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

by Nancy J. Parra

  “Where’s the fire?” Bill Aimes, Grandma Ruth’s current love interest, strolled across the parking lot, cane in hand, Fedora on his head. Five years younger than Grandma, Bill liked his food as much as she did, and it showed. Tonight he wore a corduroy suit coat over a tweed vest and white shirt. His dark pants clashed with his bright white athletic shoes.

  “They’ve got Grandma.” I took long strides and hit the door first. I opened it and waited as Bill took forever to make the short walk to the door.

  “I know. I bet she’s having a blast.”

  I rolled my eyes. “She needs a lawyer.”

  “HA!” Bill snorted. “More like the police need lawyers.”

  “Can I help you?” Stan Lomis sat behind the reception desk in full police blues.

  “I understand you have my grandma, Ruth Nathers, in interview. I need to see her.”

  “Have a seat and someone will be out to speak to you.” Stan pointed to the row of four plastic chairs that looked as if they had been purchased in the ’80s from a thrift store.

  I glared at the twentysomething gatekeeper. “I will not. I demand to see my grandmother right now.”

  “You can demand all you want.” Stan went back to filling out paperwork. “Unless you’re her lawyer, you can’t see her.”

  “Have a seat, Toni.” Bill shuffled over to the chair closest to the window. “This could take a while.”

  I leaned over the counter and put my face inches from Stan’s. He didn’t scare me. I changed his diapers when he was little. Since I was twelve at the time and I’m now forty, he had to be twenty-eight years old. “I want to see my grandma now!”

  He raised a blond eyebrow and stared back. “Only lawyers are allowed in the back with suspects.”

  “I could be a lawyer.”

  He didn’t even blink.

  I let the staring match go on until it grew uncomfortable. Luckily Brad came through the door and broke the standoff.

  “Hey, Stan, I’m here for Ruth Nathers.” At six foot seven inches, Brad was far more intimidating than I was, even when he was dressed in jeans.

  Stan hit a button, and the door to the back clicked open. I dashed over, but Brad must have anticipated my move.

  He blocked the door with his arm. “I’d better handle this alone.” His electric-blue gaze had me stopping in my tracks. Darn it. Why was I so susceptible to commands from good-looking men?

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to have to represent you for unlawful conduct.” His tone was firm, and he had the nerve to close the door in my face.

  “I expect a full report!” I shouted through the bulletproof glass.

  He didn’t even bother to turn back; he simply waved me off. I might have cursed something dark and ugly. I might even have flung my arms around.

  Bill laughed heartily.

  I spun toward him. “What?!”

  “You are so much like your grandma.”

  Oh my god, I am nothing like my grandmother. I stormed over to Stan but discovered he had conveniently disappeared. I pulled out my cell phone and called Brad.

  He didn’t even say hello when he answered the phone. “Sit down, Toni.”

  I narrowed my eyes and refused to budge. “What’s going on? Is she okay? What are they doing to her?”

  “Tell her it’s more like ‘The Ransom of Red Chief,’” I heard Grandma holler through Brad’s phone.

  “I told you not to say anything, Ruth,” Brad’s voice rumbled through the phone. “I mean it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Good. Now, Toni, hang tight. I don’t have the facts yet.”

  I paced the reception area. “Then keep me on the phone.” I was desperate to find out what was going on. “I’ll be quiet and listen. I promise.”

  “Good-bye, Toni.” Brad hung up.

  I hit redial but it only rang once and he hung up on me—again. I wanted to fling the phone across the room. Impatience was a redhead trait. As the strawberry blonde version of my family’s red, I always thought I should show more restraint. My shoulders slumped and I tucked my phone back into my purse.

  Bill removed his hat and patted the bright orange chair next to him. “Have a seat. Ruth’s in good hands.”

  “No.” I could be stubborn simply to be stubborn. “What did she mean by ‘The Ransom of Red Chief’?”

