by Polly Holmes
Margarete’s inviting laugh filled the car and he gripped the steering wheel against the sudden urge to pick up her hand. “I’m sure you do okay for yourself. But I’ll make a deal with you. When this nightmare is over, I’ll teach you how to make one of my favourite dinner meals.”
“Deal,” he said gifting her a smile.
“So, how long do you think you’ll be sticking around town?” she asked hesitantly.
“That all depends.”
“On what?”
On you. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “First, I have to be cleared of having anything to do with the murder, as all the guests at the party do. Then it will be up to my stepmum, Elaine, as to when we leave.”
“So you could be gone as soon as tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “I’m not leaving tomorrow. If it’s alright with you, I’d like to stick around.” She smiled and his heart melted like an ice cube in hot water. “Now back to why they think you killed Pierre over jealousy.”
“Both of us were looking into opening a restaurant and apparently he and I were going for the same piece of real estate. The old Italian restaurant by the water, near John’s Cape. That’s why he came into my café a few weeks back, ranting like a mad man. He’d just found out I’d made an application for the lease as well.”
“I’m guessing it will sort itself out. I’m sure murder doesn’t happen very often in a beautiful town like Ashton Point,” he said, his gut knotting as the words left his lips.
“Well…”
No, surely not. “Are you telling me this isn’t the first murder to happen in Ashton Point?”
“Actually, it’s the seventh,” Margarete said, twisting the hem of her shirt between her nervous fingers.
“What?” Logan exclaimed, mortified. “Are you telling me six people have been murdered in this town before this evening?”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that. I suppose six murders does sound excessive,” Margarete said, embarrassment coloured her cheeks. “Makes us sound like an episode of Murder, She Wrote except where Cabot Cove had Jessica Fletcher, Ashton Point has the McCorrson sisters.”
Baffled, Logan tried to make sense of her words. He pulled up outside Margarete’s house and killed the ignition. Turning, he said, “I’m not sure I follow.”
“It’s a long story best saved for another time. I’ll give you the short version. You met the McCorrson sisters this evening. Charlotte, Clair and Cassidy. You can’t miss them, with their fire-engine red hair and stunning smiles. They are the best, kindest women you could hope to meet. Alone they are amazing, but together they are a force to be reckoned with. In the past year each, as well as Clair’s best friend, Alexandra, has been accused of murder and each had proven their innocence. And that’s just what I intend to do. If they can do it, so can I.”
Are you nuts? Logan ran his hand through his hair, the new information scrambling around in his mind. He suddenly read between the lines. “You’re going to try and find out who did this yourself, aren’t you?”
She paused and the air between them shifted and an icy shiver weaved its way up his spine. “Thank you, Logan, for picking me up. I really do appreciate it.” She leant over and placed a soft, delicate kiss on his cheek. The sweet scent of her lavender perfume caught in the back of his throat and he soaked every ounce of it into his lungs. His pulse sped up. Her rosy lips burnt a lasting impression on his cheek. And then she was gone, the resounding thud of the door reverberated through the hollow car interior.
Driven by urgency, Logan was already out of the car and following her down to her front door before she even reached the porch. “Margarete.”
She turned and gasped, visibly stunned that he was standing within inches of her. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I…um… This is my problem, Logan, not yours. You are here with your stepmother, visiting the McCorrsons. What happened tonight is something I can deal with.” She paled.
“You still didn’t answer my question. You’re going to try and find out who did this yourself, aren’t you?”
She sighed, her eyes big and glassy. “I thought it best not to lie to you since we just met. I thought it best to leave a good impression. But, yes, if I have to, I will prove my innocence any way I can.”
“Are you crazy? That’s why we have policeman. It’s their job,” he snapped.
“I don’t expect you to understand. If it were you facing life behind bars, maybe you’d think differently. Listen, I trust Kayne will do his utmost to find the truth. I’m not going out looking for trouble, but if I happen to come across information that is going to help clear my name, I’m not going to ignore it.”
