Game of Tarts

by Wendy Meadows

  David sees it, too, from his position right next to me. “What the….?”

  I inspect the mess at close range. “Now that is something he definitely would have noticed.”

  David pulls out another test tube and pushes the dirt into it. “It doesn’t look like anything from the café. It’s got chips of cedar bark in it.”

  “Do you know of anywhere in town with any cedar trees?”

  “There are some behind the candy store,” he remarks.

  I look up in shock. “You’re not suggesting this dirt came from the candy store.”

  “Not specifically, but if you remember, that row of cedar trees extends behind the bakery, too. Those trees border the neighborhood. They create a barrier between the town and Kyle Davidson’s backyard.”

  I shake my finger at him. “Don’t even think about pinning this on Kyle Davidson. I’m gonna start thinking you have a vendetta against that guy if you keep suspecting him every time someone gets murdered in this town.”

  He lets out a shaky sigh. “I wasn’t thinking of Kyle. I just said those cedar trees extend behind the candy store. They also extend behind the bakery. Many people could have tracked these shavings into Scott’s car.”

  I freeze. Dozens of competing ideas catapult into my mind so fast I can’t make head or tail of them. We just discovered three clues, one right after the other. How do they all fit together?

  David arranges his evidence in his case and zips it closed. “Come on. Let’s get you home before that son of yours calls in a Missing Persons Report.”

  He guides me back to the cruiser. I can’t stop my mind spinning with everything we discovered. I sit silently in the passenger seat while he drives back to town.

  All at once, he snaps me out of my reverie. “Do you know I was jealous of Kyle Davidson when you first moved to town?”

  I spin around in my seat. “Why?”

  “You always spoke so highly of him. I thought you might have feelings for him.”

  “Kyle’s ten years younger than me,” I point out.

  “That means nothing. You could still have had feelings for him, even if they weren’t reciprocated. I thought maybe he beat me to the punch.”

  I stare at the side of his face. “You thought I fell for Kyle?”

  He shrugs and looks out his window. “I’m not saying it makes sense. I just thought I should tell you.”

  I ought to laugh, but I can’t see anything funny about this. Even back then, when we first met, he cared about me enough to be jealous at the thought of me looking at another man.

  “Anyway, it’s all over now,” he sighs. “I know you like Kyle as a neighbor. Now that I’ve gotten to know him the way you have, I understand why you respect him the way you do.”

  I can’t think of one intelligent thing to say to that, so I just sit quietly for the rest of the drive home. Knowing he feels that way about me casts our relationship in a whole new light. I don’t balk at calling it that now. So we’ve got a relationship. I can live with that.

  He angles into the curb in front of my house. Now that we’re parked in front of my door, I don’t want to face Zack. Now I know why David doesn’t want to go there. I’m going to face the third degree when I get in there, even though David and I weren’t doing anything. Even if we had been doing something, why should I shrink from admitting it to my son?

  David sits still, too. He gazes through the windshield. The lines around his eyes pinch and he keeps his lips compressed. I muster my courage to break the silence. “Thanks for letting me come along today. I appreciate it.”

  “I appreciate you coming,” he returns. “You really helped the investigation.”

  “I only wish I could do more. I feel so helpless like this.”

  “I know what you mean, but these things take time. Go on in. I’ll see you later. I’ll let you know if there’s any more investigating to do.”

  He gives my hand a squeeze. There’s nothing left to do but get out and go inside. I climb out of the car. He waves and drives off, but I linger on the sidewalk for a while, trying to make sense of everything that happened today.

  In the end, I amble back into the house. I hear Zack’s computer beeping in his room, so he doesn’t see me sidle into my room and shut the door.

  12

  I wake up pensive the next morning. The sandy footprints behind the café, the chocolate stain on the car seat, and the cedar shavings on the floor—they must make sense somehow. They must paint a coherent picture of the murder, but how?

