Amy was sitting on a memorial bench for Dr. Harold Crooker, dabbing at the coffee blotches with a stain remover wipe, when Alex's Jeep pulled into a parking spot on the perimeter of the park. Shepler had sounded skeptical about her newest theory, but promised to discretely check on the couple. No way would she let maniacal Elliot kill another woman. Not when she was onto him. If he thought the only thing she could do was bake an awesome tangerine pound cake, he had better think again.
The hot sunshine made her feel like a salmon roasting on a cedar plank. Hopefully Alex had the air conditioning cranked up in the Jeep. As she was gathering tote bag and purse she glanced down at the walkway studded with memorial bricks. In her rush to get away from Elliot she had left the donation jar behind. Fantastic.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"There were only a few dollar bills and lots of pennies. A handful of change shouldn't add up to more than a couple dollars, right?" Amy leaned sideways so she could make eye contact with Alex as he stole another biscuit from the basket sitting on the kitchen island. "It isn't worth going back there, don't you think?"
He split open the black pepper flecked biscuit and spread pimiento cheese on each half. "You didn't need to go to the bakery and mess with Maxson in the first place. I'm making the decision. You are not going back again for a few cents. You said he's been behaving oddly. Even if he wasn't driving the pickup, you still need to stay away from him."
Amy frowned. She was glad he didn't know about her eavesdropping expeditions. Hopefully Shepler wouldn't mention the "overheard" conversations. Alex would pack her suitcases and ship her to Alaska as a precautionary measure. "I wasn't messing with him. I was being courteous and trying to pick up the donation jar so he wouldn't have to bother with it anymore."
Amy opened the oven door a crack to peek at the chicken. Crispy, panko bread crumb crusted chicken breast strips with spicy maple dipping sauce, flaky biscuits, and steamed green beans were on the dinner menu. Comfort food with a hint of healthiness from the beans.
The chicken needed to bake a bit longer. No matter how much Elliot freaked her out, she was incapable of leaving a loose end twisting in the wind. "I'm going to send him an email. I'll say we have enough money, so he can donate what's in the jar to the animal shelter or wherever he wants. He can throw the jar away or use it as a vase. I don't care."
"Sounds like a fantastic idea," Alex said as he pulled the cork out of a bottle of Prosecco.
An hour later Amy leaned back on the cushioned bench in the breakfast nook. Bubbly wine and crispy chicken shared with a hunky husband. And the police were hot on the trail of the killer. Life was good. Across the kitchen, the computer sitting in the little office nook beeped. She had forgotten to close the email program after sending Elliot the message.
She picked up the wine bottle and raised an eyebrow at Alex. "Is that email from Elliot, a spammer, or someone else? Correct answer wins you the last glass of Prosecco."
Mischievousness glittered in his eyes. "All of the above."
Amy feigned an annoyed pout. "That wasn't an option. Only one beep, so only one email came in. Can't be all three at once."
"What if it's a mass marketing letter begging you to buy cookies from Maxson's Bakery and it's signed by Elliot and his wife?"
She took the bottle with her as she crossed the room to the computer. She sucked in a breath. Elliot had replied to her email. She had expected him to be in jail for attempting to murder his wife by that time, not taking care of office work. What was going on?
I dont want to keep it. Meat me at the bakery in 2 hrs to pickup the stuff.
She stared at the screen while her heart shuddered behind her ribs. "Points for creativity on your part, but you just missed the correct answer by a hair. It's Elliot. I have to say, I didn't think he'd have time to answer me tonight."
"So close! Why did you think he'd be busy?"
Ummm. "I overheard him talking to Kristi this afternoon. Sounded like they had plans, but now he wants me to come by the bakery in a couple hours to pick up the donations, for some reason."
"Tell him no, you're busy."