“I guess I can understand,” he said, her words sparked a fraction of relief in his gut. “Could you use another friend?”
Margarete bit her bottom lip. “The more friends I have on my side the better. Thank you.”
A moment of awkward silence fell between them and it was as if he was a teenager back in high school on his first date. He shook the thought from his head. Friends, remember? “Can I come by and see you tomorrow?”
“I’m working at the café tomorrow, but why don’t you pop in and we can have lunch together? Would that work for you?”
“Sounds perfect. See you then,” he said as he watched her petite figure return on her path toward the door.
Chapter Five
Margarete tucked her legs underneath her on the couch and snuggled up in her favourite, cosy Peter Alexander puppy pyjamas. She brought her steaming coffee to her lips and blew, her thoughts drifting back to the car ride home. Male friends were hard to come by in Ashton Point and Logan fit the bill perfectly. Sweet, kind, supportive and gentle on the eye. He wasn’t an overly huge man, but there was something about him that made her feel safe.
The hazelnut coffee she sipped cascaded down her throat like lava creeping across the countryside. The ring of her landline made her jump. Margarete glanced at the wall clock, eleven-thirty. “Geez, who is calling at this time of night?”
“Hello?” A sense of calm washed over her when the soothing voice of her Oma greeted her ear.
“Margarete, Oma. How are you, dear?” she asked in an aged tone.
Oh, just peachy keen, apart from being accused of murdering a rival chef and maybe facing life in prison, I couldn’t be better.
“I’m doing great, Oma. Couldn’t be better.”—Liar, liar pants on fire— “I hope you haven’t been overdoing things since you’ve been back with Barbara?”
“Nonsense. It’s the best move I’ve made. I have my own granny flat and Barbara is such a wonderful baby sister. She looks after me so well, although, I do miss your cooking. I fear she missed the cooking gene.”
Margarete placed her coffee mug on the table and smiled. Her heart filled with love all over again for her Oma. She was a cheeky sod, but that was one of her most endearing qualities.
Oma continued. “I was just checking if you were still going to pop by for the June long weekend. I know it’s still three months away, but Barbara has to go away for work and wanted to check if you were still coming.”
“Of course, I’ll be there,” she said masking the dread that settled in her gut. Was she going to be there? Who knew what the next two months held? Either way, her Oma was not going to find out. “I can’t wait. And I promise to do as much cooking as I can, so you’ll have enough meals to last you at least a week.”
“Sounds perfect. Goodnight, sweetheart,” Oma said.
“Night, Oma. I love you,” Margarete said, the uncertainty of her future clawing at her chest.
“Love you, too.”
Margarete ended the call and dropped her head back on the couch, squeezing her eyes shut. “Why does life have to be so complicated?” The phone buzzed in her hand and the tingling sensation danced up her arm. What now, Oma?
“Did you forget something?” A ghostly silence echoed down the line, sending her anxieties into panic mode. “Is anybody there?
” she asked, her pulse kicking up a notch.
A single word stabbed her in the heart as sure as it was her chef’s knife. “Murderer.”
She bolted off the couch, fear racing through her body. “No. No I am not a murderer.”
The voice spoke again. The deepened sinister tone rocked Margarete to the core. “Murderer… Murderers always get what’s coming to them and you’ll be no different. Mark my words, you’ll pay with your life.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat and stood her ground. “Good. I hope the murderer does get what’s coming to them. All I can tell you is it wasn’t me and I’ll prove it,” she barked with all the fight she had in her body.
Click.
Pay with my life? Does that mean I’m next?
****
Margarete busied herself getting ready for work, her body still on high alert after her anonymous caller last night. She thought about calling Kayne after her disturbing phone call, but what could he do, except tell her to lock the doors and report any further incidents? She’d not only locked the doors. She’d raced around and locked all the windows as well. Something she hadn’t done since moving to Ashton Point seven years ago.
