by Terry Odell
Scott chuckled to himself. He’d done the same more than once. “I’ll handle it. But I don’t know squat about what’s organic and what isn’t.”
“Ms. Haeber was kind enough to provide a list of the suppliers. But these days, every grocery store has a section of organics. A receipt for lettuce from Thriftway could go either way.” He grinned again, wider this time. “Of course, the itemized listings probably give that information.”
“I’ll get some coffee and be on it.”
“I’m going that way,” Detweiler said. “How do you take it?”
“Black.” Scott waited for Detweiler to leave, then struggled to his feet. He walked the small office, trying to ease the pain in his leg. The bones had healed, but the tendons and nerves were taking their sweet time getting back to normal. He tried to ignore what the doctors had told him—that there was no guarantee they ever would.
His hand went to his pocket where the vial of pills waited. But doing what Detweiler asked required a clear head. He popped some ibuprofen instead.
When Detweiler came back, Scott set the coffee on an empty desk to avoid the possibility of contamination by spillage. “Kovak and I were discussing that our homicide might be suicide after all. We’ve got too many pieces that don’t fit.”
Detweiler pursed his lips. “Either way, the death has to be investigated. I’ve got this twitchy feeling Belinda Nesbitt knows more than she’s telling, and what she’s telling isn’t the whole truth.”
***
Sitting at her kitchen island, Ashley pounded the keyboard of her laptop, almost regretting the childish way she’d stormed out of Scott’s office. Almost. Heck, she hadn’t slammed the door, although the temptation was there. Men. After Barry, she’d decided they were highly overrated. For a brief moment, she’d thought Scott might be different. The exception to the rule.
But no. It was all about him. Being the cop, even though he wasn’t even a real cop. He’d sat there, let Detective Kovak get in her face, treat her like a criminal. Scott would have set him straight, he’d said. So why hadn’t she heard him sticking up for her?
She sipped her chamomile tea. A gift from Maggie, one she’d tucked away in the recesses of her kitchen cabinet for when she might need it, like now. She wasn’t a tea person—although according to Maggie, chamomile tea wasn’t tea at all. Something about only leaves of some official tea plants being worthy of the name tea.
Well, it tasted good with honey, and if it calmed her down, Ashley didn’t care what it was called. There was a final committee meeting tonight, and then the bakeoff on Saturday. She’d have today and tomorrow to finalize everything, and then … her new life would be off with a bang. She hoped it was the good kind.
She consulted her to-do list, deciding to deal with the things she could do from home until she was confident she could deal with people face-to-face without a meltdown. Right now, if one person so much as skirted the issue of Felicity, Ashley knew she’d lose it.
An hour and another cup of chamomile tea later, Ashley parked in the lot behind her bakery. Instead of entering through the back door, she ambled through the parking lot to the sidewalk, imagining that she was out for a day of shopping. When she passed the Book Worm, her breath caught. Don Farrabee had put a collection of cookbooks in his window, with a sign advertising her opening. As she continued down the block, she saw the same sign in every shop window. These didn’t look anything like the work of middle school students.
She bee-lined straight for That Special Something. If anyone knew where they’d come from, it would be Maggie. Ashley paused for a deep breath before she entered the store. Sarah greeted her with a warm smile. “Ready for your big day?”
Chamomile tea or no, a swarm of supersized butterflies took flight in Ashley’s stomach. “I hope so.”
“You like Elaine’s contribution?” Sarah asked.
“The signs? Elaine did them?”
Sarah nodded. “Kind of last minute, but we’re all wishing you nothing but success.”
Tears prickled Ashley’s eyes. She’d always felt welcome in Pine Hills, but this show of support nearly did her in. A shaky, “Thanks,” was all she could manage. She turned to leave before she embarrassed herself by bursting into full-fledged tears.
“Wait,” Sarah said. She ducked behind the counter and pulled out another sign, twice the size of the ones the other merchants displayed. “This one’s for your place.”