She jumped. Alex had crossed the kitchen while she was panicking. He pushed back her hair and kissed the spot on her neck that always made her shiver from head to toe. It felt like her body had been sprinkled with spicy, tingly Szechuan pepper. A nice distraction at any other time, but not when a killer was trying to lure her to an empty building. She swallowed. Until she figured out what was happening, she needed to act normal.
"Okay, but please stop kissing that spot, my legs are going to turn to pudding and I need to concentrate. If I don't reply to him, you know I'll feel guilty and be distracted."
He gently nipped her earlobe. "Answer him. Hurry."
Was it the wine, or had she innocently included some kind of aphrodisiac in their meal? For Alex, the evening was off to a steamy start, and she hadn't even brought out the see-through nightie. Now that was a non-fattening confection they could've both enjoyed for dessert. If only she wasn't preoccupied with outsmarting a killer.
She sat down on the desk chair and reread the email. Recognition clanged in her mind like a dinner bell. "This email isn't from Elliot. It's from the real murderer."
* * *
"Tell me again why you think the killer wrote this instead of Maxson?" Shepler stared at the computer screen for a few seconds and then straightened to his usual towering giant height. "I wasn't good at English in school."
Amy took a deep, calming breath. It was so obvious, but Shepler didn't seem convinced. "Have you ever listened to Elliot talk? I think he is a reincarnated English professor, as well as being a card carrying member of the Grammar Police. There are no apostrophes in the contraction and several misspelled words in this two sentence email. The same sort of mistakes that all of the notes have. His email account has been hacked by the real killer, the same person who has been sending me the notes. I was wrong about the killer and the note-writing psychopath being two different people. And while I'm admitting my mistakes, I was wrong about Elliot being the murderer. He closed the bakery early today, so there's no good reason for him to be there until tomorrow morning. This email is bait to lure me to an empty building. Then kill me."
He wiped his hand over his face and bent, once again, to read the email. "I see the resemblance between this and the notes. Do you have any emails that you think are actually from Maxson so I can do a comparison?"
Amy slid onto the wooden chair and typed Elliot's email address into the search box. "Here you go. These are the emails he sends out to the Summer Festival contest participants."
She set the screen up so the emails were visible side by side and stood up. Shepler took her place in the chair. After a few minutes he nodded. "These messages were sent from the same account, but I don't think they were written by the same person either."
"See! I told you so."
Shepler inhaled sharply as he stood. "I'm going to step outside and make a phone call. I'll be back in a few minutes."
When he walked out the door, Amy looked at Alex. He held his arms out for a hug, and she gladly curled up in the embrace. Outside the thumps of Shepler pacing on the front porch traveled back and forth across the length of the kitchen. Finally he tapped on the door and came back in.
"Respond to the message. Say you'll meet him at the bakery at 10 p.m."
* * *
"Don't you want me to go in? I could wear a wire and try to get a confession on tape."
"No!" Shepler and Alex said at the same time. They rolled their eyes at each other then Shepler continued, "I can get the admission of guilt myself, after an arrest is made. That's my job, not yours."
"At least let me fix your wig a bit," Amy said to the female police officer who was going to impersonate her. The cheap, blonde wig was cockeyed and needed a good brushing. Since the woman showed up 20 minutes after Shepler made his phone call, she obviously came up with the disguise in a hurry. "I'm sure you don't want to give yourself away a
s an impostor the minute you step out of the car."
The woman took a step backward. "Thanks, but I only need to get close enough to make the arrest. The parking area will be dark, and I'll wear a hoodie. I just need to get through the door."
Shepler checked his cell phone. "Time to get going." He held his hand out to Amy. "Your car keys, please."
She sighed loudly as she plucked the keychain off the hook near the door. They needed to borrow Mimi to keep from arousing suspicion, but didn't care if the impersonator barely looked like her. "If there's a shootout, please try not to hit my car. She's my baby."
It was Shepler's turn to sigh as he handed the keys over to Officer Carson. "I doubt there will be gunfire. It should be an uneventful arrest."
