by Mary Kennedy
“I—I don’t know what I mean,” I said, shaking my head. “Was Leslie still sitting at the counter? Where were the cookies?”
“You certainly are in an inquisitive mood today,” Lucinda said playfully. “I feel like we’re playing Twenty Questions.” Her expression turned sober. “Is something wrong, Taylor?”
“I’m not sure,” I said truthfully. “You walked back in the kitchen and Leslie was still sitting there and the cookies were on the counter in front of her. I just want to make sure I understand. I want to picture the scene.”
Lucinda blew out a little sigh. “Yes, it’s just as I described. Leslie was still sitting there, and the cookies were on the cookie sheet, all set to pop in the oven. She must have finished rolling out the dough and used the cookie press. Such a sweet girl. She did a good job, too. They looked lovely, all lined up in rows. Wasn’t that thoughtful of her?”
26
Dana looked puzzled at the discussion, but Ali knew exactly what was going on.
“Lucinda,” she said innocently, “was there any dough left over from the shortbread cookies?”
“Well, there were scraps, if that’s what you mean. You always have some cookie dough left over when you use a cookie press. It’s inevitable. I like to save it and use it in another recipe.”
“You saved it?” This was even better than I’d hoped. I could hardly restrain myself. I felt like jumping off the stool and rushing over to Lucinda’s. The picture was finally coming into focus. Leslie had been alone in the kitchen with the cookie dough. Lucinda had been distracted and had spent a long time talking to the young man taking the census. The sesame seeds weren’t in their usual place in Lucinda’s spice rack. How tempting it would have been for Leslie to just reach into the spice cabinet and give a good sprinkle of sesame seeds to the shortbread cookies. No one would be the wiser. At least, that’s what she was counting on.
“Well, Leslie tried to throw out the scraps”—my spirits plummeted—“but I told her I always save them for a cookie-crumb crust. You know how thrifty I am. Waste not, want not. They’re perfect for a pie crust, you know. They’re excellent with key lime pie; it’s one of my favorite recipes. It’s ever so easy to make, especially if you already have leftover dough. You just press it into a pie pan and bake it at 350 degrees before adding the key lime filling. Anyway, I gathered up all the shortbread scraps and froze them.”
“They’re still in your freezer?”
Lucinda blinked. I knew she was baffled by my questions, but I didn’t want to let her know my suspicions. At least, not yet.
“No, I used them up for the key lime pie I just told you about—”
“You’ve already made a pie with them?” My voice was spiraling downward in dismay. I thought we were on to something, and now my hopes were dashed.
“Yes, the hospital guild was running a bake sale and asked me to contribute something. My key lime pie is always popular, so I made one right away. Cheryl Simmons stopped by and picked it up last night.” She paused and laid a hand on my arm. “Taylor, my dear, is something wrong? I can tell you’re troubled, and I have no idea why. Please let me help you.”
“No, it’s nothing, Lucinda, really.” I forced a lame smile. “I’m just a bit out of sorts today; don’t give it another thought.”
By the time we ushered a very puzzled Lucinda out the door, I was exhausted. Ali and I retreated upstairs, leaving Dana to manage the shop. Ali made iced coffee and wordlessly passed me a frosty glass. It’s one of my favorite pick-me-ups. I started sorting through my thoughts out loud. Sometimes it helps me focus and get clarity on a situation.
Ali beat me to it. She flopped on the couch, put her feet up on the coffee table, and said, “It might not be anything, you know. The whole thing could have been perfectly innocent. Leslie stopped by for a visit, and she just wanted to be helpful. And Lucinda could have mixed up the spices herself.”
“But now we’ll never know, will we?” I said, letting out a deep breath. “What are the odds we could track down that pie?”
“Taylor,” Ali said, “I think you’re getting carried away. You’re obsessing over Leslie.”
“She had every reason to dislike Sonia,” I pointed out. “She was breaking up her family, urging Jeremy to leave her and the kids. Sonia was the ultimate home-wrecker. It’s only natural for Jeremy’s wife to despise her.”
