Love is Murder

by Kate Bell

  Alec shrugged. “You never know what’s going through someone’s mind when they’re grieving. You should know that.”

  “I know, I know,” I muttered.

  She was back after a few minutes. “It’s not here. It’s a laptop and he always leaves it on his desk in the office. I looked in there and in the bedroom, but it’s not here.” There was a look of panic in her eyes and I wondered what else was on that computer.

  “Maybe he had it in his car,” I suggested. It was possible they hadn’t found it yet. Certainly the police would go over that car with a fine tooth comb and if it was there, they would find it.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think so. He had a work computer that he took with him. This was an old one that he used for personal things like paying bills. He never took it anywhere.”

  “Perhaps it had something on it that he needed for work,” Alec suggested.

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure he never took it anywhere. I swear it was here very recently. I remember seeing it.”

  “Meg, how long have you lived in Sandy Harbor?” I asked.

  “Six months. We moved here late last summer because of Spencer’s job. If it were up to me, I would never have moved here. All this snow. I hate snow.”

  “It does take some adjusting,” I said and gave her a friendly smile. She was starting to become agitated. “What kind of work did Spencer do?”

  “Software development,” she said. “I hate that company. They were always requiring us to move at a moment’s notice. I told him to look for another job, but oh no, he wouldn’t do it.”

  “What kind of software?” Alec asked.

  She shrugged. “How would I know? I can’t think of anything more boring than computers and software development. Sometimes he would talk about it, but to be honest, I tuned him out. I’m just not interested in computers.”

  “Do you have children?” I asked.

  “A son. He’s in college,” she said. “I should have left my husband three years ago when he had that first affair. First. Sure, it was probably one of many.” Her face turned red as she talked and she wrung a tissue in her hands.

  “Do you know who would want to kill your husband?” Alec asked.

  She turned on him. “Well, don’t you think it was his girlfriend? She obviously wanted him to leave me. He made good money at that miserable company and I’m sure she wanted in on that. Or maybe she got mad at him over his work hours. He always put in a lot of hours. But maybe that was all a lie and he was with his girlfriends the whole time. I’m sure it had to be her.” Tears welled up in her eyes as she spoke and my heart went out to her.

  Alec made more notes. “Have you ever met Jenna Maples?” he asked.

  She snorted. “No, I’ve never met her. He would never allow that. I’m sure he did everything he could to keep us apart. Isn’t that what cheaters do?”

  “Will you be staying in Sandy Harbor, Meg?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “What? No! Why would I do that? I don’t care about this stupid town. I’m moving back to Florida where I belong. Where the weather’s nice and warm year round. I hate this place. I can’t wait to get back,” she said, looking down at the tissue in her hands.

  “It can be hard moving to a new town,” I said, nodding my head. “I struggled when I moved from Alabama years ago, but you adjust.”

  “I said, I hate this place. If Spencer hadn’t died, I’m sure I would have moved back home anyway. I don’t belong here. I’m-I’m glad he’s--” she said and her face went pale.

  “Glad he’s what?” I asked.

  She looked at me, and slowly shook her head. “It wasn’t a good marriage. You don’t know what I’ve been through.” She was quiet now and looked down again. After a moment, she looked up at me. “You have to understand that I loved him regardless of what he did. He didn’t deserve my love, but I loved him anyway.”

  I nodded. Her eyes shone with unshed tears that broke my heart.

  “Is there anything else you can think of that might be helpful? Anything at all?” Alec asked.

  “No. Nothing,” she said. “But I’ll tell you something. If the police don’t arrest that woman, I’ll take matters into my own hands.” She gave Alec a steely-eyed look and pressed her lips together. I thought she just might make good on her promise.

  “Mrs. Cranston, the police are doing everything in their power to bring your husband’s killer to justice. It wouldn’t be wise to take matters into your own hands. I can’t warn you strongly enough how foolish that would be,” Alec said.