"As long as there is an arrest." Amy looked at the clear glass cookie jar sitting on the island. It was filled to the top with apricot oatmeal cookies. She pointed at it and said, "I'll give you all of the cookies in the jar if you let me come along. I just want to see for myself that this nightmare is over. I'll ride in the back seat."
He studied the thick cookies studded with orange colored jewels of dried fruit. "I understand you want closure, but I can't let you come along, especially since you are the target of the killer."
She laced her fingers together to plead. "I'm willing to let you cart me around like a criminal, and I promise I won't whine. Did I mention the apricots are soaked in dark rum?"
He shook his head. "Sorry."
"Come on." She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout. "I figured out who the killer is and handed them to you on a silver platter. I want to see the arrest. Think of it as payment for my sleuthing services."
"No can do," Shepler said as he followed Officer Carson out the door. "One. We're not positive you're right about this meeting being another murder attempt, and two, ride-alongs are against the rules. Real life isn't an episode of Castle. No civilians allowed."
Amy stomped her foot and turned to Alex for solace. She buried her face in his chest. "I just want to see with my own eyes that it's over."
He rested his chin on the top of her head as the door slammed shut. He said, "We'll wait for them to get a head start. I have an idea for how we can watch and stay out of trouble with the law."
* * *
Alex ran his ID card through the security terminal. The lock clicked open. He held the heavy glass door open for Amy then made sure it locked again behind them. Dim security lights in the baseboards lit up the office but in a spooky, a-ghost-could-appear-at-any-moment way.
"Do you want to take the stairs or elevator?" he asked.
Amy ran to the floating, glass tread staircase. The clicks of her ballet flats on the marble tile floor echoed through the empty office like firecrackers. "I'm so excited I think I need to burn off some energy."
"Be careful," Alex said from the shadows behind her. "I don't want to turn the overhead lights on and draw anybody's attention."
She sprinted up the main stairs to the second floor landing. The shadows and darkness made the stealthy trek through the office building seem dangerous, even though the real danger was three blocks away. She was too excited to worry about a stubbed toe. She called to Alex for navigation help. "Where are the stairs to the third floor?"
He caught up with her and pointed at a door to the left with a glowing sign that said Stairs next to it. "Slow down. There's still 10 minutes before Officer Carson is supposed to arrive. You don't need to hurt yourself falling up the stairs."
"I don't want to miss anything!" She yanked open the door. The edge of each tread was marked by a string of tiny, LED lights. "I won't complain if I get a boo-boo. I promise."
"In that case," Alex said as he pushed the door open farther, "I'll race you."
They thundered up the steps with Amy barely keeping a small lead. She pulled open the upper door and scrambled into the cavernous open room that made up the entire third floor of the building. It was the area were his company laid out the trade show displays they constructed. In the dark, it seemed to be empty. She squealed when Alex's arms tightened around her waist.
"Where's the light switch?" she asked. "There aren't any security lights up here."
"Don't turn the lights on. The windows are floor to ceiling and we'll stick out like a neon sign standing in them at night."
"Mmm, good point." She twisted in his embrace and found his mouth with her fingertips. The warm tip of his tongue darted out from his soft lips. She pressed her hips against him. He groaned as she ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head toward her for a kiss. A flash of light caught her attention. She turned her head while Alex's lips searched her neck for the special tingly spot. A dark pickup truck emerged from the residential neighborhood and pulled into one of the employee parking spaces behind Maxson's Bakery.
"There's the pickup that tried to run me and Carla off River Road."
"Looks like it's show time." He captured her mouth with another jalapeño-hot kiss. "We'll continue this later."
"Do you have the binoculars?"
"Yes. They're in here." He held up a dark blob that was really a spruce green drawstring backpack. "If we had been wearing them around our necks the optics would probably be knocked out of place by now. Or steamed up."
"Ha. Ha. Let's get closer to the window."
Alex grabbed her hand. "Be careful. There could be tools or wood scraps on the floor."
