Flourless to Stop Him

by Nancy J. Parra

  “I got a ride with Officer Strickland.”

  “Really?” She looked more confused. “Why not your brother or Uncle Sam or even that hunky Brad guy?”

  “Well,” I said as I started a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookie dough, “first of all, my brother Tim was arrested yesterday and spent the night in jail.”

  “Oh no, I hadn’t heard.” She put her hands on her hips. “That’s terrible. What are they accusing him of?”

  I flattened my mouth and shook my head. “They arrested him for suspicion of murder.”

  “What? No!”

  “I know, right?” I finished up. “He had his bail posted and Brad worked tirelessly to get him out. He was able to convince the judge that Tim was not a flight risk.”

  “They did this in the middle of that storm?”

  “Well, they can only hold you so long without a hearing. Brad worked it so that the judge and prosecutor all Skyped into the jail. Tim was let out on one hundred thousand dollars bail.”

  “Ouch.” Meghan crossed her arms. “Where did he get the money?”

  “Grandma Ruth offered to pay, but I let him put the homestead up for collateral.”

  “Good thing he didn’t do it. What would you do if he skipped town and you lost the house?”

  “I suppose I could stay with Grandma until I figured out other accommodations.”

  “You wouldn’t close up Baker’s Treat, would you?”

  “No,” I reassured her. “Baker’s Treat would not close because I lost my home.” I didn’t mention the fact that I had several bills at the ninety-day point and that I needed to deliver an unreasonable amount of Christmas baked goods to pay them off. It was always best to tackle one problem at a time.

  “I suppose you could always rent the space above the bakery,” Meghan said thoughtfully.

  “I think it would take Mrs. Melcher a year to move all the stuff she has stored up there.”

  “In the meantime, you always have the cot in your office,” Meghan said. Her smile lit up the room.

  “Saw that, did you?”

  “You work too hard.” She added, “You need to go out and have fun. When was the last time you were on a date?”

  “Oh, now, don’t you start in on me,” I said and went to the front to pull out all the day-old pastries from the glass cabinet.

  “You know what they say about all work and no play. . . .”

  “I’ll play when the holidays are over. For now this is our prime time,” I said as I pulled out a tray of cupcakes and put them on the day-old rack in the back.

  Meghan grabbed the remainder of the baked goods and piled them all on one tray then stacked the used trays for washing. I eyed the pile. There were three trays of day-old baked goods. All a loss. The thing about gluten-free was that unlike wheat flour, gluten-free flours tended to crumble in a day or two. Baked goods had to be eaten soon or frozen to preserve the taste and texture.

  “Well, I’m glad I came into work,” she said. “If we both work all night then we can get caught up.”

  “Hmm, that is if the delivery guys will show up tomorrow.”

  “We’re going to say they will.”

  I was cheered by her youthful enthusiasm. Right now I felt exhausted from worry. Maybe spending the night baking with a teenager would help turn around my lack of holiday spirit. One could hope.

  CHAPTER 23

  “Did you know that there is a security company that patrols the hotels in the area?” I asked Tasha the next morning.

  “Sure, the Red Tile uses them.” She dunked her tea bag in her mug. It was after the morning rush and Tasha had come into Baker’s Treat to see me and make sure our friendship was okay after her moving out.

  “Is there only one in town?” I asked as I wiped down the coffee bar and replenished the creams and sugars. I’d made Meghan go home at 5:00 A.M. after we’d caught up on cookie dough making, leaving the yeast dough to proof and the cakes to cool. She’d been a trouper, working through the night, but she was still only part-time help and I had to ensure she watched her hours. Thank goodness she didn’t have any classes this week. She’d admitted that her final was a cake-off, so I’d let her look through my recipes. She decided on a delicate cinnamon raisin cake with orange filling and cream cheese frosting. Tonight I would let her practice making it. The actual final had to be made in the school’s kitchen under the watchful eye of the instructor.

  “There used to be two security companies,” Tasha said. “But the competition was fierce and Blackmore Brothers Security won out.”

  “Was it competition or was there some kind of mafia thing going on?”

  Tasha laughed. Her pretty blonde hair bounced and her blue eyes sparkled. She looked good. Calvin had a positive influence on her and I hoped that he was as wonderful as he seemed. Tasha deserved that and more. “You have such a criminal mind, Toni. No, there was no mafia or payouts. Blackmore underbid the other company at every turn. Their business model was better. They use only part-time guys and don’t offer any insurance or benefits. Everyone is a subcontractor.

  “The other security company was Haverson. They were a family business and had two crews of five that worked full-time. Full-time pay and benefits are expensive. They simply couldn’t compete.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.” I hung the washcloth on a hook behind the counter to dry then poured myself some hot cocoa and sat with Tasha. She wore a lovely flowered blouse under a Christmas green sweater and fresh dark-wash jeans. It made me self-conscious of my black pants, plain white tee and pink-and-white bib apron. Perhaps it was simply that I was exhausted. I’d managed to sleep two hours in my cramped office before the alarm went off and I opened up.

