Flourless to Stop Him

by Nancy J. Parra

  “There’s a cot in your office.” Tasha nodded toward my empty office as she hung her coat and gloves up on the hooks in the back kitchen of the bakery. It was late afternoon and she was between work and having to pick up Kip from his tutor.

  “Why do you assume it’s for me? Tim could’ve gotten fed up with bunking at the house.”

  “I saw Tim at home this morning,” Tasha said, grabbing a mug and pouring herself some coffee from the ever-ready pot in the back kitchen. She stirred in three packets of artificial sweetener.

  “Fine, you caught me.” I shrugged. “I’ve got to push out nearly one hundred orders in the next three weeks if I hope to have enough money to pay the mortgage next quarter.”

  Tasha climbed up on a kitchen stool and hugged the mug in her hands. She looked gorgeous in dark blue linen pants and a white shirt patterned with tiny red and blue flowers. She tossed her blonde hair and it fell into place in perfect curls. “Is business down?” she asked.

  Tasha had recently had to make some serious business decisions when her bed-and-breakfast went under. I hoped I wasn’t going to be following in her footsteps.

  “Christmas is one of the few holidays where I can pad my revenue for the lean times . . . like January, when everyone starts dieting for the New Year. Or March, when they start to think about swimsuit weather and their figures.”

  “But your food is gluten-free.” Tasha tilted her head.

  “Gluten-free means no gluten. It does not mean low-calorie or diet food.” I went to the freezer and pulled out a batch of oatmeal–butterscotch chip cookie dough.

  “Can you get your assistant to help you?”

  “I have.” I sent her a wry smile. “But Meghan doesn’t own the place. There are only so many hours I can work her.”

  “You need a third person.” Tasha sipped her coffee.

  “True,” I said as I scooped out dough and plopped it into neat rows on prepared cookie sheets. “But I have to be able to afford to pay a third person. It’s sort of a catch-twenty-two. What I really need are more customers.” I paused. “You’ll never guess who stopped by yesterday.”

  “Who? Was it Chief Blaylock? Do they have an idea of who killed Harold?”

  “No,” I said with a sigh. “It was Lance Webb.”

  “Wait, the Lance Webb? The one I bought that CD player for?”

  “One and the same,” I said with a shake of my head. “What a winner. He came in looking for donuts and when he found out the bakery was gluten-free he refused to even taste anything. This is what I’m up against.”

  Tasha drew her eyebrows together, pursed her lips. “Lance always was a bit of an arrogant loser. You should think about getting a loan from the bank.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I stopped, dough-filled scoop in hand. “The banks are worse than Lance. The bankers won’t even look at me at a Chamber of Commerce meeting. It’s as if, if they don’t acknowledge me, I don’t exist.” I turned back to my cookie sheets and quickly finished filling them. Picked one up and put it in the top oven. Then I checked the bread baking in the bottom oven.

  “I think that’s terrible.” Tasha shook her head. “They’re missing out on income and supporting local businesses.”

  “It’s part of living in a small town.” I shrugged and put the second sheet in the oven. “The bankers in town are used to wheat farmers and beef ranchers. They don’t know what to do with a gluten-free bakery. I think they think Baker’s Treat is too big of a risk.”

  “Go online.” Tasha sipped her coffee. “Get a loan from one of those online banks.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said with a sigh. “What I need to do is sit down and go over my business plan again. The problem with that is . . .”

  “You don’t have time,” she finished for me.

  “It’s a vicious cycle, isn’t it?”

  “Have you talked to Tim? He is so quiet. It’s not like him to shut himself into a room.”

  “I think he’s trying to stay out of sight until they figure out who killed his best friend,” I said. “Poor guy.”

  “I think he’s grieving. I mean, Harold was his best friend for years. Were they in touch still?”

  I paused and thought about it. “You know, I don’t know. I’ve been away too long.” I drew my eyebrows together. “Funny, but Tim hasn’t mentioned Harold in years. I heard they had a falling-out.”

  “Sounds like something you should find out,” Tasha said pointedly. “Maybe Harold was into drugs and that’s why they quit hanging out.”

  I worried my bottom lip. “I really don’t know.”

  “Your brother needs you,” Tasha said cautiously. “Did he ask you to investigate?”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “He did. But I’m not a private investigator,” I pointed out. “I’m afraid I’ll make things worse.”

  “For you or for Tim?” Tasha asked.

  “For both,” I said and went back to work doling out cookie dough and filling baking sheets. “I need to concentrate on making Baker’s Treat a success, and that’s taking my every waking hour.” I paused and winced. “Am I being selfish?”

  “It’s not selfish,” Tasha said. “It’s practical.”

  I put the empty bowl in the sink and sprayed it with water to keep the bits of dough from hardening. “Thank you!” It was nice to have a friend who agreed with you. “Do you think that Tim understands?” I wiped my hands on the dish towel I had pinned to the waist of my apron.

  “Tim doesn’t need you to save him,” Tasha said.

  “Wow, tell Grandma Ruth that. She’s upset with me for not investigating. For a minute I thought you were, too.” I pulled out a clean bowl and checked my list. Next up were cherry, pistachio, vanilla refrigerator cookies.