Amy shuffled her feet over the floor tiles as her husband led her to the window on the other side of the room. "You're a genius for remembering that we can see the back of Maxson's from here."
"I know." He squeezed her hand tighter. "Does that mean I get all of the cookies instead of Shepler?"
"The cookies in the jar and my cookies. Win, win, baby."
"Nice. I like prizes." He handed her a pair of binoculars. "I thought Shepler said he checked into what vehicles Maxson owned. Wonder who the pickup belongs to?"
"My guess would be a rental company or a friend."
"You could be right. That would explain how it slipped under Shepler's radar."
Amy's blue Mini turned the corner, onto the narrow service road behind the Main Street buildings, and slowly rolled toward its destination. Mimi disappeared beside the pickup. Amy raised her binoculars. The security lights on the back of the businesses cast enough light that she could see her law enforcement stunt double approach the back door of the bakery. A rectangle of yellow light flashed on the hood of the pickup as the security door opened and closed.
There were no other vehicles in sight. Where was the backup? Amy swallowed. She was worried about Officer Carson. "Don't you think they should box in the pickup so it can't leave?"
"I'm sure they have a good plan." He put his hand on the small of her back. "It will be all over with soon."
His words seemed to cue the action. Half a dozen unmarked police cars, red and blue lights flashing in their windows, swarmed from the residential streets at each end of the service road. Within seconds the officers were out of the cars, guns drawn, as the light from the open door reappeared on the pickup's hood. Amy pressed the binoculars to her eyes until there were dual circles of pain throbbing around them.
The officers shifted position as two women walked around the back of the truck. Officer Carson's blonde wig was gone, revealing a long, dark ponytail. As usual, Kristi Maxson's rust colored hair was twisted into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her hands were clasped behind her back. Handcuffs glinted like silver bangles on her wrists in the light of a dozen flashlights trained on her.
"They got her." Alex said. His hand slipped around Amy's hips and he pulled her closer. "You were right about her being behind everything."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "How does it feel to be married to a woman who can solve murders faster than a highly-trained detective?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Amy carefully set her coffee mug down on the counter. The orange caramel latte was topped with a beautiful chain of brown espresso hearts dra
wn on the milk froth. She didn't want to mess up the work of art before she could show it to Carla.
"Sounds like a lot of exciting things are coming up the road," she said as she hugged Sophie. The owner of Riverbend Coffee bubbled enthusiasm ever day, but as she was telling Amy about the unexpected business proposition the bubbling almost turned into a 7th grade science project volcano eruption. Who wouldn't be bouncing off the walls with excitement at the prospect of doubling the size of a new business only a few months after it opened? "Keep me up to date with all of the developments. I'm so happy for you!"
She cradled the tall, cream-colored ceramic mug in both hands and slowly made her way across the cafe. Every chair and table loomed like a thief on the side of the road, ready to rob Carla of the chance to see the masterful coffee art. Finally Amy made it to the tiny table for two beside the window that overlooked the river.
"Check this out," Amy said as she presented the latte to her friend like it was a Faberge egg. "I'm going to start drinking my lattes here, instead of getting them to-go, so I can see more awesome espresso art. The baristas are so talented." She pulled her phone out of her purse and snapped a picture of the hearts. "I'll take pictures of all of them. They'd be cute framed and hung on the wall by the coffee nook in my bedroom."
"You also have a coffee maker in the master bedroom?" Carla asked as she snapped her own picture of the latte. "I thought you just had one in the guest suite. I love that."
"Me too." Amy took a sip of the rich latte. Orange and caramel was a genius food pairing, and it played wonderfully with the dark espresso and creamy, frothed milk. "Alex just realized how awesome the setup is a few days ago. He accidentally woke me up too early when I was hungover from the Shots & Whatnots evening from hell. So he ended up making amends with a salted caramel hot cocoa courtesy of the coffee maker. By the way, that was a very good hangover cure. I felt better within minutes."
Pies & Peril Page 19