  I get through breakfast somehow, but I talk little. I keep circling the same three clues. What do they all mean? I’m still thinking over the case when I walk to the candy store.

  On the way, I meet Frankie coming the other way. I look back and forth between him and the town behind him. “You’re out early this morning, Frankie. What were you doing in town?”

  He casts a guilty look over his shoulder. “Oh, I was just…. you know…. walking around.”

  I open my mouth to question him further. When someone evades a direct question like that, it usually means they’re up to something. When I take a second look at him, though, I change my mind. Dark circles surround his eyes, and he holds his mouth in a pinched line.

  I try to sound cheery. “An early morning constitutional, huh? Good idea. Hey, don’t forget the Sweet Sale next Saturday. Everything’s marked down. You could lay in a supply of Pop Rocks so you don’t have to keep buying those tiny boxes.”

  His features burst in surprise. “I couldn’t do that! Pop Rocks have to be fresh or they don’t pop the way they’re supposed to. That’s the problem I always had buying them from other suppliers. I tried buying them from the big chains in Hartford and New York. They keep boxes of Pop Rocks lying around for years. After a while, they lose their pop. They’re no better than any other candy. But yours! Your Pop Rocks are nice and fresh. They have a really nice, satisfying pop.”

  I can’t help but smile at this description. “I understand. I’ll keep carrying them just for you, and I’ll make sure they’re always fresh for you. Forget what I said about the sale.”

  “Oh, I’m coming to the sale,” he replies.

  My head snaps up. “You are? If you’re not buying Pop Rocks, what are you buying?”

  He shoots another frightened look over his shoulder toward town. What could he have to be scared of over there?

  He leans toward me and whispers under his breath. “You won’t tell anybody, will you, Margaret?”

  “Tell anybody what?” I whisper back. “How can I tell anybody if I don’t know?”

  He lowers his voice to a hiss—if that’s possible. “I was going to buy some of those miniature caramel pops.”

  I bolt upright. “Oh, okay. I didn’t know you even liked caramel pops.”

  “I don’t,” he blurts out. Then he looks over his shoulder again. “They’re not for me. Do you think you could set some aside for me, Margaret? In fact, could you bring them to your house and I’ll pick them up from there? I don’t want anybody seeing me buying them.”

  “Sure. I guess so. Why don’t you want anybody seeing you buying them?”

  He keeps stealing glances behind him like he expects someone to pounce. He shakes his head and searches the surroundings for hidden enemies. “I appreciate it, Margaret. I can pay you now if you want me to.”

  “That’s okay. You can pay me when you pick up the candy. I don’t mind bringing them home for you. Do you want to tell me who they’re for?”

  He cringes one more time. Then he sighs and bows his head. “I might as well. It’s killing me, anyway. It’s Zenia Orland.”

  I frown. “I don’t know who that is.”

  He waves toward town. “She lives in the other neighborhood on the other side of town. Please don’t tell anybody, Margaret. Greg would have an aneurysm if he found out.”

  “Are you sure?” I ask. “Maybe he would be happy about you finding someone you care about.”

  “No, he wouldn’t,
” Frankie insists. “We’ve lived together for over five years. He would lose it if he thought I planned to move out.”

  My eyes widen. “You plan to move out?”

  “No, but he might think I did. He might jump to all kinds of wrong conclusions. That’s why I can’t let him find out.”

  “Don’t worry, Frankie,” I tell him. “Your secret’s safe with me, but maybe keeping the secret from Greg would make him jump to all kinds of wrong conclusions. Maybe if you just told him the truth instead of sneaking out in the small hours of the morning, he would understand and accept that you’re just seeing Zenia.”

  He passes his hand across his eyes. “I really wish I could. All this sneaking around is wearing me out.”

  He wanders off without saying anything else, and I continue my weary trek to the candy store. Sometimes I just don’t know what the world is coming to. I try to help people. I try to do good wherever I go and be a positive influence in people’s lives. Sometimes I want to help people and they just refuse to be helped.