  “I agree it doesn’t seem right,” Tasha said. “But this is America and capitalism is king. The best business model wins. Blackmore has that. If you look at it from the hotel management point of view, cheaper is better. It’s not like Oiltop is a hotbed of crime. Most of the time the security presence is there only to give the customer a sense of safety, not to actually do anything.”

  “That’s pretty clear.” I stretched my legs out and slumped in my chair. “If the Red Tile had real security, then the murder would have never happened.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Tasha’s expression turned serious. “Legally we can only keep an eye on what goes on in the public areas. What happens in the rooms is private.”

  “So there was no way to prevent the murder?”

  Tasha shook her head. “Not really. By law we have to allow anyone who can pay to rent a room. We can’t discriminate. After that we can call the police if they are disturbing the peace or if we notice any illegal activity.”

  “What kind of illegal activity?”

  “Prostitution or drug dealing.” Tasha played with the rim of her mug. “The Red Tile is a family hotel. We call right away if we notice anyone shady. That’s why this murder was such a shock. It’s been really bad for business. We’ve had several reservations get canceled. I may need to let some of the staff go until things pick up again.”

  “Ouch.” I winced. “I hadn’t thought about the effect it might have on your business.”

  “Thankfully, this time it isn’t my business but my boss’s. He promised me that I will be the last one to be laid off, but I had to agree to do whatever needs done—from cleaning toilets to changing lightbulbs.”

  “Oh.” I made a face. “So he’s working you like you own the place, but you don’t. Is he at least paying you well?”

  She lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “It’s a job. In this economy I’m happy to have the work.”

  “Tim lost his job,” I stated and ran my hand over my face in exhaustion. “I’m racing the clock to get orders out so that I can bring money in. I’ve got bills ninety days past due that could sink me if the holiday business doesn’t go well.”
r />   “I wondered why you look so tired. I bet this storm set you back.”

  “I worked all night and I’m almost caught up.” I sent her a small smile. “Now I need my delivery guys to show up and send things out.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought about the highways being closed. Christmas is only two weeks away. Will they arrive on time?”

  “I’ll have to overnight several orders for free.” My mouth flattened at the memory of the price of overnight shipping during the holidays. “But so far so good. Plus I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

  “Lots of people are taking second jobs,” Tasha said. “Calvin talked about picking up a security shift with Blackmore.” She smiled brilliantly. “He thought he could work security for the Red Tile Inn while I’m on shift. That way we can be together and make money.”

  “Officer Strickland was telling me that several of the Blackmore employees are on the police force.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Then that makes the identity thief/murderer even more brazen if he did this under the noses of the local police.”

  “Unless . . .”

  “Unless what?” I leaned in.

  “Unless he is one of the security guys.” Tasha’s eyes grew wide.

  “Oh.” I sat back, my thoughts a whirl. “If he were a part-time security worker, then he would be able to go from hotel to hotel without anyone noticing.”

  “Yes, we don’t think twice about it when a Blackmore uniformed guard comes in. In fact, we’ve been known to comp them a room if things are slow or they’re working late.”

  “Do they sign in when you comp them?”

  “Yes, but we don’t really pay attention to the names.” Tasha’s fingers tightened around her cup. “We see them all the time. We just assume they’re putting their own names down.” She paused. “You know what else? Lance Webb works part-time for Blackmore. Funny, but I hadn’t thought about him in years and then suddenly there he is working for Blackmore.” She shrugged. “It’s a small world.”

  “Someone from Blackmore could be putting my brother’s name down and staying in the rooms.”

  Tasha looked at me with surprise and horror. “I suppose they could. For that matter, they could put down anyone’s name. We see so many strangers that we don’t really pay attention to the names and faces.”

  “Do you think Lance has anything to do with Harold’s murder?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Tasha said. “I don’t think they really knew each other.”

  “What if they did?” I reached into my apron pocket and pulled out my cell phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “I’m calling Brad,” I said. “He would know what to do with this information. Maybe he can check out Lance as well.”

  “Good idea.” Tasha leaned in toward me, concern on her face.

  I listened as the phone rang and Brad picked up. “Ridgeway.”

  “Hi, Brad, it’s Toni Holmes.”

  “Hi, Toni.” His voice had that confident male tone that made me weak in the knees. “What can I do for you?”

  “Thanks for helping bail out Tim.”

  “That’s my job.”

  “Any luck on getting video from the Red Tile incident?” I asked and Tasha drew her eyebrows together in confusion. I held up one finger to let her know I had a plan.

  “No, the video seems to be in analysis hell. No one’s seen it since Strickland took it to the IT guys. We all know it could be months before they get to it. The legal system is overwhelmed and understaffed.”

  “Can they go to trial without the video? It seems as if everything they have on Tim is completely circumstantial.”

  “It’s hard to tell at this point. I’m still waiting on the evidence. It takes a while for the court system to gather it, make copies, and ensure I get them.”