  “It’s a wonderful O. Henry short story.” Bill shook his shaggy gray head. “Sometimes your lack of education is appalling.”

  “I’ve read O. Henry,” I muttered, and sat down in spite of myself. “If Grandma is being uncooperative it will make things worse. That’s what I was afraid of.” I blew out a breath. “Do you have any idea what this is all about?”

  “No clue.” Bill intertwined his fingers and rested his hands on his portly belly. I had to say one thing for the man—he knew how to dress. I kept thinking he looked like a strange version of the Burl Ives snowman from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

  Grandma Ruth loved characters, and Bill loved Grandma, so who was I to judge? I was hardly an expert at love. My marriage had been a disaster from the start.

  I paced some more. “He’s been in there a long time. Surely he knows something by now.” I grabbed my phone and went to punch Brad’s speed dial number when Police Chief Blaylock walked into the building. He had a scowl on his face.

  “Just the man I wanted to see.” I practically leapt on him. “What do your men think they’re doing holding my grandmother for questioning? She’s in her nineties. Something like this could kill her.”

  Bill stood, his cane creaking. “Who’d she kill?”

  “She didn’t kill anyone.” I scowled at Bill then turned to the chief. “What’s going on?”

  “I can’t give out details of an ongoing investigation,” Chief Blaylock stated. He took off his hat and scrubbed the top of his bristled crew cut with a heavy hand. “Does Ruth have a good lawyer?”

  “Brad Ridgeway is in there with her.” I didn’t like the pit of sickness that had settled in my stomach.

  “Good, she’ll need him.”

  “I’m going to ask again, who did Ruth kill?”

  I sent Bill an evil glare that should have withered him, if he’d been paying any attention.

  “Lois Striker is dead.”

  “Good!” Bill said.

  “What?” I asked.

  Bill and I spoke at the same time. I scowled at him. “Wait, Lois Striker is dead? The Lois Striker, queen of the Chamber of Commerce?”

  “Yes. She was found early this evening.”

  “And you think it may be murder?”

  “We know it’s murder,” Chief Blaylock said.

  “How?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

  “At least tell me where she was found.”

  “Toni . . .” He shifted uncomfortably.

  “Fine, you can’t tell me any details, but you think someone killed Lois Striker and Grandma Ruth is your suspect. Are you kidding me?”

  “Everyone knows there was no love lost between Ruth and Lois,” Bill piped up.

  “You’re not helping, Bill.” I put my hand on his arm as if I could shut him up by touching him. “Can you tell me when Lois died? Grandma Ruth was with me today. I can be her alibi.”

  Chief Blaylock played with the brim of his hat. “I can’t discuss anything with you, Toni. I won’t jeopardize my case.”

  The door to the back of the building opened and Brad stepped out with Grandma clutching his arm.

  “Grandma, are you okay?” I rushed to her and hugged her tight.

  She gave a husky laugh. “Of course I’m okay.” She patted my back. “Bill, did you bring my walker? They’re keeping my scooter as evidence.”

  “Your scooter?”

  “I’ve got the
walker in the car,” Bill said. “No sense in getting it out. I’ll bring the car around.” Bill popped his fedora on his head and ambled out.

  “They’re keeping your scooter?” I glanced from Brad to the chief and back. “Why?”

  “Get this,” Grandma said with excitement. “They found incriminating scooter marks near Lois’s body.”

  “But half the people in assisted living use a scooter.” I sent the chief a withering look.

  “Yes, but mine has all-terrain tires on it,” Grandma wheezed, then coughed and hacked so badly she had to cling to Brad to stay upright. Brad patted her awkwardly on the back and Grandma winked at me.

  “There are at least six others with all-terrain tires,” I pointed out as I stepped in and took Grandma’s arms off Brad. She frowned at me.

  “You take away all my fun,” she stage whispered. The chief choked behind his hand in what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

  Brad’s eyes twinkled. He all but winked at me.

