?”
She shook her head, trying to imagine how a mother could be so cruel to her own children. Had they always known that their rich parent wasn’t going to help them out? Or had they expected what Ethan Park got and then been side-swiped by the reality of their parent’s indifference?
“What happened to older Mr. Park, Ethan’s father?” Claire asked as she scooped out big balls of chocolate chip cookie dough. The bakery wasn’t going to be open all that much longer, but they tended to sell a good number of cookies in the late afternoon. They’d be cleaning up, doing the prep work for tomorrow, and filling the special orders until they closed.
“Heart attack,” Mrs. Applegate said. “While the kids were still young. But they were well-set before that and got a huge life insurance payout after, I think.”
Claire wiped down the marble countertop while Sandy rang up an order of several cookies for a tourist and her small kids and one very, very large coffee.
“Kids,” the tourist said as she sighed into her coffee. “They’re the best and the worst.”
Scott messaged Claire a picture of a seagull on his break. It had landed on the ferry boat with a fluff of feathers on the top of its head that screamed Scuttle from The Little Mermaid. He was docked at Orcas Island. The boats of Puget Sound carried tourists, cars, day-trippers, and the like between the islands and the mainland. Scott was lucky enough to spend his days on the behemoths, in the natural beauty of the sound. It was, in fact, where Claire had first met Scott during her first day trip to one of the islands. It had been a day to remember, and as much as she loved working in the bakery, she wished she was on his boat, with the wind in her hair, and the smell of the salt water in her nose.
The scent of melting chocolate was, however, an excellent second choice.
After the mom and her kids had settled into one of the tables near the window, Claire turned to Mrs. Applegate and asked, “Who do you think killed her?”
The moment the question came out of her mouth, she heard someone clear his throat behind her. Turning to look, she saw Darryl Portman standing at the counter, his police hat clutched in one large hand. Claire put her hand on her chest and said, “Oh my goodness, Darryl. You scared me! I thought for sure you were going to be some disapproving customer. Or—worse! Her son. Not that he’d come here, but you startled me.”
He grinned at her and adjusted his shoulders before he said, “I think it was Ethan. He’ll probably get all the money. What do I have to do for coffee? Beg?”
Claire grinned at him and poured him a coffee, adding a couple of cookies on a plate as she said, “Have you talked to all of them, then?”
Darryl’s face was disgusted as he admitted, “Yeah. The more I learn about Gertrude Park the more grateful I am for my Mama. She raised me right, and I wasn’t the easiest kid to keep on the straight and narrow. I think I owe her a lot of apologies for all the stuff I pulled while I was a teenager.”
“You and me both,” Claire said.
“Go ahead,” Mrs. Applegate told Claire, and she crossed to sit with Darryl as he drank his coffee.
“I found the person who bought the other cake. They had some left. Since they were identical. You guys don’t really have a motive, and we checked your procedures against one of Myrna Applegate’s old employees. We’ve cleared you all.”
“Well yeah,” Claire said, but she was smiling as she said it. “Thanks for ruling us out so quickly.”
“My pleasure,” Darryl said. “It was a waste of time but we need to be able to tell the other suspects that you have been cleared. It makes them realize that they actually have to answer our questions instead of deflecting onto you guys. As if a couple of small-town bakers would randomly decide to murder some random elderly woman.”
Claire took a bite of her cookie. It was from the last batch she’d made while gossiping with Mrs. Applegate, and it was still warm from the oven. Claire took the rest of her cookie, breaking it in half, and looked out the window at the tall evergreens.
“Who gets the money?”
“We haven’t talked to the lawyer yet,” Darryl said, “Not that I should be telling you that.”
Claire grinned impishly at him and said, “You know I’ll find out anyway. This town is stocked entirely with gossips and do-gooders. And they’re all the same people.”
“No one knows for sure,” Darryl said. “Mrs. Park kept it as a cattle prod for her children to do exactly whatever she wanted them to do. The estate’s lawyer will be reading the will this evening at 6:00 pm and is letting us
attend the reading.”
“Well…if you won’t tell me, Lucy will,” Claire laughed. Darryl’s only reply was a disgusted snort.
Chapter 7
When the sun had set in Brightwater Bay and the storms had moved out, it was if the brightest night stars were shining directly upon the town, especially with how the town shut down during the off-season. A lot of the stores were closed by 5:00 o’clock, and the last boat of the night came in at 9:00 PM. With more lights turned off, the stars shone brighter. They had tourists year-round, but Brightwater Bay did still go into semi-hibernation after September through about April. Weekenders from Seattle and Portland still visited, strapped themselves into a warm wetsuit, and kayaked or went fishing regardless of the weather. They hiked with Columbia rain jackets and thick boots and didn’t blink at the rain, but overall numbers of visitors still fell.
Scott walked off the ferry with flashing jade-green eyes and wide smile. He wrapped an arm around her and dropped a kiss on the top of her head before he said, “How’s my best girl? Tell me everything.”
She laughed and then said, “I’m starving, and we’re clearly having a late dinner, because I am having deep thoughts about food.”
“So, steaks, then? With updates about the murder?”
“With blue cheese crumbles and sautéed mushrooms and onions,” Claire added. They walked to the steak house that overlooked the water. There was no wait given the off-season and the lateness of the hour. They said hello to the staff as they were led to the table, and Claire found she was surprised to see how many faces she knew.
The restaurant was all dark corners and flickering candlelight. They had outdoor seating which seemed a terrible idea given the season, but they had heaters that actually kept you warm, and Claire and Scott had been there often enough to immediately ask to be seated outside. With the tiki torches, the now-clear skies, and the bright moon, the deck overlooked the water creating the perfect example of the San Juan Islands done right.
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide Page 4