  The look on Alec’s face said he meant business. It wasn’t one I had seen often, but I recognized it and I hoped Meg Cranston was taking note of it.

  Meg returned his look and I wondered who was the stronger person here. I had enough faith in Alec to know he could handle any situation, but Meg was making me sit up and take notice. There was an air about her that said she was a no nonsense sort of person. If she said something, she did it.

  “Just make sure you find the killer and put her away. Quickly,” she said after a few moments of silence.

  Alec gave her a hard look. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Cranston. If you think of anything else, will you please give me a call?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said and stood up with us.

  “We appreciate your time,” I said, sounding way too chipper for the situation. She saw us to the door without another word.

  When the door closed behind us, I leaned over to Alec and whispered. “Wow. What do you think?”

  “I think we have our work cut out for us,” he whispered back.

  Indeed we did.

  --7--

  It was time to do some investigative work that didn’t involve dead bodies. Another day had come and gone and instead of people scarfing down my delectable desserts at Henry’s, I had to bring home all the chocolate spritz cookies and more than half of the coconut cream pies I had made. I didn’t understand it. I had advertised on my blog that my recipes could be tried out locally and even took out an ad in the local newspaper. But the desserts sat untouched all day and then I had to face the shame of bringing them home. Nothing was sadder than unwanted desserts. Didn’t everyone love sweets? It made no sense to me.

  So I did what every red blooded sweets loving American woman would do in a time of crisis. I decided we were going to sample the competition’s desserts and figure out a plan to beat them at their own game.

  “We’re going to Le Chemise for lunch," I announced to Alec.

  He was working on my leaky kitchen faucet, with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows.

  “What? Today?” he asked, looking up at me.

  I nodded and leaned against the doorframe. “We need to get to the bottom of my unsellable desserts.”

  He sighed. “Your desserts are not unsellable. Personally, I love everything you make. Le Chemise is still just so new, and people are just enthralled at the chance to get to try something fresh.”

  “Maybe so. But they’re expensive, too, and I can’t believe most people have the money to eat there regularly. It’s a special occasion restaurant, not an every day restaurant.”

  “True. But like said before, I think it’s a combination of being too cold to go out and the few that are going out, are stopping by Le Chemise to try it out. Once they’ve tried the place out, they’ll be back at Henry’s,” he said, tightening the faucet handle with a pair of pliers. “I don’t know why you’re still worrying about this.”

  I sighed. “I hope so. But I still want to stop by and see what’s going on.”

  “Will I have time to go home and change into something fancier?” he asked, turning the faucet on. “That’s another disadvantage Le Chemise has over Henry’s. People feel the need to dress up for such a fancy restaurant and in Sandy Harbor, people don’t dress up much.”

  “I know,” I said, trying to keep the sadness out of my voice. This wasn’t how I had envisioned my new business. I was so sure people would swarm to H
enry’s for a chance to try out my new recipes.

  I couldn’t be unhappy with the way my blog was going, however. I had had a lot of traffic since it began, with lots of positive comments. I was thrilled every time someone commented they had tried my recipes and loved them. It meant a lot to me that my recipes were both tasty and easy for others to replicate in their own kitchens. I just had to figure out this thing with the desserts not selling at Henry’s.

  “There you go. Good as new,” Alec said, unrolling his shirtsleeves. “We can stop by my apartment on the way over to Le Chemise and I can put on a nicer shirt.”

  “No. Let’s not. Let’s show up dressed just the way we are. After all, if some fancy French restaurant is planning on doing long term business in this little town, they need to get used to the fact that we don’t dress fancy around here much,” I said.

  Alec thought about it a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, sounds good.”

  ***

  It was almost 12:15 when we arrived at Le Chemise. The place was packed and it looked like we might have to wait. I sighed with disappointment. Not at the wait, but at the fact that so many people were here.

  As we waited in line, Alec turned to me. “I’m a little surprised, to tell you the truth,” he whispered.