“A lot of people had reason to dislike Sonia,” Ali reminded me. “We have other suspects, you know.”
I nodded. She was right, of course. Maybe I was clutching at straws. My mind was doing somersaults, trying to integrate what I’d just learned about Leslie and the shortbread cookies into my theory of the case. Now that I had new information, should I shuffle the list of suspects? Where did Leslie fit into the new lineup? I could see that Ali didn’t share my suspicions about Leslie, and I wasn’t sure why.
“What do you think about Edward?” Ali said suddenly. “I know he doesn’t look like a murderer—”
“They never do.” I interrupted her with a little snort. “That whole story about his nephew doing an internship for Sonia’s company was certainly a surprise. It makes me feel a little uncomfortable that he didn’t mention it before. How could he just sit there and not say anything? We were all talking about Sonia and her personality and how she rubbed some people the wrong way, and he just sat there like a bump on a log! You have to admit, that’s pretty strange.”
“It does seem a little odd,” Ali conceded. “But would that be a motive for murder? Or is there something else you’re not telling me?”
I shook my head. Ali was right; I was leaving something out. I hadn’t told her that Edward had seemed completely unmoved when Sonia collapsed in our shop. His expression had never changed. His features could have been chiseled in stone. Could it be that Edward was just a reserved sort of person who didn’t show his emotions? Or could it be that he wasn’t surprised by Sonia’s collapse because he had something to do with her death? I wasn’t completely sure if I’d accurately read Edward’s expression that day, so I didn’t want to use that to bolster my case against him.
“It doesn’t seem like much to go on. The only way Edward could have killed her is if he slipped something into that coffee cup from Java Joe’s,” Ali said. “He’d have to know about her allergy, of course, and he’d have to know something about anaphylactic shock. He would have had to come prepared.”
“Which wouldn’t be hard,” I countered. “After all, his nephew used to work for Sonia. He could easily have gotten the information from him. And who knows, maybe it was written up in a magazine article someplace. Sonia liked to give interviews. Maybe she mentioned it to a reporter and Edward read about it.”
“And what happened to that cardboard coffee cup?” Ali pondered. “Sam Stiles said it’s not part of the evidence they collected at the scene. It couldn’t have just walked away.”
“Someone could have crumpled it up and stuck it in their pocket. They could have walked right out the door with it if they really wanted to. No one would suspect anything or try to stop them.”
“And if someone did spirit it away, what happened next?” Barney entered the room with a soft meow and jumped into Ali’s lap. Scout was trailing behind and decided to make a quick detour to her food dish.
“I imagine they’d want to get rid of it right away. They probably tossed it in the nearest trash can, or maybe a Dumpster.”
“Taylor, what if they couldn’t get rid of it right away? What if they were forced to stick around with the incriminating evidence right in their pocket?”
I allowed myself a little smile. “I’d say they were probably a nervous wreck, hoping they could leave before the police arrived and interviewed them, or worse, found the evidence on them.” I paused as the picture began to take shape in my mind. “Ali, what are you suggesting?”
“Think about it, Taylor. We called an impr
omptu meeting of the Dream Club because everyone was already in the shop. Didn’t a couple of the members seem reluctant to stick around? I have a vague memory about that.”
I had a memory, too, but it wasn’t vague, it was crystal clear. “Etta Mae and Edward Giles,” I said promptly. “I practically had to twist their arms to get them to come upstairs. They were all set to leave when the crowd poured out.”
“That could be it,” Ali said, her eyes bright with excitement. “What if one of them was holding the paper coffee cup? Or they’d hidden it somewhere in their clothing? Of course they wouldn’t want to come upstairs; they’d want to make their getaway as soon as possible!”
“Or,” I said, playing devil’s advocate, “wouldn’t it be perfectly normal to want to leave after such an upsetting sight? A famous celebrity collapses during a book signing, the paramedics arrive and whisk her away to the hospital? That would be enough to turn anyone off. If you remember, you and I were pretty shattered by what happened.” She nodded solemnly, her eyes widening. “And Etta Mae and Edward are the newest members of the group, so they don’t know everyone like we do. They could have been so upset by what happened to Sonia, they just wanted to go home.”
