"I'm sure it will be okay," Chloe said, following me into the office. I knew she was only trying to be helpful, but her platitudes weren't bringing me any comfort right then.
"How is it going to be okay?" I stared up at her. "Chloe, the police think I'm responsible."
I stared at my desk and placed my head in my hands. When I'd thought it was just the paint fumes that had been responsible, I was willing to own up to it, to admit my part in any negligence. But my baking? That was a whole different kettle of fish. If word got out that one of my pies had killed a woman... Well, I'd never sell another baked good again.
And that would be the least of my worries. You probably don't get much of a chance to bake in prison anyway.
Chloe shrugged and I could tell she was trying her best to remain perky and upbeat. It should have been the other way around—me being the one to stay calm and reassure her that everything was going to be all right.
"I won't need you to come in tomorrow, Chloe."
"Why not?" she asked.
I looked at her like she was crazy. Was she? "Obviously we can't serve customers food here, Chloe. It's a crime scene."
She blushed, but she looked a little relieved. "Right, yes. For a second there, I thought I was being fired. I get you." She took her apron off and hung it up on a hook in my office where all the staff kept their spare uniforms.
She paused in the doorway.
"Rachael," she said. "Is there anything I can do?"
I was growing a little frustrated. "I already told you, we're closed. There's nothing more you can do..."
"No," she said quietly. "I don't mean work stuff. I mean, is there anything I can do to help you clear your name."
I raised my head off the desk. Helping me solve murders was usually Pippa's job. If she found out that I'd replaced her not only at the bakery but also as a detective...
I shook my head uncertainly. "No, Chloe, this isn't your responsibility."
She brought her phone of out her pocket and searched for something on the screen. "It's just...well, I've been following social media, and word has already gotten out about this."
I gulped. "Is it bad?"
She nodded. "They're already calling you the Mud Pie Murderess."
My mouth dropped wide open. "Can't we do something?" I asked, standing up to see what she was looking at. News had already broken out across every website. I'd be ruined within the week. "We need to put an end to this," I said frantically.
Chloe just stared at me. "Well, the only way to do that is to clear your name. Find out who really did it."
I nodded. She was right. And I knew where I needed to start. "I need to find out as much as I can about this Olive Styles." I sat at my desk and opened my laptop, but Chloe interrupted me.
"I've already taken the liberty of doing that," she said, sounding a little apologetic, but also kind of pleased with herself. "I looked her up."
"And?" There was a look of worry and intrigue on her face.
Chloe tapped her fingers against her phone. "Olive Styles was running for mayor of Belldale. The election is next week and she was probably going to win it."
I brought my hand up to my mouth. That was why she had looked so familiar. Her face was plastered on signs and billboards all over town.
I felt like I was going to be sick. I wasn't just being accused of killing an old lady; I was being accused of killing an old lady who was a respected member of the community. A well-known, powerful member of the community. A woman who probably had friends in high places.
"Rachael?" Chloe asked. "You've gone white again."
"If people think I've killed her for some kind of political gain..." I said, my mind already racing to the worse possible conclusion.
"Relax," Chloe said. "You didn't even know who she was, remember? Besides, I think her being a politician works in your favor right now."
I scoffed. "How, exactly?"
Chloe finally revealed herself to be more clever than I'd given her credit for. "Because if she was about to be elected mayor, then there are likely LOADS of people in this town who want her dead. This will take the focus off the mud pie. It's a political crime, and people will realize that soon enough."
"You're right," I murmured, suddenly relaxing a little. "There's got to be plenty of people out there with a motive. Chloe, you're a genius!" I said, jumping up. “I want you on the case. You and I are going to find out who killed Olive Styles, and clear my name!"
My cell rang and I jumped. Pippa. "Hello?" I said, picking it up.
"I heard about what happened, Rachael," came her frantic reply. "I'll be right there. I know you need me."
I looked across at Chloe. "That's okay, Pippa," I said. "I've got it covered. You just stay home and rest."
"Alright," Chloe said, bouncing back into the office. She'd been gone half an hour and was back now, armed with a bunch of paraphernalia.
"What have you got there?" I asked.
She nodded and showed me. "A map of Belldale. We're going to need that. Print outs of all the political candidates, a list of people that Olive Styles knew who might have a grudge against her..."
She continued on as I just stared at her, speechless.
Was Pippa really as irreplaceable as I'd thought?
Chapter 3
The streets were slippery as I pulled the car out onto the road, cruising past my bakery at the low speed limit of the area, but wishing I could just speed past it. It hurt to look at it right then. But a speeding ticket was the last thing I wanted to add to my list of problems with the law.
I stepped on the brake when I saw that the sign was still turned to 'Open.'
"Shoot," I said out loud, stopping the car. We wouldn't be open again for days. And that was if we were lucky. We probably wouldn't be able to open again for weeks, and even then, there was no guarantee anyone would ever want to eat there again.
I glanced around to make sure no one was looking before I stepped over the police tape and unlocked the door.
I'd only intended to turn the sign to 'closed' and get the heck back out of there, but something stopped me and I stepped into the crime scene.