  Why can’t everybody just do the right thing and be nice to each other? Why do people have to persist in doing things that hurt themselves and everyone around them? I don’t understand it at all.

  I fish my keys out of my pocket, but when I turn into Main Street, I halt in my tracks. A blanket of early morning tranquility envelopes the town. Most of the other shops have their lights on, but nobody’s open yet. The whole town hangs suspended in a hazy dream world where nothing’s quite real.

  My gaze drifts over to the candy store—my candy store, my dream come true, my heart and soul, the embodiment of all my hopes and plans. My heart bursts with love for it.

  A row of stately cedar trees towers over its roof and forms a dark green border around it. The line of branches spreads over the far end of town and vanishes into the neighborhood behind, exactly the way David described. The thick tops seem to want to tell me something, something important, but I can’t make it out.

  I unlock the store and get to work. I have to order in an extra supply of stock for the Sweet Sale. Everyone in town keeps stopping me on the sidewalks and telling me they wouldn’t miss it, so I better be prepared for some serious business.

  I pull out my order book and start collating my order. I tally up everything on display in the front room before I meander into the stock room to go over all the spare supply on the shelves. I draw up lists to order and do a quick cost calculation in my head.

  While I’m there, I take some fresh stock to the front room. I refill the glass jars lining the wall. When that’s done, I break down the cardboard boxes for recycling. I’ll probably regret not saving them for Patty Matthews to do, but I enjoy taking care of everything myself. It gives me a sense of accomplishment.

  I truck the flattened boxes to the back alley and pitch them through the back door. When I look outside, I shrink behind the door when I notice Alan and Sabrina Harris over by the bakery. shrink behind the door.

  13

  Alan and Sabrina Harris stand nose to nose near the bakery’s back door. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I get a clear view of both their faces.

  Alan hisses into Sabrina’s face through gritted teeth. He waves his arms on either side of him, and his features swell to an explosive purple color from the extreme tension in his visage. Sabrina cowers in front of him with tears streaming down her cheeks. Man, I wouldn’t want to face Alan like that when he loses his temper.

  He jabs his finger at her and clenches his fist. While I watch from the shelter of my own door, I happen to notice Alan’s shoes. He wears tanned, leather work boots with a waffle sole. My skin prickles. I can’t see any sand from here, but I imagine those boots making an imprint by the café fence.

  Just then, he throws up his hands one more time and barges back inside the bakery. He leaves poor Sabrina cringing in the alley. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and her body shakes with sobs. She wipes the tears off her cheeks and looks around her in desperation.

  My heart aches watching this. I step out into view and venture over to her. I can’t stop my hand drifting toward her and touching her shoulder. “Hey! Are you okay? That was some argument. I just stuck my head out the door and I saw you guys. Alan was really mad, wasn’t he?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Sabrina quavers. “He’s always had a temper, but he’s really scaring me lately. I don’t know what to do….”

  I wrap my arm around her shoulders and hug her. “It’ll be okay. It’s gonna be okay. Nothing is ever completely hopeless. Take my word for it. Do you want to come inside? We can talk about it.”

  “I can’t.” She makes another fruitless swipe to get the tears off her face. “I have to go back inside. We have a huge event and I have to finish the cakes. He’s already mad enough. He would be irate if I didn’t get it done on time.”

  “Okay. What’s he so mad about anyway?”

  She casts a sidelong glance toward the bakery. “I can’t tell you. It’s personal. He already told me I’d be in even more trouble if I told anybody.”

  I start back in shock. “You—in trouble? You’re a grown woman. He’s your husband. He shouldn’t be getting you in trouble for anything.”

  She shrugs. “You know what he’s like.”

  “No, I don’t,” I counter. “Why don’t you tell me? What is he like—besides really angry?”

  She sniffs back her tears. “He says our business depends on us maintaining our reputation in this town. He says our business would suffer even more if anybody thought we didn’t have a stable marriage.”

