by Terry Odell
“How are you doing?” Ashley asked. Lorna’s demeanor displayed an underlying hint of nervousness or timidity Ashley wasn’t sure which. But she did know the inner injuries would take far longer to heal than some cuts and bruises.
Lorna flashed a tight smile. “Better. Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her oversize tote and extended a small gift bag. “You’ve been so helpful, and I wanted to say thanks. It’s just a token.”
Ashley peeked inside the bag to discover a package of gourmet coffee. Irish Cream. “Lorna, there’s no need for a gift.”
She blushed. “Actually, I’m regifting it. A friend gave it to me, but I prefer tea.” Lorna studied the floor. “I hope it’s all right. I thought it would go with what you bake here—but it’s for you, not the customers.”
“Of course. And I love Irish Cream. I’ll put it in my office where nobody else can have it.”
Lorna seemed relieved. Ashley pondered that as she put the coffee in the bottom drawer of her desk. Had Lorna thought her gift was inappropriate? Or was she embarrassed to be regifting it? If so, then why mention it? Her budget was probably tight.
“As you can see, nothing’s arrived yet,” Ashley said when she returned. “I hope you aren’t wasting your day.” Or was Lorna hiding from her husband? He’d never think to look for her here, would he?
She shook her head. “No. Thad’s out of town for a few days, and I thought it would be smart to take the time to plan a better escape. The counselors at the Women’s Center are being very helpful.”
“Are you staying there?”
“No.” She looked away. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I’d rather not say where I’m staying. Not that I don’t trust you, but if Thad comes back unexpectedly—”
“Don’t worry about it. I totally understand. If I don’t know where you are, I can’t tell anyone.”
“I should be gone before he gets back, but he’s unpredictable.”
Ashley wondered why Lorna would be taking that extra risk, but kept her mouth shut. It made sense to have a plan in place before doing something reckless. “While we’re waiting, do you want the tour?”
“I’d love it.” Lorna was still glancing around as if she expected her husband to pop out from behind a chair—if there had been any chairs.
As Ashley explained her vision for the bakery, Lorna nodded, ever watchful. Yes, Ashley thought. She had a way to go in the confidence department.
“Oh, I forgot,” Lorna said. “After you left, the committee talked about the ticket sales. Penny’s husband said he’d volunteer his math club students to sell them. With his supervision, of course. We decided on a dollar each, or six for five dollars.”
The committee had discussed selling tickets for a nominal price, with each ticket allowing a bakeoff guest one sample of one entry. Ashley had made it clear that all proceeds would go to charity, which, she’d decided, would be the Women’s Center. Another gesture of goodwill to the community.
“And,” Lorna continued, “Penny’s art classes will make the signs.”
“That’s fantastic.” She was going to have to do something extra special for the committee—they’d all done so much for her in so little time.
She was showing off her kitchen when she heard what she hoped was the delivery van pulling to a stop in the alley. She hurried through the mud room and opened the door, elated when her hopes were confirmed.
For the next hour, she directed the men as they unloaded furniture and carton after carton of her supplies. Once they left, she stood in the middle of the furnished public space, unable to speak. Barely able to breathe.
Round high tops circled by ladder-back bar stools in varying shades of brown were interspersed with small, standard-height four-tops. The chairs surrounding them were painted in tones ranging from a creamy beige to a deep burgundy.
When she’d discussed her idea with Kathleen at The Tool Shed—the closest thing Pine Hills had to a decor center—Kathleen had been skeptical. “Too busy,” she’d said. But seeing everything in place, Ashley was glad she’d stood her ground.
She couldn’t resist testing the upholstered easy chairs and loveseats that sat around the perimeter. Like a child, she bounced on each one, testing it for comfort. Miming sitting with a cup of coffee and a pastry, she adjusted the placement of end tables and coffee tables so they were within reach, yet not in the way.
Lorna hung back, letting Ashley bask in the moment. Ashley didn’t think she’d ever get used to the feeling of having her own business, but there was a lot more work to be done. She and Lorna started unpacking the cartons. Lorna loaded the dishwasher with all the plates, mugs, and utensils.