Ali cocked her head to one side, considering. “It’s possible,” she said finally. “Why do I feel like we’re back to square one?”
“I don’t know. I keep trying to put the pieces together, but something just doesn’t fit. I think we need to talk to Sam Stiles. I’d like to hear her take on this. She doesn’t know about the scene in the kitchen with Lucinda and Leslie. She’s probably focusing all her energies on that Java Joe’s coffee cup.” I paused. Maybe Sam was headed in the right direction with the investigation and I was off base? Still, we had to tell her about Lucinda and the shortbread cookies, just in case.
“And I think you need to talk to Noah,” Ali said. She’s always had a soft spot for Noah, and I know she’d be thrilled if we got back together, not as friends but as a couple.
“Ali . . .” I said warningly.
“I know, I know,” she said in a singsong voice. “You want me to play little sister and mind my own business.”
I laughed. “Something like that.” I could never stay annoyed with Ali; she has my back, as she loves to tell me. There is no one more loyal than my kid sister, and she’s been there for me in some very tough times.
I was just about to call Noah when Dana’s voice, low and hushed, came over the intercom.
“Ali and Taylor, are you there?” she said hesitantly. I could hear the tension in her voice. “You need to come downstairs right away; you have a visitor.”
I shot Ali a puzzled look. “We’ll be right down,” I said, lifting Barney off my lap and depositing him gently on the floor. He didn’t even wake up and began purring in his sleep as he curled up on the rug. “Is it Noah?” I said, hazarding a guess.
“No,” Dana said quickly. “I’m afraid not, but it’s someone I know you’ll want to see.” She lowered her voice to a breathy whisper. “She says she’s Trudy Carpenter.”
I clicked the OFF button and turned to Ali. “You’re not going to believe this, but the elusive Trudy Carpenter is downstairs in the shop. And she wants to see us.”
“You’re kidding!” Ali darted toward the stairs, stopping at the landing to make sure I was following her. “This should be interesting,” she said, her expression somber.
27
“I should have come to see you ages ago,” Trudy said a few minutes later. I could hardly take my eyes off her. She was the spitting image of Sonia, with flaming red hair and enormous blue eyes. She looked nothing like Clare Carpenter, the woman Ali and I had visited.
“Have a seat,” Ali said, pulling out one of the counter stools. “Let me get you something to drink.” She quickly poured a glass of iced tea and put it in front of Trudy, who was looking around the shop.
“I just wanted to see where it happened.” There was a hitch in her voice, and her eyes suddenly welled with tears. “It was right here, wasn’t it?”
Ali looked helplessly at me. “Yes, it was,” I said gently. “Right here in the shop. She was surrounded by people who loved her and loved her books,” I added. I wanted to say something comforting but was coming up short. The truth was, except for her paid employees, Sonia was surrounded by strangers when she died. And as far as we knew, her killer’s face might have been one of the last things she saw. I remember how distraught Olivia had seemed when Sonia had been wheeled out by the paramedics. Had it all been an act? I remember thinking at the time how devoted Olivia was to her boss; her shock and worry had seemed genuine. But maybe Olivia was a skilled actress and none of us knew?
“Her fans, you mean.” There was a sardonic twist to her mouth. “She could never get away from them.”
“Do you think she wanted to?” Ali asked in surprise. “I remember how she seemed so energized that day. She hadn’t planned on staying overnight in Savannah, but there was a problem with the plane, and her flight was delayed till the next day.” She pushed a plate of cookies toward Trudy and continued. “But you probably already know all this, don’t you? Sonia wanted to take every moment to promote her books, so we set up a last-minute book signing for her that morning.” Ali smiled. “Sonia seemed like someone who didn’t want any downtime in her schedule.”
