Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery)

by Nancy J. Parra

  “What?” I think my voice rose two octaves. “Grandma, how many tickets have you ripped up?”

  She shrugged. “What are they going to do? Toss an old lady in jail?

  “Grandma!”

  “Let’s take a look at your float.” Grandma Ruth ignored me and made a beeline for Tasha.

  All the spit in my mouth dried up in horror. I made a mental note to find out from Chief Blaylock how many tickets Grandma had and pay them before he decided to throw her in jail.

  “Gluten-Freedom.” Grandma laughed loud and husky. “That’s brilliant.”

  “Thanks, Grandma.” Tasha colored prettily. Tasha, like all the family friends, called Grandma Ruth Grandma. It had become Grandma’s name more than a title. “It was my idea.”

  “See, Toni?” Grandma waved toward Tasha. “I told you the girl was smart.”

  “Yes, you did.” I walked over and took Grandma by the hand. “Climb aboard and take your seat. I want to get the full effect.”

  “Here, put this on,” Tasha handed Grandma a thick white satin sash with the words GLUTEN-FREE FUN ON HOMER EVERETT DAY.

  “Nice,” Grandma cooed as Tasha slung it over Grandma’s head. “What goodies am I giving out?”

  “We have small baggies with gluten-free cookies inside.” I helped Grandma up on the float and steered her to the oversized chair we had installed for her. “Kip and Lucy’s Jeremy will give them away to people in the crowd.”

  “What kind of cookies?” Grandma Ruth settled into her chair with a sigh.

  “Chocolate chunk and oatmeal raisin,” Tasha answered. “We don’t want to give away peanut butter in case anyone has allergies.”

  “That’s fine. More peanut butter cookies for me.” Grandma wiggled her orange eyebrows, then paused. “Unless you want me to ensure Hutch Everett gets the remainder. Or even better, give them to that oversized teenager of his. Get the kid to start eating at your bakery and you’ll always have a job.” Grandma cackled at the idea of Hutch’s son, Harold, eating anything remotely good for him. Her freckled skin jiggled as she laughed.

  “Grandma, don’t be rude,” I chided her.

  “It’s not rude when it’s the truth. Everyone here knows Willy Wonka would have a field day with that teen.” Her blue eyes sparkled with glee. “That’s what you should do with next year’s float.”

  “What?”

  “A Willy Wonka theme. We can invite Hutch’s kid to come drink out of the chocolate fountain. Or better yet, have him stomp around and say, ‘I want it and I want it now!’” Grandma snickered. “That kid’s mother is another one. If her boy wants it, it’s his. If something bad happened, her kid didn’t do it. If they weren’t Hutch Everett’s family, people wouldn’t put up with their nonsense.”

  “Grandma!” I could feel my cheeks heating up as I glanced around. I was pretty sure everyone could hear her. Grandma Ruth had one of those voices that carried. When my mother was small, Grandma used to yodel when it was time for the kids to come home for supper. There wasn’t a place in town where you couldn’t hear her. She had a voice as big as her personality.

  “It’s true. Maybe we should put them both on the Willy Wonka float.”

  “I can’t blame Mrs. Everett for defending her child. Family is family, Grandma. You know as well as I do that blood is thicker than water. There isn’t a member of our family you wouldn’t defend in a heartbeat—is there?”

  “No.” Grandma pouted. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t deliver a good swat when it was needed. Speaking of family, doesn’t Lucy have a float this year?”

  Lucy was my oldest cousin. When you had fifty-two cousins on your mom’s side alone it was sometimes hard to remember who was who, but Lucy and I were close. Lucy owned Grandma’s Diner, two blocks from my bakery on Main Street. She bought out the original owner, “Grandma” Irene Nast, when Mrs. Nast retired to Phoenix to live with her children. Lucy was only two years older than me, but while I was still considering having children, Lucy’d had hers early enough that she was already a grandma. It was a thought that I didn’t want to contemplate too closely.