“I figure it’ll take three loads,” Lorna said after she started the first one.
It was well after six before they were finished getting everything in its proper place. Ashley regarded the back of the house with the same pleasure she’d taken from the front.
“Would you like to go to Sadie’s for dinner?” Ashley asked. “My treat. After all you’ve done today, you deserve it.”
Lorna studied the floor. “No, thanks. I’d better be going. I’ll see you at the committee meeting tomorrow night.”
Ashley didn’t press. As much help and company as Lorna had been, she wanted a few minutes alone. All alone. In her bakery.
After Lorna left, Ashley made a slow circuit of the front of the house, imagining it filled with customers. Moms with toddlers—she eyed the two high chairs and stack of booster seats. People working on laptops. Which reminded her she needed to make the final arrangements for the WiFi connection. She envisioned businessmen and women stopping in for a late-afternoon coffee and pastry break. And picking up something to take home for dessert.
Her reverie was broken when the door chimes jangled. Her heart thumped. Why hadn’t she locked it after Lorna left? She glanced toward the door.
Belinda, minus her ruffled apron, strode in. “I saw the delivery truck and wanted to be the first to see my new neighbor in all her pre-opening finery.”
Ashley waved her arm in a broad sweep across the room. “Here it is. Let me officially introduce you. Confections by Ashley, meet Belinda Nesbitt of The Happy Cook.”
“I brought you a shop-warming present.” Belinda reached behind her back and pulled out a small gold box. “I was going to give you chocolate, but I thought that was kind of overkill. Go ahead, open it.”
Ashley untied the ribbon and pried off the lid. Inside was a blue-flowered mug, exactly like the one discovered in her shop the night they’d found Felicity. Her heart leapt to her throat. She fought to keep from dropping the box. It took all her self control to meet Belinda’s smile with the semblance of one of her own.
Chapter 19
Scott limped to his car. He didn’t mind being tired. He was used to being tired. What he minded was dealing with the pain while the meds messed with the brain cells. Now that he was working again, he needed to find a better balance. A session in the Jacuzzi, that’s what he needed.
“Whelan!”
Scott turned, careful to avoid quick movements. “Detweiler.”
The tall lanky detective loped across the parking lot. “Good find on the boyfriends. I’m suitably impressed. The Viper guy confessed to knowing the victim. Says he slept with her a few times, but they never had any expectations beyond a little boinking. Says they never officially split because they never had anything going.”
“He have an alibi? Motive for killing her?” Scott had done a background check, and nothing on paper indicated Isaac-Viper had a reason to kill their victim, but the face-to-face often revealed things the background check and its surrounding paperwork couldn’t.
Detweiler shook his head. “He says he was on the road, heading back from a gig in Eureka. Took the coastal route. Gassed up once, paid cash. He was alone. It’s not outside the realm of possibility he could have been back in time, but my gut says move on. You have anything more on Stinger?”
“I gave what I
had to Kovak. Didn’t he fill you in?”
“No, we’ve been running in opposite directions.”
“Stinger got his nickname from a scorpion tat on his biceps. He’s a nurse at Salem General. Married.”
“Being a nurse gives him access to drugs.”
Scott leaned against his car. “Given the security measures for controlled substances, it’s probably harder for a nurse to get drugs than to buy them on the street. But Kovak went to interview him.”
“Your feelings?”
“Dead ends, both of them. Which is not to say there aren’t half a dozen other boyfriends out there, but my Spidey sense tells me Belinda’s either mistaken or trying to lead us down the garden path. Right through the thorn bushes.”
“Agreed. You headed home?”
Scott shifted under Detweiler’s scrutinizing gaze. He knew he looked like hell, but he didn’t need sympathetic clucking. He made a conscious effort to relax the muscles already tightening in defense. “Unless you need anything else from me. It’s been a long day, but if you’ve got a lead, I’ll stay.”