  “What’s going on?” Tim rushed into the police station. “Someone at work said that Grandma Ruth was in trouble and I should get to the police station.” He pushed me away from Grandma and put his arm around her slumped shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine as a fiddle.” Grandma waved a large, square, freckled hand. “Just having some fun with the detectives.”

  “What?” Tim looked at me.

  “Someone killed Lois Striker and the cops requested your Grandmother come in for an interview.” Brad crossed his arms.

  “The questions they ask aren’t nearly as sly as I always thought they would be,” Grandma said. “It’s a wonder anyone gets prosecuted in this county.”

  “Ruth came out willingly,” Brad said, then turned his attention to the chief. “She and her family are cooperating fully.”

  Tim walked Grandma to the door and I shot the chief a serious look. “You do not have the family’s permission to bring her in without her counsel. Do you understand? She’s an old woman. She’s not responsible for her words.”

  “Oh, please. I’m as sharp as a tack and everyone here knows it.” Grandma gave Tim a slap on the arm. “I’m the one who suggested they bring me down. I wanted to see what it was like in the interview room.”

  “Grandma!”

  “It’s true, Toni,” Chief Blaylock stated. “I sent Officer Bright to collect her scooter and she demanded that she be taken to the station with it.”

  “Don’t worry,” Brad said. “Ruth has promised me that she won’t talk to another policeman without my being present.”

  Grandma grinned. “Always nice to have a handsome lad around. Don’t you think, Toni?” She patted my cheek. “Have you eaten dinner yet, Bradley?”

  “No, ma’am, I haven’t.”

  Oh, no, here it comes. “Grandma . . .”

  “Toni’s cooking for Bill and me, and whatever other members of the family show up. I’m sure one more wouldn’t be any extra work. Right, Toni? I mean, he did run to my rescue.”

  “I’m sure Brad has plans for the evening—”

  “Actually, I’d love a home-cooked meal.” He grinned. Darn him and his twinkly eyes.

  “There is lasagna . . .” I knew a lost cause when I came across one. Besides, I did have the dish prepared. When my mom died last spring, she had left me the old Victorian painted lady house that was our homestead with the stipulation that any member of my family could use the house as if it were their own. Since Grandma Ruth had fifty-two grandkids, there was always one family member or another stopping by. I was used to having prepared dinners in the freezer. Of course, everything was gluten-free. Mom had not stipulated that I had to serve food I couldn’t eat.

  “Lasagna is my favorite,” Brad said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

  “The pasta is gluten-free,” I warned.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He winked.

  “I’ll have Bill stop and pick up one of those nice bagged salads on our way over. Tim, are you going to eat?”

  “No, Grandma,” Tim said. “I have to get back to work. Toni will save me leftovers. Won’t you?”

  “Sure.” I nodded.

  Tim walked Grandma out the door. Bill had pulled his white Lincoln up along the curb. Tim opened the door and helped Grandma inside. “Call me first next time, okay, Grandma? I don’t like hearing about you on the gossip wire.”

  “Okay, Timmy.” Grandma reached up and patted my brother’s cheek. “You always were a good boy.”

  “What are you going to do without your scooter?” I asked as she buckled the seat belt over her bulky frame.

  “Don’t worry, dear, I have that all taken care of.” She patted my hand. “See you at the house.”

  She shut her car door and Bill peeled out from in front of the station. I glanced at the door to ensure no one noticed. The last thing I needed was to cover yet another old person’s ticket.

  “Don’t worry,” Brad said. “I won’t let anything happen to her.” He ran a hand along my arm in an attempt to comfort me.

  “Then maybe you should have driven her home.” I tilted my head toward the blur of white that had just squealed out of the parking lot and down the street.

  Brad laughed deep and rich. “I think everyone in town has their number.”

  “You mean they text each other to stay off the roads when they see Bill’s car.”

  “Or your grandmother’s scooter.”