  “Is that it? Do you not have a stable marriage?”

  Her lip quivers and she fights to keep her composure. “I thought we did. I thought everything was great between us. Then we moved to this rotten town and it all fell apart. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  So they’ve got marital problems. That explains why Alan’s on such a short fuse all the time. I didn’t think the business conflict between him and Scott could cause a person to become that unhinged. “Well, if you ever want someone to listen, I’m right next door. I’ve had my share of relationship troubles, so I understand what you’re going through. You let me know if I can help with anything.”

  “I couldn’t do that. I better get back to work.”

  She says it, but she doesn’t leave. She kicks at the ground. The movement attracts my attention to the soil at our feet. I stare down at dark Earth intermixed with cedar shavings.

  I look up. The thick green boughs hang directly overhead. They spread their branches over the alley, but only behind the bakery. They’re too far back to drop scraps of bark behind the candy store.

  In front of my eyes, Sabrina’s shoe scoops up some of the dirt. It sprinkles over her shoelaces. My gaze migrates up her black pants to the apron covering her clothes. Smudges of chocolate besmirch the cotton surface.

  My mind explodes with a burst of realization. The cedar shavings came from the bakery. Alan loathed Scott Freeman with a passion, but he’s not the only person working at the bakery. I don’t see Alan getting into Scott’s car to smudge the back seat with chocolate, and the last time I checked, Alan didn’t handle any chocolate. Sabrina does the baking. She’s got chocolate all over her.

  So Sabrina tracked cedar shavings and chocolate into Scott’s car, and if that’s the case, that could explain why Alan hated Scott so much. They had marital problems, and Alan insists she hide them from the rest of the town to preserve their reputation.

  It doesn’t take much to connect the dots now. There must have been something going on between Scott and Sabrina. I personally don’t see a business tycoon like Scott hooking up with a Goth like Sabrina, but stranger things have been known to happen. It’s the one explanation that makes all the clues fit into a sensible picture of what happened to Scott.

  I can’t think of anything to say to Sabrina now. I don’t want to burst her bubble by telling her I know the secret she’s supposed to keep hidden. I stare at her
with new eyes. Her tears smudge her eyeliner. The mess gives her a pathetic, haggard look.

  Now that I know what happened between her and Scott, I understand her better. She’s not crying because Alan yelled at her. She’s crying because Scott’s dead. She lost her lover and it’s all her fault. She slept with a married man, and her husband killed him.

  Now I can definitely see Alan sitting across from Scott, pretending to work out their differences while he secretly slips poison into Scott’s coffee. He didn’t kill Scott out of any competitive business hostility. He did it in revenge for Scott sleeping with his wife. Of course. That could certainly make a man cold, calculating, and ruthless enough to smile in his victim’s face while he drank poisoned coffee.

  Sabrina shrinks from my scrutiny. She won’t look me in the eye. She mumbles under her breath like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, “Thanks for understanding, Margaret. I’ll see you around.”

  She bolts into the bakery. As nasty as Alan might be to her, she probably feels safer in there than dealing with anybody on the outside. She doesn’t have to worry about any stranger thinking ill of her for sleeping around. She can hide her shame and grief in her kitchen, and Alan already knows the worst. He knows why she’s crying, even if he doesn’t care.

  I head back into the candy store with a heavy sigh. This old world sure is hard on people, especially when they get their emotions tied up in knots. It’s hard enough just trying to make a living and keep your head above the water without throwing infidelity and deceit into the mix.

  By the time I get back to the front room, it’s time to get ready to open. I log onto the computer and begin the day’s pay cycle. I unlock the door. When I go outside to put my sign on the sidewalk, I see David Graham’s cruiser glide through town. He waves to me on his way to the police station. I have to tell him as soon as possible what I found out, but I’m not likely to see him today. He’s already disappearing around the bend in the highway.