“Nah. I’m the one who’s been lazing around for the last few weeks. I’ve got some reserves. You and Kovak need to catch a few hours of shut-eye.” Detweiler tapped a forefinger to his temple.” Recharge the old gray matter.”
A very diplomatic sort of clucking, Scott thought. But he’d accept it. “I left everything on Kovak’s desk. Call if something breaks.”
“Will do. Have a good night.” Detweiler trotted away.
Scott doubted Detweiler would call, but right now, he didn’t care. Wincing, he got into his car. Fatigue shook his hands, and he had to fight the tremors to get the key into the ignition. He was getting too old for this.
Don’t kid yourself. You’re not old, you’re a gimp.
Before he’d backed out of his slot, sounds of C is for Cookie, the ring tone he’d programmed for Ashley, brought a smile to his face. He threw the shifter into Park and answered. “Hey there.”
“Scott?”
The way she uttered that single word, her voice tentative, immediately brought him down. “What’s wrong?”
A pause.
“Ashley, are you all right? Where are you?”
“I’m okay. And it’s probably nothing, but—”
“Tell me. I’ll decide if it’s nothing.”
“Belinda. She gave me a shop-warming present. Like I said, it’s probably nothing, but it’s one of those blue-flowered mugs. I thought I should tell you.”
“Where are you?”
“At the bakery.”
Scott kept his tone level. There was no reason to think there were any nefarious dealings behind a simple gift. Except that he was a cop, and couldn’t help thinking the worst. He didn’t know whether anyone had even told Belinda that a mug like the ones she sold had been found at the crime scene.
“Is Belinda at her store?” he asked.
“No, she closes at five-thirty.”
“Okay, I’ll be there in a few minutes. No, wait.” His mind processed the possibilities. “Are you finished for the day?”
“Finished enough. It’s all bakeoff stuff now, and I can do that from home. Why? Am I in danger here?” Anger, not fear, crept into her voice. She clearly didn’t like being kicked out.
“No, merely a precaution. Humor me, okay? Bring the mug. I’ll meet you at your place.”
She gave a long, slow sigh. “All right.”
Scott pulled his car as close to the door of the station as he could and hurried to the detectives’ office.
Detweiler nodded in Scott’s direction and held up a “one minute” finger. “Gotta go.” He set his phone down. “Thought you were going home.”
“Ashley Eagan just called. Belinda Nesbitt gave her a gift, which was one of those blue-flowered mugs. She also donated one to Ashley’s grand opening as part of a gift basket. It’s probably nothing, but I wanted to pass the word along. I told Ashley to go to her apartment. I’ll pick up the mug and bring it back here on the remote chance there’s anything we can collect from it.”
Detweiler appeared to be considering all angles before he spoke. “I’ll go. I agree, I doubt we’ll find anything other than prints from the two women, but we should cover the bases.”
“I’ll meet you there, then.” Scott paused. “Does Belinda Nesbitt know the poison was apparently delivered in one of her mugs?”
Detweiler shook his head. “No, and the fact that she’s giving them away indicates she’s not involved. Sarah said she saw six of them on the shelf in the kitchen store.”
Scott smiled. “But you’ll be questioning Belinda again, to make sure.”
“Wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t.”
Detweiler and Scott arrived at Ashley’s apartment minutes apart. She stood at the door, a gold box in her hand. “Hi, Randy. Welcome back. I hope you managed a little time at your party.”
“I did, and thanks. Your spread was fantastic. Sarah’s been raving about those spicy chocolate cookies. You’re going to sell them, right?”
Ashley’s cheeks pinked. “I’m glad she liked them, and yes, they’ll be on my menu.” She surrendered the mug to Detweiler. “I don’t see what this could have to do with Felicity’s murder, but you’re welcome to it.”
Detweiler opened the box and peered inside. “This is everything she gave you?”
Ashley nodded. “That’s it. Oh, she did say that she usually includes a packet of gourmet instant cocoa, but she didn’t think it was appropriate given the nature of what I do, so it was just the mug.”