I hadn't been back in the front of the bakery since it all happened. It seemed different now, like the vibe of the place had changed. There was a deep chill that was more than just the late fall air.
I shivered. Was Olive Styles' ghost haunting the bakery now? Would she always be haunting me?
I shook my head. That's stupid, Rachael.
A bottle toppled over and I jumped so hard that I almost came out of my skin. I put a hand over my heart and felt it thumping. It took a few minutes for my breathing to return to normal before I could go pick up the syrup bottle, its chocolate contents now a sickly brown pool on the floor.
I looked at the mess. There was no light to see properly, and why did a mess on the floor matter now anyway? Who was going to see it?
I raced out the door and locked it, speeding to get home.
I took a deep breath when I pulled behind the bakery the next morning at 5:00am. Usually that was the time I'd be there to open up and start baking, but no flour would be sifted and no sugars added to any pastries that day. I was kind of dreading going inside and wished I'd arranged to meet Chloe at a different location.
I kept thinking of that chill that had gotten me when I'd gone in to turn the sign around. I didn't want to go back in.
I was glad I was arriving before Chloe. I would have time to collect my thoughts before she got here. Her shifts never started until 10:00am, and she was a student, so I doubted she'd even seen what 5:00am looked like before, unless she was still up partying from the night before.
There was a tapping on my car window and I jumped. "Chloe!" I said, opening the door. It was still dark out. "I didn't expect to see you here yet."
"Just getting a head start," she said with a grin before handing me a paper coffee cup. "Here, I got you this from Bakermatic," she said, and even in the dark, I could make out the a
pologetic cringe on her face. "I hope that's okay," she said, "I know how you feel about that place. But I figured we aren't allowed in the front of the bakery considering it’s a crime scene."
"Yeah," I said with a nervous laugh. "We definitely shouldn't go in there." I thought about the broken bottle of syrup on the floor and suddenly realized that I needed to clean that up before anyone saw it.
I took the cup out of her hands and took a sip. It was weak, of course, like coffee from Bakermatic always was. And it definitely didn't taste freshly roasted. Chloe was right: I had certain misgivings about Bakermatic, a large chain of 'bakeries' that supply mass-produced cakes, pastries and breads, as well as coffee. Because they are a chain store and because they don't bake their products fresh in the store, they are able to keep their prices low. Far lower than my prices. And considering they have a chain situated on the same street as my bakery, they had never exactly been my favorite place in the world.
But I didn't want to appear ungrateful. "Mmm," I said as though I was really enjoying the coffee while I unlocked the back door to my office. "I needed this."
She smiled. "I suppose Bakermatic isn’t that bad after all then," she said.
I wouldn't go that far. I smiled back at her. "Come on, let's go in. I'm freezing out here."
"Okay Chloe," I said, standing tall and firm even though she was a couple of inches taller than me. It was important to assume a dominant position, though. I was the real detective and she was only a rookie. "I know it might be hard as it must have been quite a traumatic experience for you, but I need you to try and remember everything you can about the incident."
"No problem," she said cheerfully, grabbing a notebook. "I wrote it all down right after it happened. I remember everything." She shot me a wink. "Don't worry, it's all a part of my kit."
"Oh." I couldn't help feeling deflated. I thought I knew what Pippa was experiencing, the fear of being replaced. Of knowing that the one thing you were good at could easily be done by someone else. Someone younger. Someone more competent.
Chloe got out her "kit" and then her notebook, going over the events of the day. The first part I knew and was there for, Olive Styles and her gang walking in.
"But then you went to the back to rest," Chloe said and I bristled. "After that, they all settled for a bit. I went over to offer them water but they refused it. They asked if it was out of the tap, and when I said that it was, they said they only drank bottled water so they didn't want it."
I'd suspected they were that type of customers.
Chloe continued. "After that, I gave them some space for a minute, as they were all in deep conversation with each other." She furrowed her brow a bit as she remembered. "And then I did as you suggested. I went over to the table and suggested the chocolate mud pie to them. I was worried they might turn their noses up at it—that they might turn their noses up at anything—but they all seemed impressed when they saw it standing glossy and high in the display fridge. I was relived they were happy, so I turned around and went to fetch them a few servings."
"So you had your back to them during this time?" I asked. "While you were getting the pie out."
Chloe frowned, remembering. "Yes," she said decisively. "I would have had my back turned for at least two minutes while I bent down to get the pie out and sliced it for them."
"So anything could have happened during that time," I murmured.
"I suppose so," Chloe said a little defensively. "But I didn't have my back turned for long. As soon as the slices were ready, I took them to the table and sat them down. One in front of Olive, one in front of the woman sitting next to her, and one in front of the man wearing the red sweater."
"That man in the red sweater," I said, remembering him. "It was strange that he wasn't there after Olive died. He had already left by the time I got out there! Do you remember what happened to him? Did you see him leave?"
Chloe frowned. "Actually, no. I didn’t. Sorry." She flicked through her notes and shrugged a little. "I suppose I wasn't really focused on him."
I had to admit to feeling a little bit smug, even though I shouldn't have. It wasn't good news for our case, after all.