  I sobered. “I used to joke all the time that the cops should confiscate her scooter, but this isn’t funny.”

  “No,” Tim agreed, his mouth suddenly grim. “It’s not. Ridgeway, I expect you’ll take care of her.”

  “I’ll take care of her as if she were my own.” Brad gave a quick nod of acknowledgment.

  “Good.” Tim opened the door of his pickup and hopped inside. “I’ll be home late.”

  I turned to Brad. “Please help me with her. You know she’s incorrigible.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll talk more after dinner and come up with some sort of game plan.” He waved his hand toward my van. “Billable hours—if you’re worried I might think this is a date.”

  I cringed. I know I was the one keeping him at arm’s length, but he didn’t have to remind me.

  “Minus the cost of dinner, of course,” he teased.

  “Right, like my lasagna is worth as much as your consultation.” I did my best to keep things light.

  “Oh, I think it is,” he said, his expression sincere. I opened the van’s door and climbed into the driver’s seat. He waited until I started it up and pulled out before he unlocked his own door. Silly man. I was parked in front of the police station—what could possibly happen?

  CHAPTER 4

  “Don’t scream.”

  “What!” I swerved into oncoming traffic, then righted the van with a wild careen.

  “Gee, don’t try to kill me either,” muttered Phyllis Travers as she climbed from the back of the van into the passenger seat.

  “You scared the devil out of me.” I was hoarse because adrenaline had pumped like electricity through my body and my mouth was dry. “I swear, I’ve had twenty years taken off my life today.”

  “Which means you’ll live to be one hundred, honey.” Phyllis patted my knee. “Everyone knows your family lives forever . . . except for your mother, God rest her soul.” She crossed herself. “Turn right here.”

  I did as I was told because my brain was fogged with remnants of terror. “What are you doing in my van?”

  Phyllis was a slender, petite woman with big, deep blue eyes and a sharp-angled bob of bright yellow hair. She, too, had been a redhead once, but woke up one day to find all the red had turned yellow. She was also one of Grandma Ruth’s adopted daughters. It wasn’t enough for Grandma to have eight children of her own. She tended to take in anyone who needed
a good home. Heaven knew the house had been big enough.

  I called her Aunt Phyllis even though she wasn’t a true relative, as she was more a mother to me some days than my own mom had been.

  “I had a feeling something was wrong so I hopped a train in.”

  “You don’t mean that literally, do you?” I glanced at her. She watched out the window as if her life depended on it.

  “Amtrak goes into Newton, dear. After that I hitchhiked into town. Got in and heard tell Ruth had been arrested.”

  “She was questioned, not arrested,” I corrected. “And you know better than to hitch rides. A serial killer could have picked you up.”

  “Honey, at my age, it would have simply made things interesting.” She was serious. I hated that. At only sixty, she was far from being old or ready for death.

  “Not for me,” I stated flatly.

  She put her hand on mine and squeezed. “It’s always nice to know someone cares where a body is.”

  Phyllis was one of the best women I knew. She had a heart bigger than the state of Texas and was always popping in and out of my life as I needed her. I had a feeling she did that with a lot of people. She simply didn’t talk about it.

  “Now, tell me what’s going on,” she said.

  “I have no clue.” I pulled into the parking lot next to the high school football stadium. It was Thursday and football season was over, which meant it was only me, Phyllis, and the scent of gravel. I parked and turned toward her.

  She wore a fringed, brown, leather jacket, a white tee shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of expensive sneakers. While my hair was a wild, kinky mess, Phyllis looked perfectly polished, from her shiny, flat hair to the ironed crease in her jeans.

  “Let me guess: Lois Striker died.” She studied me. “The police think Ruth had something to do with it?”

  “How do you do that?” I was stunned by her ability to know what was going on even when she lived in California.

  “I have connections,” she said, brushing my amazement aside. “Besides, Ruth always had a big aura. When something’s going on I can feel it halfway across the world.”