A piercing knock at the door caught her off guard and she jumped, spluttering her hot steamy coffee all over the marble kitchen bench. “Darn it. As if I’m not already running late for work.” She quickly wiped up the coffee mess and placed her cup in the sink. Three more knocks echoed impatiently as she headed down the hallway. She froze a metre from the door and her breath caught in her throat.
What if it’s the same person who called last night?
Margarete held her breath and crept to the window tiptoeing silently on the floor. Easing the curtain open slightly, she breathed a short-lived sigh of relief. The sight of Kayne Pendleton standing tall in his police uniform was a harsh reminder of the last twenty-four hours.
She flung the door open. “What can I do for you, officer?”
“Morning, Margarete. I’m sorry for the house call but I wanted to get back on to this as soon as possible.” He held an evidence bag up toward her. “Does this look familiar to you?”
Margarete’s eyes widened. “Where did that come from?” she asked.
“Olivia brought it over early this morning. Does it look familiar?” he asked once more.
She shook her head. “No, should it?” She scanned the letter, and the threatening words sent alarm bells screaming in her mind.
We had a deal, Pierre. You don’t go back on your word unless you are willing to suffer the consequences. You’ll pay for this, believe me. This isn’t over, not by a long shot.
“I did not write that letter,” she said, a renewed determination spurring her on.
“I thought as much, but just to be sure, can I get a sample of your handwriting?”
“Of course. I have a shopping list I used for the party on the table. Will that do?” she asked, eager to clear up this misunderstanding.
“That will be perfect,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll be back in a moment.” She returned and pointed to the evidence bag. “I have to say, if I wrote with little curly “E”s like that, I think I’d take a class on handwriting. Looks pretty child-like to me.”
Kayne frowned, his gaze dropping to the letter. “I assure you, it was no child-like way Pierre was murdered.”
The M-word sent icy goose bumps up her spine. “Will that be all?”
“For now.” He nodded. “I’m sure we’ll be chatting further.” He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and held it open. Margarete dropped her shopping list inside, and he turned and sauntered back to his police car.
Confident that she had been absolved from any connection to the letter, Margarete did one final brush of her hair before throwing it up in a messy bun. She grabbed her bag and headed off to deal with the hordes of visitors she usually greeted through her café on a sunny autumn Sunday.
The crowds rotated through the Tea 4 two Café at regular intervals keeping both Savannah and Margarete on their toes. “Wow, this is crazy. It’s March, for goodness sake. Tourist season is over, or at least I thought it was.”
Savannah carefully placed two cappuccinos and two lattes on her service try. “I guess it’s guests from last night’s party. Remember, they had to stay around town, and we are the most popular café in Ashton Point,” Savannah said, a cheeky smile flitted across her expression. “Where else were they going to get the best coffee and the yummiest food?”
Margarete’s chest warmed with gratification as she moved on rote, making more takeaway coffees. She never got tired of the combination of the sweet coffee aromas that mixed together. It was heaven to her nostrils. Margarete’s dream had always been to make people happy with her delicious food. A black cloud descended over her as her mind drifted back to the fiasco of last night. The image of Pierre’s motionless body lying stiff on the floor, her knife jutting out of his back, sickened her.
“Margarete …Margarete. Hello?” Suzi said, snapping her fingers in front of Margarete’s face. “Where were you?”
Margarete gasped and a burst of hot water splashed over the back of her hand. “Ouch. How clumsy of me. I’m so sorry, Suzi. I zoned out. My head isn’t really with it today,” she said racing to clean up her hand and the coffee mess she’d made.
Suzi frowned. Sympathy ran deep in her eyes. “I can’t possibly imagine. I’m sure it will all turn out okay in the end. Do you know if Charlotte’s lunch order is ready yet? I think she rang it through to Savannah earlier today. I said I’d pick it up on my way through.”