  “Me too,” I answered. “This doesn’t look good.”

  I stood on tiptoes to see if I recognized anyone. Sure enough, I did. Anne and Ralph Mitchel from down the street were sitting at a booth. Ellen Allen and her mother, Ann Marie Cuathy were at a table. I gasped when I saw Mr. Winters. The traitor. He frequented Henry’s and just the other day had complimented me on my banana cream pie.

  I was thinking slow service might be Le Chemise’s undoing when a maître d’ showed up to take us to our requested booth. Darn. Even when they were packed, they had great service.

  We sat down and looked the menu over.

  “Hey,” I said, not looking up from my menu.

  “What?” Alec asked.

  “They lowered the prices.”

  “So they did,” he said. “Maybe they’re the lunch specials. Lots of restaurants have lower priced lunch menus. The food they serve here has got to be expensive to prepare though. Everything tastes so fresh.”

  My stomach growled as I looked over the menu. Everything sounded good. “I’m going to try the Tarte Flambe’,” I said.

  “And for dessert?” he asked, eyeing me.

  “You know me so well. I think I’m going for something simple like an éclair,” I answered and laid my menu down on the table. “Let’s see if the classically French dessert is also authentic here.”

  “I don’t think you have any reason to doubt,” he said, going back to his menu.

  “Hey, Allie! Fancy meeting you here!” Lucy said, sliding in next to me on the booth seat. “Hey, Alec.”

  I scooted over for her. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know. It’s a new restaurant. Ed and I wanted to try it out,” she said.

  Ed wandered over before I could ask where he was. “Hi, Ed,” I said.

  He nodded. “What brings you two out here?”

  “I guess the same thing that brought you two out,” I said, giving him a smile. Ed was the silent, introspective type. Some people thought him odd, but I had always liked his direct, quiet manner.

  “Sit down, Ed, we’ll eat with them,” Lucy said, picking up my menu and looking it over. “They have the best Steak Diane here.”

  I looked at Alec as he scooted over for Ed to sit next to him. He scooted over and looked uncomfortable squeezed up against the wall. I gave him a smile.

  “So, you’ve been here already?” Alec asked, handing his menu over to Ed.

  “Oh yes, this is our third time,” Lucy said, not looking up. “They have the best French pastries here, don’t they, Ed?”

  “The best,” Ed said absently, and turned the menu page.

  “Seriously?” I asked her.

  She turned to me. “I can’t help it, Allie. It’s really good. I mean, the creamy stuff is really creamy. It melts in your mouth. The cakes are moist and the fruit pies are fresh. I don’t know how they do it.”

  “Great,” I said. “Even my best friend thinks this place has the best desserts in town.” I was starting to feel depressed. What a terrible time for me to have gone into business. If I had only waited a few weeks, I could have spared myself the embarrassment of failing and found something else to do with myself.

  “Oh, now, don’t get down. This place is nothing like Henry’s. I mean, it’s a totally different class of food,” she said, patting my shoulder.

  “Gee, that makes me feel great,” I said, sitting back in the booth seat. “Isn’t it terribly expensive to eat here regularly?”

  She shrugged. “I guess. But they lowered their prices. And no other restaurant in town has anything like this place does.”

  I looked at Alec and rolled my eyes. I was in trouble. How was I going to compete with this?

  “Nope, no one has food like this,” I said. My words were dripping with sarcasm, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe I would have to work on only blogging and forget selling desserts at Henry’s.

  “Say, the local grapevine says there was a murder over on Cherry Avenue. What do you know?” Lucy asked me.

  I glanced at Alec.

  “It’s too early in the investigation to know anything,” he said, picking up his glass of water and taking a sip.

  Lucy looked at me. “We’ll talk later?”

  “Allie is my assistant, and I expect complete confidentiality from my employees. You understand right, Lucy?” Alec said sweetly.

  Ed chuckled. “Good luck with that.”

  I gasped. “Ed Gray, that’s just rude.”