  The diner usually had a float in the parade, and Lucy’s five kids would hand out treats.

  “Simon has that band trip,” I reminded Grandma Ruth. Simon was Lucy’s second youngest. He played saxophone in the high school band.

  “A band trip? Over Thanksgiving? Who does that?” Grandma groused. Her frown was huge. “He’s going to miss my float debut.”

  “He’s marching in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade in New York City.” I handed her a basket trimmed with paper flowers. “It’s a big honor.”

  “He’ll be on television,” Tasha said. “You should be proud.”

  “Wait, my great-grandson is going to be on television and you’re making me sit on a wooden trailer, hand out cookies, and miss his performance?”

  “You won’t miss it, Grandma.” I straightened and put my hands on my hips. “I plan on recording the Macy’s parade and playing it when everyone is over for dinner. You won’t miss a thing. You’ll be fine. Besides, you told me you always wanted to be in the Homer Everett Day parade.”

  “Is Grandma Ruth causing trouble again?” I turned around to see my brother Tim closing in on us. Tim was my favorite brother. While I loved my brother Richard, Tim and I had been partners in crime growing up. Now with all the new beginnings in my life, Tim had been there to keep me from falling too far into a funk.

  “She thought she would miss Simon’s opportunity to play in the Macy’s parade.”

  “I may still miss it,” Grandma said. “TV’s on the fritz.”

  “Grandma, I said I would show it at my house when you’re over for dinner.”

  “Now, you know I can’t be watching television when my babies are around.” She stuck her lip out in a pout.

  “No worries, Grandma, we’ll take care of it.” Tim hopped up on the parade float and brushed a kiss on Grandma’s cheek, then just as quickly hopped off.

  My brother was tall and lanky. The kind of man who had a grace to his movements. He brushed his shock of blond hair out of his face. “We can buy you a television, and I’m sure Toni will get you a copy to watch.”

  “How about you get me one of those tablet thingies and I can stream the parade through Wi-Fi.”

  “What do you know about Wi-Fi streaming?” I asked.

  “I’m a lifetime Mensa member.” Grandma straightened in her seat. “There isn’t much I don’t know about.”

  “I heard Mrs. Martle got a tablet and has been showing it off at the senior center,” Tasha said as she glued the last flower into place. “Roxanne Iger told me that the electronics department at Walmart can’t keep enough in stock.”

  “Really?” It was hard for me to imagine senior citizens buying up tablet computers.

  “We like to watch movies,” Grandma pointed out. “And we like to ride on floats and hand out cookies.”

  “Wait, you said I was making you ride on the float—”

  “Yes, but now that you’re buying me a tablet, I don’t mind so much. Tasha, did you know you can store hundreds of books on those things?”

  I made a face and turned my back. Tim chuckled. Grandma had a way of getting what she wanted every time. I bet she planned that whole conversation. It wasn’t like her to complain about her television—which, by the way, was a flat screen that I bought her this time last year. I stepped down off the trailer with a long sigh. I’d been had by a ninety-year-old woman. At least I could use the fact that she was a lifetime member of an organization for geniuses. It didn’t make me look so stupid.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Nice float.”

  I turned to see Brad Ridgeway leaning on one of the metal poles that held up the roof. Why did the sight of him always make my heartbeat pick up? Was it his electric-blue eyes? The wide cut of his shoulders? The th
ick blond hair now sporting white at the temples? How was it that the man managed to still look like he was a teenage heartthrob?

  “Thanks.” I stepped toward him without thinking about it. Today he wore a tailored dress shirt tucked into nice-fitting Levi’s. His shirt-sleeves were rolled up and there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. “Are you working on a float?”

  “Elks club.” He pushed away from the beam. “What gave it away? My workman’s tool belt or the cut on my thumb?”

  His words had my gaze going to his belt. What was it about a man with a tool belt slashed across his hips? I forced myself to concentrate on the bandaged thumb he held out. “Neither,” I admitted. “It was the smudge on your cheek.”