“It was probably Olivia who suggested it,” Trudy said, sniffling. “Olivia was always pushing Aunt Sonia to do more book signings, more TV appearances, more cooking shows. She could never do enough to please Olivia.” She looked up, with her lower lip quivering a little. “I don’t understand it, do you? This endless desire to make her business bigger and bigger? I remember when Aunt Sonia baked cakes and cookies for her neighbors. And then she branched out and a lot of clubs hired her. Why couldn’t she have just kept things the way they were? I think the TV show and the books changed everything,” she said sadly. “She never really had time for anyone after that. I always felt like someone snatched her away.”
I pulled out a stool and sat down next to her. “When someone reaches that level of success, their life really doesn’t belong to them anymore. Sonia had an empire. So many people relied on her; she had hundreds of employees. I think she took that responsibility very seriously.”
Trudy nodded. She was wearing a T-shirt with jeans and sandals and her coppery hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Without a trace of makeup, she looked very young and vulnerable.
“I know what you’re saying. Still, I keep wondering what would have happened if she hadn’t stayed overnight here in town. She’d be safely on the next stop on the tour and none of this would have happened.” Her voice broke a little and Ali moved swiftly to put her arm around her.
“Trudy, you mustn’t let yourself think that,” Ali told her. “Sometimes, things just happen and they’re out of our control.”
Trudy glanced at me, her eyes tearing up. “Do you believe that, too?”
“Ali’s right,” I said with as much confidence as I could muster. I wondered how much Trudy knew about her mother’s death. Did she think it was an accident? Did she have any idea that someone had been plotting to kill her and managed to pull it off? Of course, if Leslie really had slipped sesame seeds into the shortbread cookies, it was a crime of opportunity. Leslie saw her chance and took it. The deadly sesame seeds were sitting on the spice rack, just waiting for Leslie to grab them and sprinkle them on the cookies.
But there was another theory of the crime. If someone really had slipped sesame powder into Sonia’s coffee from Java Joe’s, the killer must have carefully planned it in advance and waited for the opportunity to slip it into Sonia’s food or drink. Something about the last scenario seemed a bit off to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I resolved to ask Ali once Trudy left.
I was trying to think of a delicate way to ask Trudy how much she knew about Sonia and her medical condition when she answered the qu
estion herself. I wasn’t sure if allergies could be inherited and if Trudy also suffered from nut allergies.
“Allergies can be so dangerous, can’t they?” Trudy said. “My mom had me tested for allergies when I was a little kid, since they run in the family. Aunt Sonia had them ever since she was a little girl.”
Aunt Sonia. I realized Trudy probably had no idea that Sonia was probably her mother and that Sonia and Clare had been living a lie all these years. Even if it was true, there was no reason to divulge any family secrets now. And it still wasn’t certain. Sonia had been seen carrying a baby into a hospital and coming out empty-handed, but nothing was written in stone. Maybe there was another explanation. And I still couldn’t think of any way it affected the case. Trudy’s dreadful boyfriend had a rock-solid alibi, so he was off the suspect list. And when I looked at this sweet, shy girl, I realized there was no way she could be a killer. Her grief was genuine, and I had no doubt she had loved Sonia.
“Have you already had the funeral service?” Ali asked.
Trudy nodded. “Yes, my mom thought it was better to do it quietly. She didn’t want any media there. I went with my boyfriend and it was very sad. We only stayed a short while.” She stood up, giving a rueful smile. “My boyfriend isn’t exactly popular with my family,” she said sadly. “He’s really a good guy, but he’s had some problems with drugs and alcohol.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that. Your family should be there for you. You need a lot of support right now.” Ali gave her a quick hug.
“I’ll be okay,” Trudy said, shrugging into her jeans jacket. “We don’t see too much of my family. I can only deal with them in small doses. Reggie is all I need right now. Thanks so much for talking with me.” She smiled and hugged me. “I feel much better now.”
As soon as we closed the shop door, Ali sank onto a stool at the counter. “Wow,” she said softly. “That was one visitor I wasn’t expecting.”