Ashley stood there, her jaw gaping as she read the sign. “Grand Opening. Confections by Ashley. Come to the Brownie Bakeoff.” The date and her logo. Sarah extended the sign. “Go put it in your window.”
Part of her wanted to pump Sarah for any information she might have about Felicity’s death. However, another part told her to forget about the investigation and focus on her opening. If Detective Kovak had said she was free to go, then her priority had to be her bakery.
She thanked Sarah one more time and had to restrain herself from skipping the short distance to her bakery.
After placing the sign in the window, she got to work. Her official first day of business was Monday, four days away. An empty window showcase wasn’t going to cut it.
Soon, she was in the kitchen, lost in creating. She could freeze some of what she made, but much of it was going to have to be chalked up to promotion, because anything she baked today wasn’t going to be fresh enough to sell on Monday. Saturday, her kitchen would be totally pre-empted by bakeoff contestants. She foresaw a very long, exhausting Sunday, but it didn’t matter. Confections by Ashley was worth a few all-nighters.
And thinking of all-nighters reminded her to touch base with the three people she’d lined up as assistants. For starters, she needed front of the house help, although she hoped to be able to hire another baker before long. But she had definitely dropped the ball when she hadn’t asked them to show up for the bakeoff. Maggie’s committee had everything covered, but her new staff should be there.
Chalking her oversight up to the overwhelming distractions of a murder investigation, she put another batch of cookies in the oven, set the timer, and went into her office to make the calls.
Her spirits buoyed by the enthusiastic response from all three, she formulated a work schedule that would fit with their classes. She gave Sarah a mental thank you for the suggestion to recruit from the local community college. And thanked her lucky stars that none of the three had pushed for information about the murder scene. Maybe it was because they were afraid to bring it up with their new boss. Or maybe they wanted to be able to boast that they were working where a body had been found.
Her timer went off, and Ashley forced her thoughts away from mayhem and back to setting up for the bakeoff.
Once the cookies were on cooling racks, she went out to her car to get a carton of supplies. She noticed Belinda and another woman, both carrying bulging Happy Cook bags. Belinda helped load them into the woman’s car. The woman drove off, and Belinda stood there a moment, watching the car drive away. Ashley felt a quick burst of pleasure that her shop neighbor had made what looked like a substantial sale.
Belinda turned, and Ashley waved. Belinda waited while Ashley, carton balanced on her hip, caught up.
“Need some help?” Belinda asked.
“No, I’m fine. That looked like a great sale. And carryout service, too.”
A faint blush colored Belinda’s cheeks. “Gotta do what we can to keep our customers satisfied.” Her eyes darted toward the parking lot exit before meeting Ashley’s. “You must be getting excited.”
“My butterflies have butterflies,” Ashley said. “But I think I’ve got everything under control.” Until she thought of something else she’d forgotten. Her lists and spreadsheets were great, but there was always the nagging doubt that there was something she’d neglected to add. Tonight, the committee would go over everything, and Ashley hoped that the extra heads would fill any possible holes in her plans.
Back in her shop, she unpacked the carton and lined everything
on the counter. The coils of bright blue and red raffle-style tickets. The stack of acknowledgement fliers Elaine had printed. She would definitely owe the photographer, big time.
Staring at the tasting plates, forks, and napkins brought reality one step closer. She ran her fingertip along the counter as she strolled toward one of the easy chairs. Sitting, she closed her eyes and tried to run through the bakeoff.
Supervising the baking. She’d asked Holly, one of her new hires to come in and help make sure everything ran smoothly. Storing the brownies. Contestants were required to bring their own ingredients. Had she told them about storage? She thought back. Yes. She’d provide the platters to ensure everything maintained its anonymity. Judging. Her eyes popped open. Thank you gifts. She’d have to give them something, and she had a feeling a platter of baked goods wasn’t going to cut it. Certificates of appreciation? No, too common, and she certainly wasn’t going to bother Elaine again.