  “There’s a smudge?” He rubbed at his face, smearing whatever the smudge was until he had a long dark streak.

  “More than a smudge now.” I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket. “May I?”

  “As long as you don’t wet it with spit.”

  I stepped in close and took a deep breath of warm male and starch. “Man, you take all the fun out of things.” I reached up and wiped the dirt off. I really didn’t want to step back. I really didn’t, but we were in a very public place, he was my lawyer, and I had sworn off dating.

  His blue eyes sparkled and the temperature in the building sizzled. I took two big steps back. “So which float is the Elks club’s?” I congratulated myself for being nonchalant in the face of all his glory.

  He reached over and put his hands on my forearms, turning me to the right. “It’s the one with the giant bust of Homer Everett.” He pointed unnecessarily and leaned forward far enough that I was enveloped in the heat from his body. “You can’t see it with your eyes closed.” His words were whispered near my ear.

  I popped my eyes open and glanced around to see if anyone else had caught me nearly leaning back into him. Grandma Ruth, Tim, and Tasha were in a heated discussion about the merits of one brand of tablet over the next. No one else in the building seemed to notice how close we stood, so I pretended my skin didn’t have prickles on it.

  “Not the worst I’ve ever seen.”

  “What do you mean ‘not the worst’? I have it on the best authority that ours is this year’s winning float.”

  I turned to find him smirking. “Whose authority?” I placed my hands on my hips and widened my stance. I could feel my chin rising. “The floats aren’t even finished yet.” I waved my right hand about as if the state of incompleteness in the room wasn’t obvious.

  “That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” He leaned in to kiss me and I stopped him with a hand to his chest.

  “I would never kiss a man who keeps secrets.”

  “Then it’s a good thing we’re not kissing.” He laughed, straightened, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his perfect-fitting jeans as he walked away.

  “Lawyers,” I muttered. “Don’t ever trust them.”

  “Don’t trust who?” Grandma Ruth was back in her scooter of death.

  “Lawyers.” I tried real hard not to turn around and stare as Brad walked away. Instead I concentrated on Grandma’s scooter with the tall red triangle flag waving in the air. My father had attached it to the scooter when Grandma’s driver’s license was first taken away. He thought it would give her some measure of safety. I, personally, thought that he should have installed wide bumpers all around, but he’d fallen ill and passed away before he could do it. The thought crossed my mind that he may have actually purchased bumpers. If that was the case they would be out in our old carriage house somewhere. I should go look.

  “Oh, come now. Brad gave you good advice last month in that murder case you solved.”

  “You think his telling me to stop investigating was good advice? You’re the one who pushed me into it in the first place.”

  Grandma looked away. “Oh, that reminds me. I think I’ve found another mystery we can solve.”

  “Grandma, I run a bakery. I don’t solve mysteries.”

  “But you’re so good at it. What about last month? I know you were successful figuring that out.”

  “I also promised everyone I’d give up crime solving, remember?”

  “No worries.” Grandma put her scooter in gear and pushed her fedora down hard over her short orange hair. “This is a mystery right now, not a crime. No one said you couldn’t solve mysteries.”

  “Grandma—”

  “Bill and I will be over for dinner tonight to discuss the mystery. See you at eight P.M.” Grandma dodged through the float makers before I could comment.

  I glanced at Brad. He waved at me from his professional-looking float. Seriously, it looked like it could have been a corporate float from the Rose Parade. I scowled. Maybe he stole it from the Rose Parade. I didn’t want to think about how impractical it would be to get a float from Pasadena to Oiltop, Kansas. Maybe he brought in a float designer. Either way, he made my float look like a junior high project.

  I blew out a long breath and knocked my frizzy bangs out of my eyes. There wasn’t enough time to fix it. I would have to hope that the cookies would score me points.

  Not that I expected to win. This was my first parade, but at the time I signed up I’d hoped for at least an honorable mention plaque. You know, something I could put up in the bakery window that would help me become more accepted in the community.