  “I’m not upset that you aren’t investigating,” Tasha said. “I’m upset that you are working so hard. You can ask for help, you know.”

  “I know,” I said. “Grandma scolded me, too. I told her that we have to trust Chief Blaylock and Calvin to do their jobs. It’s why we pay our taxes.”

  “Calvin’s supersmart and dedicated,” Tasha said. “He’ll figure it out.”

  “How’s that going, by the way?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Seems to me that the last time we talked about Calvin, you told me you thought you were falling in love with him.” I measured ingredients and added them to the bowl. “Have you told him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But I haven’t seen a lot of him lately,” I said. “Is he okay with the way you feel?”

  “We’re taking things slow.” Tasha sat back.

  “Whose idea is that?”

  “Mine,” she said. “I really am falling for Calvin, but I’m trying to slow things down for my own good. I realized that I keep jumping from one relationship to another fast and furiously trying to create a family with Kip and . . . well, we’ve seen where that’s gotten me in the past.” Tasha’s last boyfriend had tried to kill us both. She wasn’t exactly the best at picking a good man.

  “I understand. It’s why I promised myself that I would wait a year from my divorce to date again. If you keep doing what you’ve always done you tend to get the same results.”

  “Right?!” She got up and filled her cup a second time. Then she pinched a muffin out of my seconds pile. I would sort out my baked goods and any that came out too crisp or not perfectly shaped I’d set aside. The seconds were usually given to family or friends. It’s not that they weren’t as good or as tasty as the premium goodies. It was simply a matter of professional pride not to sell anything less than a perfect baked good.

  “Mmmm, this is good!” Tasha said. “Is that cranberry?”

  “Yes, those are cranberry walnut muffins,” I said. “I was experimenting with a variety of spices to go with the fruit.”

 
“Well, these are perfect, if you ask me.” She saluted me with the muffin and sat back down.

  “So you’re taking it slow with Calvin?” I didn’t give up on my train of thought. Calvin had access to our house whenever he spent time with Tasha. Not that I suspected a police officer, but it did seem odd that whoever framed Tim was always one step ahead of the investigation.

  “As slow as I can,” she said as she bit into the muffin. “The man is gorgeous and has that broad-chested-hero thing going on. It’s hard to say no to that.” She sighed. “I really am quite in love with him. It’s scary how quickly I fell for him. That said, I’m not getting any younger. If I want to have another child I need to do it in the next five years.”

  I snapped my head around. “You want more kids?” This was the first time I’d heard her say that was even a possibility. After Kip presented with Asperger’s syndrome, Tasha had blamed herself and sworn off bringing any more kids into the world. I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t anything she had done. I’d spent years sending her research on the issue, but she’d always been adamant that it was something she’d done. The jerks she’d married hadn’t helped her with her self-esteem. That’s why it was so surprising that she’d mentioned having another child.

  “Kip’s been learning about family at school. He was asking me why he doesn’t have brothers or sisters. He also mentioned that you have a lot of brothers and sisters and so do all your cousins.”

  “You’re thinking about more kids because of Kip?” I knew that didn’t sound right.

  “No, that’s not the only reason. My biological clock is ticking.” She sat back, her fingers curled around her mug. “Isn’t yours?”

  I swallowed. “Yeah, sure. I mean, I think about it . . . but it might be too late for me.” I shrugged. “I went through this period with Eric where I was crazy to have babies. I mean, why else do you get married? But he was never ready and then I discovered I had celiac—not that I couldn’t get pregnant but it took a lot of time to diagnose and I was on all kinds of prescription drugs before they figured out what it was. I didn’t want to chance being pregnant with so many different drugs in my system. Then after I got straightened out, it was too late. I walked in on Eric and Tessa and the rest is history.”

  “And now you have Baker’s Treat.”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Now this is my baby. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want kids. I’m not getting any younger, either. But I’ve seen too many women jump from one bad relationship to another because they are afraid to be alone.”

  Tasha colored. “It’s not so much fear of being alone. . . .”

  “Oh, honey, I wasn’t talking about you.” I went over and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry. I was talking about our classmates Cindy Oxford and Joyce Menard. All they did was cry and complain about their first husbands. Then when they were finally free to choose better men, they were so obsessed with finding ‘the one’ that they dated a new guy every weekend and were suddenly remarried before the first anniversaries of their divorces.”

  “Oh, true.” Tasha patted me back. “Now they complain worse about their second husbands than they did their firsts.”

  “If it helps, I think Calvin Bright’s a really nice guy.”

  “I know.” Tasha sighed. “But cops have this reputation of being unfaithful.”

  “Really?” I tilted my head.

  “Have you never heard that? Supposedly women throw themselves at a man in uniform. Especially one who ‘rescues’ them.” She used air quotes around rescues.

  “Calvin doesn’t really seem the type to be unfaithful. He goes to church every Sunday. I see him coming out of the service.”

  “My first husband went to church.”

  “Okay, I get it. You’re worried that he’s a cliché.” I went back to making more dough for the triple-layer cookies. “It seems to me that there’s a cop-and-donut cliché as well. I have yet to see Calvin at Daylight Donuts.”