Scott and Detweiler exchanged a glance. “Do you know what kind of cocoa mix?” Detweiler said.
Ashley shrugged. “Sorry.” Her eyes widened. “Wait. There might be a packet in the gift basket.”
***
Ashley darted to the array of donations and grabbed the basket from The Happy Cook. She lifted it, turning it, trying to see if a cocoa packet was one of the offerings.
“May I?” Randy reached for the basket.
“Can you tell without taking it apart?” Her eyes sought out Scott. “I don’t want to mess up Belinda’s donation.”
“We’ll be careful,” Scott said.
“There is a cocoa packet in here. I’ll need it.” Randy set the basket on the coffee table and reached for the ribbon, twisting and pulling.
Ashley considered his large hands and the intricate bow. “Wait. I think there’s an easier way.” She went into the bathroom for her manicure scissors and returned. Randy had waited, although she could tell both he and Scott were impatient and would have ripped the basket apart if she weren’t here. She found the tiny strip of ribbon securing the cellophane under the bow and gave it a snip. Gently, she pried the cellophane back far enough so the cocoa was reachable. Randy pulled out a handkerchief and grasped the packet by a corner, easing it out, and adding it to the box with the mug.
“You think Belinda would have doctored the cocoa and put it in a gift basket? She wouldn’t have any idea who’d get it. That’s…sick,” Ashley said.
“Any other cases of overdoses, not necessarily fatal, recently?” Scott asked.
“Nothing that’s crossed our desks,” Randy said. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
“What are you going to do?” Ashley asked.
“First,” Randy said, “we’re going to have this packet analyzed. We might be able to compare the contents to what we found in the mug and see if they’re the same. If so, we’ll pull them from Belinda Nesbitt’s shelves to see if any are tainted.”
Scott and Randy exchanged another one of those “cop” looks.
“What?” she asked. “And don’t say ‘nothing’ because it’s obviously not nothing.”
“If there’s something wrong with the cocoa, it might mean a recall of all the packets. Not just from Belinda’s shop. Everywhere. Could get messy.”
Ashley sank to the couch. “You think there’s a mad poisoner out there doctoring packets of insta
nt cocoa? That’s a rather high-end, gourmet brand, but it’s probably sold in specialty shops all over the country.”
“How are they usually packaged?” Randy asked. “In individual packets, or in boxes, or in sets, or whatever?”
“I’m not sure. I don’t buy instant cocoa. But I could look on their website.” Ashley gave it some thought. “Wait. I’m brain dead. Look at the packet itself. If it came multi-packaged, it should say, ‘Not labeled for individual resale’ or something to that effect.”
Randy opened the box. “Yep. That’s what it says.”
“There’s nothing to stop Belinda—or anyone else who’s bought a box—from opening it and doing what they want with the packets as long as they don’t sell them. And the manufacturer might still sell them, or others like them, individually,” Scott said.
“Okay, so I’ll check the website.” If Ashley thought her brain had been working overtime before, she’d reached total overload. But she found the website, and with both men looking over her shoulder, confirmed that the company did not sell individual packets of cocoa.
“I’ll take this back to the station,” Randy said. “I’ll start looking at Oregon distribution for the cocoa. And I’ll talk to Belinda Nesbitt in the morning.” He turned a stern expression to Ashley. “And please don’t say anything to her.”
“I won’t. Am I allowed to put the basket back together, minus the cocoa packet?” Ashley felt as though she ought to replace it, but she didn’t have the energy. And if she rearranged things, she didn’t think Belinda would notice the missing cocoa.
“Go ahead,” Randy said. “Thanks for your help.” He palmed the gold box and he and Scott left.
She heard them talking, then Scott’s door open and close. Why had she thought he’d want to stay? And if he had, so what? She had too much to do.
Like sit around and wonder if Belinda was some crazed lunatic who randomly poisoned people. Like whoever tampered with Tylenol bottles and all those other nutjobs who’d made it virtually impossible to open a package of anything these days.