  If my bakery was to be a success, I needed to try as hard as I could to fit in. No matter what Grandma Ruth said, I was a baker, not an amateur sleuth. My goal was for the community to think of tasty gluten-free baked goods first and murder last.

  CHAPTER 3

  My cell phone rang as I exited the fairgrounds four hours later. A quick look at the time and I knew it was Grandma Ruth. I was late to dinner, and since she expected me to cook, I would not be excused for being tardy.

  “Hi, Grandma, there are chips in the pantry and spinach dip in the fridge.” But then she should have known that. Grandma and Bill were never shy about helping themselves to food at my house. It had been her house first.

  “Toni, honey, I’m not at the homestead.” Grandma’s tone was loud and excited. “I’m at the police station.”

  “I told you, you should have paid those overdue traffic tickets.” I mentally sighed. Hard. “I’ll be right there to bail you out. It better not be more than a few hundred dollars, because that’s all I have in my checking account at the moment.”

  Grandma laughed low and throaty, ending in the cough of a lifetime smoker. “Oh, no, this isn’t about my tickets.”

  I stopped in my tracks and scowled. “Did something happen to Bill?”

  “No, silly.” She switched to a stage whisper. “I’m a murder suspect.”

  There was a long pause as I swore to myself I had heard the wrong thing. “What?”

  “Do you think they’ll book me? I’ve always wanted to see how they do mug shots and fingerprints.”

  Okay, something was really, really wrong. “Don’t say anything, Grandma!” I unlocked the bakery’s white van and jumped up into the driver’s seat. “I’ll call Brad. Seriously, lawyer-up, Grandma, please . . . for me.”

  “Now you know I don’t need a lawyer. I’m a lifetime Mensa member.”

  “Grandma, everybody needs a lawyer. That’s why we have them.”

  “But, honey, it’s so much fun. They ask me all sorts of interesting questions. I question them back, of course. That’s why they had to take a break.”

  “Grandma . . .” I put the phone on speaker and backed out of my parking space. “Is this your one phone call?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I’ll get more phone calls. They’re really nice young men. One brought me coffee. Another said he might even take me out back for a smoke if I cooperate.”

  “Grandma!”

  “Don’t worry, dear, I know better than to incriminate myself. Oh, here they come, I’d
better hang up. Isn’t this exciting? Do you think they’ll try good cop/bad cop? I’ve always wondered how they did that.”

  The phone went dead. My heart beat in my throat as I gripped the steering wheel. I could barely see the road through the terror and rage at the fact that the police had my grandma in for an interview. For crying out loud, the woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. The most she’d ever done had been accidentally running over a squirrel with her scooter, and even then she swore the squirrel was suicidal. Badly suicidal at that, since she simply knocked it out. By the time she’d gotten off her scooter to check its pulse, the squirrel had gotten up, shaken its head clear, and run away.

  “Call Brad Ridgeway.” My voice shook as I ordered my phone to dial while I drove. After Tasha’s last boyfriend had attacked us I had gotten a new cell phone. One programmed with voice command.

  “Hey, Toni, what’s up?” Brad’s voice was rich and deep.

  “Grandma Ruth needs a lawyer . . . now.”

  “Calm down. What’s going on?”

  I hated it when people told me to calm down. It usually had the opposite effect on me. It made me want to strangle someone. “Grandma Ruth called me. She’s at the police station in the interview room. Brad, I don’t know what’s going on, but she said she was a murder suspect.”

  “It’ll be all right,” he said. “I’m on my way.”

  “You don’t know her, Brad.” I turned a corner a tad too fast, and the tires squealed. “She’ll confess to something only to see what happens next.”

  “I’ll call Blaylock and tell him to stop until I get there.”

  “Thank you.” I pushed hard on the gas pedal as I careened down Central Street. I didn’t care if I got a ticket. In fact, getting a squad car to follow me to the station would be a good thing at this point.

  It seems there’s never a police car around when you want one, though. I made it to the station in record time, parking crookedly and hopping out before the van was completely stopped.