  Tasha smiled. “He says you have better coffee.”

  That warmed my heart. “See? I told you he was a smart man.”

  “I don’t think taking things slow is bad this time.” Tasha got up and put her cup in the sink. “But it’s hard to be patient when your clock is ticking.”

  “Truer words were never said,” I said. She gave me a hug.

  “I’ve got to get to work. Let me know if you need help with your cookies. It’s what friends do.”

  “Thanks.” I hugged her back. “Have a good day.”

  “One more question.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Who are you going to date? Sam or Brad?” Her eyes twinkled at my dilemma.

  “Who’s to say either will want to date me once things slow down here?”

  “Oh, please, you’re the best catch in town.”

  “Thanks, but tell my cousin Mindy that.”

  “Oh, I meant to ask you, how is Mindy? She’s in the house, but she never says anything more than ‘hi’ to me or Kip.”

  “Something is up with her.” I shrugged. “I don’t know what yet, but she’s made it clear to me and Grandma Ruth that she has her eyes on Brad.”

  “Ouch, how does that make you feel?”

  “There isn’t much I can say. It’s not like I can tell her to stay away from him if I’m not dating him.”

  Tasha narrowed her eyes. “Well, I can.”

  I laughed. “Good friends . . .”

  “Help you bury the body,” Tasha finished.

  The thing is that it wasn’t Mindy’s body I was worried about. It was the skeletons buried in her closet.

  CHAPTER 12

  Very early the next morning Grandma Ruth stopped by and sat down at the tiny table in the kitchen of Baker’s Treat.

  “Tim’s been renting rooms in local motels at least once a week for the last six to eight months.” Grandma drank the coffee I put in front of her along with a small plate of my latest cookies.

  “No, he hasn’t,” I said. “I know for a fact he’s been living with me since Mom died. Except for the last thirty days, when he moved into his own apartment.”

  “My sources say he usually used the room for a few hours then vacated it.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Who are your sources?” I rolled out more dough. This time it was all sugar cookies, which would be cut into fun animal shapes then carefully frosted to a high-gloss sheen. Each sugar cookie would have a small hole punched in the top before baking so that they could be used as Christmas tree ornaments.

  “A good reporter never exposes her sources,” Grandma Ruth said with her mouth full of cookie. “Besides, I have access to printouts of some of the smaller hotels’ registrations. Tim’s name shows up quite often.”

  “Is that legal?” I shook my head and started cutting out giraffes and elephants. “Forget I said that. Just because someone used Tim’s name doesn’t mean it was actually him. Knowing Tim, he could easily have had his identity stolen. He never uses any precautions. He tells me that he’s too much of a nobody. No one would want his identity.”

  “Not true,” Grandma said and slurped coffee. “Small-town nobodies are the best targets to steal. No one knows them well enough out of their own town to even question if they are who they say they are.”

  “That’s what I told Tim.” I carefully transferred the cutout cookies from the slab to the cookie sheets. Any cookies that changed shape or broke apart were tossed back into the bowl to be rerolled.

  “Besides, I already checked into Tim’s credit record. There isn’t any proof of identity theft. That said, no one seems to remember if it was Tim who rented the room. They see the name and Tim’s face pops up in their mind’s eyes.”

  “Eyewitnesses are notoriously unreliable.”

  “You know what I think?” Grandma crammed another cookie in her mouth.

  “What?” I put th
e full cookie sheets into the oven and set the timer.

  “If Tim didn’t rent all these rooms, then someone else local did.”

  I drew my brows together. “What makes you think they’re local?”

  “People would remember a stranger. Even better, they would remember if a stranger used Tim’s name.” Grandma slurped more coffee.

  “But if someone like Todd used Tim’s name, they would know that, too. Wouldn’t they?”

  “Oh, they might or they might not. Think about it. If Todd stopped in and registered, would you verify he wrote his name and address? What if he says he has family coming in and he’s paying? No one would turn down his money. They know where he lives.”

  “You are devious,” I said.

  “Thank you,” Grandma said and grinned.

  “What does Tim have to say about this?”

  “Tim says he has no reason to rent rooms. He has his apartment and the house.”

  “That’s certainly true.” I rolled out more dough. “Didn’t the police consider that?”

  “It was one of the first things they considered.” Grandma nodded. “According to my sources, there was drug paraphernalia left at each room site. Word around town is that Tim’s been drug dealing out of these rooms.”

  “That’s crazy!” I washed my hands, dried them on a towel and checked the cookies in the oven. It was time to switch them from middle rack to high and high to middle. “Tim never took drugs, let alone sold them.”

  “My sources tell me Tim’s been making some big dents in his credit card debt lately.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything.” I cut out more cookies as the scent of vanilla and butter filled the air. “He deliberately stayed with me at the homestead to pay off his bills.”

  “The entire case is circumstantial.” Grandma nodded. “But Tim is the best suspect so far. We need to find another suspect if we want to get the police away from Tim. Once they identify a person of interest, they can be like a dog with a bone. They’ll stick with Tim until the bitter end.”

  “Poor Tim,” I said and transferred cookies. “I wish I had more time to help.”