Her first thought was to get something from Belinda, but the judges were all professional food people and they probably had enough kitchen stuff of their own. Instead, she popped next door to That Special Something. Ashley waited until Sarah had finished waiting on a customer before approaching the glass counter.
“I need gifts for the judges, and my brain is fried. Can you help? I swear, whatever you pick will be fine. But not food related. Something special.”
Sarah grinned. “Something special? You’ve come to the right place.”
Ashley felt the heat of a blush rising. “Duh. Yeah. But seriously. I totally trust you. Three identical gifts, gift wrapped. No, wait. I have to enclose a card first.”
Sarah squeezed Ashley’s hands. “Relax.” She reached under the counter and handed Ashley three gift cards and a pen. “Fill these out, and leave the rest to me.”
Ashley took a breath, waiting for her hands to stop trembling. She’d been calmer when she’d been accused of murder. She gave Sarah a budget and started writing her thank you notes. When she finished, she handed them to Sarah. Glancing around the shop and seeing it was empty, Ashley lowered her voice. “Did Randy tell you anything about the investigation? Do they have a suspect yet?”
Chapter 24
Scott ignored the rumbling in his stomach. Something buzzed around his brain, and he didn’t want to stop for anything as intrusive as eating. After sorting the records and receipts Detweiler had given him, he’d received a “My office” summons from Chief Laughlin. The chief had informed him that with Detweiler’s return, Scott was relegated to his official seven to three shift, no overtime, and that as of tomorrow, he’d be back on phones and filing.
Unless something else broke, the chief had said, but short of another murder, Scott didn’t think it was likely. And he didn’t think another murder was likely, either. The more he thought about it, the more he felt suicide was a likely manner of death for their victim.
But, until tomorrow, he was still a consultant. He’d spent the last hour checking, cross checking, and rechecking all the hits he got for Belinda Nesbitt. She’d admitted him to her network of Facebook friends, which according to her settings, gave him access to her page, but to her friends’ pages as well. Something was hiding in there, if only he could see it.
He stretched and rubbed his temples. Okay, so maybe his brain cells would fire more efficiently if he fed them. He clicked on another one of Belinda’s Facebook friends and headed for the break room. Slowly. Damn, he’d been sitting too long.
No homemade goodies today. He perused the contents of the vending machine, settling for a package of peanut butter crackers. A glance at the clock surprised him. Three-fifteen already?
He logged off the computer. What he was doing could be done at home.
What part of “off the clock” don’t you understand?
But until he silenced the buzzing in his head, he knew he wouldn’t be able to let it go. The internal phone line rang, and without thinking about on or off the clock, he picked up. “Whelan.”
“Scott, I know you’re not working up front until tomorrow, but I could use a little help.” Doranna’s voice was lowered, but he heard the unspoken “please.”
“On my way.”
When he got there, Doranna gave him a relieved smile. “This citizen said you’d helped her before.” She mouthed a “Sorry” and gestured to an elderly woman on the other side of the glass. Scott recognized her as one of the three women who’d been in the other day complaining about nuisance dogs.
Doranna turned away from the glass and said, “I told her we’d put Animal Control on it, but she insists on speaking to you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Scott opened the security door and motioned the woman to one of the chairs. He remained standing. His leg was on fire, but sitting and having to get up again would be worse. Besides, he figured a show of authority might help.
“Officer Whelan, thank you for speaking to me. That woman”—she frowned in Doranna’s direction—”said you were off duty, so I really appreciate it.”
He’d given up correcting her on calling him “Officer.” She was of an age where men were cops and women were relegated to secretarial duties if they worked at all. “What can I do to help, Mrs. Osterlund?”
She straightened in her chair and tightened the grip on the black patent-leather purse in her lap. “It’s the dogs again. They knocked over my trash can and spread garbage all over the street. And they bark. All night. It’s a wonder anyone on the block gets any sleep at all.”