  “But true,” he said, still looking over the menu. “The Cassoulet sounds good.”

  I gave him the evil eye, then turned to Lucy. “We really don’t know much of anything yet.”

  “Suit yourself,” Lucy said and picked up my glass of water and took a sip. “I heard it wasn’t a local. Someone new to the area.”

  “The weather sure is nice today, isn’t it?” Alec asked.

  I giggled. “No. It’s gray and cold and windy. I’m going home to bake ten chocolate cakes to make myself feel better about all of this,” I said motioning toward the packed restaurant.

  “Oh, you two think you’re so funny,” Lucy said. “But how is your new business doing, Allie?”

  I sighed and motioned toward the full restaurant again. “All my customers are here.”

  “Oh,” Lucy said, frowning. “That stinks. But people love Henry’s since Cynthia took over. I’m sure they’ll be back.”

  “Let’s hope so. But the bright side is the blog is doing well. I’m getting lots of visitors and comments. I’m looking at ways to monetize it. I don’t want popup ads, especially some of the awful ones I’ve seen selling corn removal ointment and the others with those scandalous pictures. I want something classier,” I said.

  “I’ll help you with anything you need,” she offered.

  “Thanks, Lucy, I appreciate it. What is that on your forehead?” I asked, noticing a small hot pink streak above her left eye.

  “Oh. I tried doing my own hair. I wanted a couple of streaks of pink in it. I’m not sure where I went wrong,” she said, pushing back her purple knit hat.

  “Oh,” I said when I saw the bright pink color streaked across her blond hair.

  “She looks like an Easter egg,” Ed said and chuckled.

  “That’s unfortunate,” I said, shaking my head. “Maybe you can get it corrected? You know, professionally?” Lucy sometimes thought she was a hairdresser. She was not.

  “Isn’t it? I looked online and it should be very temporary. Hopefully,” she said as the waiter arrived to take our orders. “If it isn’t, I guess I can get someone to help me with it.”

  The waiter came and we ordered our meals. Everyone ordered a dessert and that made me both happy and sad. I needed t
he chocolate to cheer me up, but we were supporting the competition.

  --8--

  Lunch had been delectable. I hated admitting it, but it was. I needed to come up with a plan to lure my customers -- Henry’s customers -- back. The menu could definitely use a good overhaul. It had probably been years since that had happened. Cynthia had made some changes when she took over, but there was room for a lot of improvement. I was going to have to talk to her about that.

  And I needed to advertise more. That would make more people aware that they could drop by anytime and pick up some good old-fashioned Southern baking, featuring real butter and cream and everything else that made desserts naughty.

  I had finished off my own lunch and the éclairs and then helped Alec, Lucy, and Ed finish off their desserts. Everything had been wonderful. I wanted to find fault in the desserts somewhere, but I couldn’t. This was French cuisine at it’s finest, as much as I hated to admit it.

  “I’m going to drop you off at home, then head over to the police station to see if they have anything new on the case,” Alec said.

  I sat up. “No, take me with you.”

  He smirked. “Sam would love that, wouldn’t he? I think I should take you home.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I’m your assistant. You can tell him I’m not going with you on investigations, but that I need to help you assimilate your notes and stuff like that.”

  He chuckled and glanced at me. “Assimilate my notes?”

  “Yes. Consider me your administrative assistant. I like the sound of that. Or better yet, assistant PI. We can discuss salary later,” I said.

  “Right. Salary,” he said with a smirk.

  “Don’t roll your eyes at me, mister. Did you notice that I knew you were rolling your eyes at me without even having to look at you?” I asked.

  Alec pulled into the police station parking lot and came to a stop, shutting the engine off. He turned to me. “You’ve had entirely too much sugar today. You need to settle down a little.”

  I shrugged. “Okey dokey.”

  We got out of the car and headed into the station. Alec might have been right about the sugar. I had finished off dessert with two cups of strong French press coffee and I was feeling the buzz.