She could always count on the McCorrson sisters for support. It wasn’t long ago they’d been in the exact same predicament as she was. At least she knew who to call if her situation took a turn for the worst. They loved her food and she loved their cupcakes. A perfect match. “Sure is. Savannah took care of it as soon as it came in.” Margarete handed her a brown takeaway bag over the counter. The succulent smell of chicken parmigiana wafted through the air, accosting her nostrils.
Gosh, that smells good. No wonder her stomach was rumbling. She’d forgotten to eat breakfast this morning. An error she’d remedy shortly, once the crowd thinned.
“Enjoy,” Margarete said.
Suzi smiled and turned to leave, calling over her shoulder. “Oh, and I’m really sorry about the paper. I tried my best to reel Daniel in, but you know how he gets when a news story breaks in Ashton Point. It’s not really that bad, and it doesn’t actually say you did it. Okay, bye.”
Margarete stood mouth opened, her mind struggling to process Suzi’s words as she watched her fading figure exit the café.
Paper… Daniel… News story? No. No. No, surely Daniel wouldn’t accuse her of murder?
Margarete scanned the café for the usual Sunday customers reading their complimentary Ashton Point Chronicle. Not a paper in sight. She turned toward Savannah. “Where are our copies of The Chronicle? Have you seen the paper today?” Savannah bit her bottom lip and her brow creased. “You have. How bad is it? Don’t hold back, give it to me straight.”
Savannah shrugged. “It must have slipped my mind to pick them up on the way to work.”
“How bad is it?” Margarete asked through gritted teeth.
“It doesn’t actually say that you murdered Pierre, but it doesn’t deny it either. I wouldn’t worry about it. Do you really think we would be this busy today if people really thought you were a cold-blooded murderer?”
“I guess not.” The chime of the doorbell signalled another customer. Margarete spun and her heart jumped inside her chest. Ashton Point’s version of McDreamy stood just inside the door. His gaze caught hers and his smile lit up his gorgeous face. A shining light in her otherwise dim morning.
“Logan. How nice to see you again,” she said as he approached the counter.
“Good morning, Margarete and Savannah,” he said as he placed a folded arm on the counter. “Are we still on for lunch?”
Margarete gaz
ed around the café and her heart sank. “I wish I could say yes, but we’re swamped. This influx of customers is great for business, especially in light of recent events.”
“Mmmm. What about an alternative?” he asked, moving to the side of the counter out of earshot of customers.
A flutter of nerves tossed her insides as she joined him. “I’m listening.”
“How about you be my date at the McCorrson’s get-together at the pub this afternoon?”
Date? He wants to go on a date…with me?
“Aren’t you here with your stepmother?”
“Yes, but I doubt she wants to be my date. Besides, she’s spent most of the morning with Edith McCorrson. I’m sure she can get her own way to the pub.”
“Um. Are you sure that’s wise? Are you sure you don’t mind being seen in public with a suspected murderer?”
“Pftt,” he said, swishing his hand through the air. “People can say what they want. We both know you didn’t have anything to do with the murder, regardless of what the paper says.”
Dizziness rushed through her body like a crack of lightning. “You read the paper?”
“Pretty hard not to. We’re staying at the Seaside Hotel and we were greeted with a free copy at breakfast today.”
Great. Now everyone in town will think I did it. “I swear, the nerve of that man.”
Logan’s brow creased. “Who?”
“Daniel at The Chronicle,” she said, annoyance firing through her words. “I have a good mind to march right over there and make him eat his words.”
“But then what would your customers do without you to cook their delicious food?” Logan asked, obviously in an attempt to ease her growing anxieties.
Cute and charming. Where has this man been all my life? The thought sent an embarrassing warm blush flooding her cheeks and she quickly turned away, pretending to wipe down the counter. Thank goodness I didn’t say that out loud.
“So, is that a yes for the get-together this afternoon?” Logan asked.