“I’m sorry this hasn’t been handled already,” he said. “I will personally call Animal Control and have them check.”
She huffed. “The dogs come out at night. Those Animal Control people aren’t working then.”
“Did you get a better description of the dogs?” he asked. “If the dogs are strays, they’ll be around during the day as well. But we have to know what to look for.”
She slumped a little. “It’s dark, and I’m in bed at that hour. But they sounded big. You know, deep barks, and growling, too. Not little yippy things.”
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I have all your information from your other report. We’ll do our best. And if you happen to see the dogs, be sure to call the station. You can tell them you spoke to me, and I’ll be sure to leave a note for whoever else might be working.” He extended his hand. “Thanks for coming in.”
She released her grip on her purse and allowed him to help her rise. He escorted her to the door and held it open.
She shook back her gray curls. “With more police officers like you on the job, we’d all sleep better at night.” With her head lifted, she marched across the bricks to the staircase, her hand light on the handrail as she made her way down the steps. Thoughts of his grandmother invaded, and he made a mental note to give her a call tonight.
Inside, Doranna winged her eyebrows at him. “You do know how to turn on the charm.”
He shrugged. “Just a case of LOL syndrome.”
She tilted her head quizzically.
“Lonely Old Lady. But please make a note that she’s to be treated with respect if she calls in. Do I need to get an official okay to dispatch a patrol officer if she says the dogs are back?”
“I’ll run it by the duty officer,” she said.
Scott waited—unobtrusively, he hoped—long enough to see Doranna start filling out a report form before leaving.
By the time he got home, the momentum he’d built at the office had disintegrated. He took a pain pill, nuked a slice of too-old pizza and made his way to the Fitness Center. The room was empty, probably not unusual for this time of day. He’d take thirty minutes in the Jacuzzi, and then he’d start anew. Knowing he was likely to drift off, he set the alarm on his cell phone.
He clambered into the tub. The hot water soothed his aches, and the whooshing of the jets detangled his brain. Sometimes the best thoughts happened when you weren’t thinking.
A shrill tone jerked him out of a deep doze. He reached for his we
apon before he realized where he was. Heart pounding, he sucked air and fumbled for the cell phone he’d left perched on the edge of the Jacuzzi. It slid toward the water. Catching it millimeters before it hit the surface, Scott held it above the bubbling water and waited until the world set itself right again.
He shut off the alarm, placed the phone well away from the edge of the Jacuzzi and began the laborious process of getting out. He’d learned early on during his therapy sessions that too much time in the hot water left him light-headed, especially if he’d taken his meds recently. He stood, and the dizziness passed. The heat had helped with the pain, but his leg shook uncontrollably. Another damn side-effect the doctors had told him was “normal.” Thankful there was still nobody in the room, he took several minutes, rising slowly, making sure his balance was intact, and finally, using the metal support bar, pulled himself out of the water.
Back in his apartment, he eyed the beer in the fridge, but went the sensible route and drank several glasses of water. Then, wrapped in his robe, he stretched out on the couch with his laptop propped on his belly while he waited for his lasagna to heat. His thoughts strayed to Ashley. Should he call her? Apologize. For what? Doing his job? She’d definitely been pissed when she’d left. He let it go. She was probably overwhelmed with bakery work.
He stared at the screen, randomly selecting sites that had come up when he’d Googled Belinda Nesbitt. Tired of reading the same basic information, he clicked “Images” to give his eyes a break and see if anything resonated. Rather than think about the pictures, he half-closed his eyes and let his gaze wander from one image to the next.
Scott agreed with Detweiler that there was something Belinda wasn’t sharing, but he was beginning to think it was a detour headed straight for a dead end.
His cell phone’s ring interrupted his contemplations. He shifted his laptop and reached into his robe pocket. “Whelan.”
“Up for another body?” Detweiler’s words were casual. His tone was anything but.