I tapped a pen against my chin.
"He must have run out after Olive died. That makes him the prime suspect as far as I’m concerned. Why else did he flee the scene of the crime?"
"Maybe he was freaked out by the sight of a dead body?" Chloe said with a shrug. "Running away in a situation like that is a pretty understandable response."
But I wasn't sure if I agreed with her. Running away straight after your dining companion died? That wasn't understandable. That was suspicious.
I walked back into my apartment to find a very green-looking Pippa lying on the sofa. Nothing unusual to see her lying on my sofa—that was where she lived, after all—but it was unusual to see her looking so unwell. She normally had a stomach of steel. She had a wet towel on her head and a bucket on the floor beside the sofa, which I was pleased to see hadn't been used. Yet.
I pulled a bottle out of my shopping bag. "Here, I brought you some ginger ale."
Pippa clutched her stomach and sat up, the towel sliding off her head. "Thanks, Rach," she groaned. "I'm sorry I can't be much help." She pouted a little and opened the ginger ale. It made a little fizzing sound. "How are you coping, solving this mystery on your own?"
"Just fine," I answered quickly. "You don't need to worry, Pips."
She groaned a little again. "It's just that we always do these things together."
"I know we do." People often said that Pippa and I were a little...co-dependent. Which would be putting it mildly. Even though I didn't want her to be sick, I was wondering if a little space might be healthy for both of us. Well, 'healthy' was a relative term looking at Pippa right then. The ginger ale fizzed again as she poured it into a glass. After taking a sip, she settled back on the sofa, able to sit up now, some of the color returned to her face.
"Thanks," she said, brightening a little as she pulled the blanket up around her. "That helped. So, are you home for the day then?" she asked.
"No, sorry. I was just dropping off the ginger ale for you. I've got a lot to do." I checked my phone for the time.
"With the case you mean?" Pippa asked. Then, as quickly as she had brightened up, the color seemed to leave her face again. "Are you really working on this case by yourself?"
"Yes, of course I am, silly."
She eyed me skeptically. She was very quiet for a second and she opened her mouth to say something and then shut it again. Finally, she spat it out. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but, Chloe isn't helping you, is she?"
"No," I said way too quickly, making a face. "Of course not, why would Chloe be helping me?" I let out a very loud, forced laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."
My phone rang. Chloe. Pippa saw the screen and her eyebrows shot up.
"She's probably just calling about work," I said, standing up to take the call in another room. Or preferably a different building. "I'll be right back."
I hurried down to the entrance of our apartment, exited into the hallway of our floor, and pulled the door shut behind me. I'd have to give Pippa an excuse for all the secrecy later.
"Chloe?" I whispered. "What's up?"
"I've been doing some digging while you were on your break." Of course she had. "Rachael, you are never going to believe who the man in the red sweater is."
I'd never had any interest in local politics. Of course I still voted, did my civic duty whenever there was an election, but as far as local elections were concerned, I'm ashamed to admit that I didn't do my research until the day of voting.
And the mayoral elections weren't due to be held for another two weeks. So I knew nothing, other than I'd seen Olive Styles' face on the side of a bus while I was at my hair stylist's.
"Geez, I didn't even know all of this was on the same street as my bakery," I said, standing in the front of the office that was—or at least, had been—the home of Oli
ve Styles' campaign. The office windows were plastered with "Vote Styles" and three-feet-high posters of Olive's very attractive for fifty-five-year-old face.
Chloe had brought me down here to show me something. She fetched her notes from her bag and went over them. "This has been Olive's campaign headquarters for the past few months," Chloe said.
"I've probably driven past here a hundred times then," I murmured.
"Probably."
Olive Styles’ posters were in very classy colors of blue and white. They weren't the most eye-catching, in your face posters, but she had clearly been going for a more subtle approach. The cool, light colors were probably why the shop front hadn't stood out to me very much.
"Look at this," Chloe said, pulling a piece of paper out of her kit. "It's a list of all the people that Olive was campaigning against," Chloe said, handing it to me. I hadn't known there were so many candidates in a local election. There were six other people running for mayor.
"Looks like she's made a lot of enemies," I said, unable to stop the grin spreading over my face. A lot of enemies for Olive was good news for me.
Chloe reached out and tapped her nail against one of the names on the list. "There were six other candidates, but only one that was a real threat to Olive." Her nail tapped against the name "Braxton Madison." Chloe raised an eyebrow. "Him and Olive were the top two candidates. It was either going to be one of them or the other."
I frowned.
Chloe turned around and pointed to the window of Olive's campaign office. She pointed to a spot in the corner where one of Olive's classy blue and white posters had been covered by a garish poster in colors of yellow and red that definitely caught the eye, but not necessarily in a good way. It took a moment for me to look past the loud color scheme to be able to focus on the candidate's face.
"That's him!" I said, pointing at the poster just like Chloe was. "Braxton Madison," I gasped. "That's the man that was in the bakery with Olive when she died!"
Chloe nodded. "Told you that you wouldn't believe it," Chloe said with her eyebrows raised.
The Mud Pie Murderess: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery Page 2