  “I’m glad Tim made bail. It would be horrible to incarcerate him while the judicial process takes its sweet time.”

  “I’m sure Tim appreciates the fact that you put the homestead up as collateral.”

  “Quick question . . .”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you checked for video from any of the other hotels on the nights when Tim supposedly stayed?”

  “I requested it,” Brad said. “The judge had to issue a warrant to collect it. That went through this morning. Officer Emry is out collecting that information right now.”

  “That means you won’t see those images for months.” I frowned at the idea of bumbling Officer Emry collecting CDs of the videos. “Is there any way you can download the files and look at them right away?”

  “Maybe,” Brad said. “I could ask the judge if I could establish a private Dropbox file where all shared evidence is stored online. It’s unprecedented at this time, but it doesn’t mean I can’t ask.”

  “One last thing.” I watched Tasha move her hands as if to signal for me to get to the point.

  “Sure.”

  “Do you know Blackmore Brothers Security?”

  “Vaguely . . . The company is part of the Chamber of Commerce. I might know the owner. Why?”

  “Tasha tells me that the security guys will oftentimes rent a room.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “It could be one of Blackmore’s men who is staying at the hotel and using my brother’s name to register.”

  “Huh.” He was silent for a long moment.

  I chewed my bottom lip and squirmed to keep from breaking the silence. I needed him to conclude what I had concluded earlier. If he didn’t think it was absurd then maybe I was on the right track.

  “I’m not certain if we can prove any real connection between Blackmore Brothers Security and whoever is framing your brother,” he finally said. “The charges for Tim are murder two and drug possession with the intent to distribute. From what I understand, Blackmore hires a lot of off-duty cops. Oiltop is a small town; if a cop were distributing drugs people would know about it.”

  “But Tim doesn’t do drugs.”

  “The stash they found in your garage gave them enough evidence to arrest him.”

  “That was planted. I’m certain. The garage is never locked. Anyone could have put that in there.”

  “You think that maybe one of Blackmore’s men is dealing drugs out of these hotel rooms?” I heard him scratch his chin.

  “It would be a great cover,” I said “The security guard assigned to keep drug dealers out would have the perfect opening to deal themselves. Tasha tells me Blackmore overworks and underpays his guys to keep costs low so that he is able to outbid any competition.”

  “Hmm,” Brad said. “I had a vague sense that he seriously underbid the competition when I attended a couple of Chamber coffees. By the way, why haven’t you been attending lately? You need to keep up on your inclusion in the Oiltop community. It’s a small town, Toni. You need to get involved until you fit in as a native.”

  “I am a native,” I protested. “I was born here and went to school here. My parents are buried here and my grandmother lives here. I’m hardly a stranger.”

  “You haven’t been a part of Oiltop in years, Toni. You can’t expect to come back and have everyone treat you as if you never left. It’s a small town with a closed community. You have to show them why you fit in, not just tell them.”

  “Right,” I said and frowned. “I’ll get involved as soon as I get some free time.”

  “Now is better than later,” Brad pushed. “There’s a coffee at ten A.M. Why don’t you come and mingle a bit. You can’t let it seem like you only joined for the ribbon cutting and the newspaper article. Okay?”

  “Yes.” What he said made perfect sense, but frankly I had no idea how to spend time mingling with the country club set and still have time to investigate this murder and keep my sustainable, environmentally friendly gluten-f
ree store. “Okay, I’ll try to be there.”

  “What do you mean by ‘try’?” he pushed. “If you want to fit in, you need to attend. Whether you like it or not. Trust me on this, it took me three years of Chamber outings and a stint on the board of directors before I was truly accepted in the Oiltop community.”

  “But, wait, you were the high school jock. Everyone was so proud of you.”

  “Yes, but then, like you, I left. When I came back people were certain that I was only around until my father died. It took a lot of hard work and schmoozing before they understood that I wanted to make Oiltop my home.”

  “Why did you want to make Oiltop your home, Brad?” I asked. “Mindy tells me you could easily work for a large firm in New York or Chicago.”

  “I’ve been to New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, Toni. I like Oiltop and its small-town ways. You do, too, or you would not have stayed.”

  “I stayed because of the homestead.”

  “No, you didn’t,” he said. “You could easily give the house to your brother Tim or any one of your cousins. You didn’t. You stayed and opened Baker’s Treat. Now you need to make an effort to fit in. Come to the coffee. Blackmore might be there. You can ask him about the shady characters he hires.”

  “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  “Fine.” I hung up and looked at Tasha. “I got scolded.”

  “How so?”

  “He said I needed to make an effort to fit in.” I frowned. “He said I should attend more Chamber of Commerce coffees.”

  “He’s right, you know.” She wrapped her hands around her warm cup. “You can’t just set up shop and hope people come to you. You have to reach out to them as well. Show them you care and you’re in it for the long haul.”

  My shoulders slumped as I sat back suddenly exhausted. “I’m barely making ends meet now. It’s going to be very difficult to lose two more hours to the Chamber coffee.”