Flourless to Stop Him

by Nancy J. Parra

  “That’s what family is for,” Grandma said. She reached into the pocket of her brown corduroy pants and pulled out her cell phone.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m calling your cousins. You may be too proud to ask for help, but I’m not.”

  I swallowed my embarrassment and went out to my office to fire up my computer. There was no time to argue. I had to find a connection between Blackmore and Harold. Right now it seemed like the only hope we had in cracking the case.

  * * *

  An hour later, I had dug up a list of Harold’s investors. It was surprisingly long. The problem was that Blackmore was not on the list. Still, there were several investors listed under corporations. Which meant Blackmore was not off the hook yet. I had to dig into the corporations to see if there was a hidden connection.

  Meanwhile the back kitchen was full of cousins. Lucy had come and brought her two oldest girls. I took time off from sleuthing to hand out aprons and set up the back kitchen in workstations. Then I divvied up the to-do list and turned on the satellite radio to pop music. My quiet kitchen was now a madhouse of activity.

  The ovens were working full speed. The proofers were full of dough. Amber had the cake station and was busy rolling fondant and covering the crumb-coated cakes with the proper color base.

  I had a big batch of buttercream frosting and bags and tips and was taking the fondant-covered cakes and finishing them off with buttercream skirting at the bases of the cakes and personalized decorations on the top.

  Outside the snow fell in fat flakes and the Christmas lights in the front of the shop blinked. It was a blast working with my cousins and teasing the girls about their boyfriends, joking with Lucy over who was the most experienced baker, and making the work easier with creative competitions.

  * * *

  The afternoon flew by. For the first time in weeks, the entire day’s list of baked goods was finished by dinnertime. Lucy and I let the girls go home with boxes of goodies that didn’t quite make the grade to sell in the front. I had to stay at the bakery to man the front of the store until nine. Plus the deliverymen were set to come and pick up the stacks of boxed baked goods at six thirty.

  “Thanks for all your hard work today. I don’t know what I would have done without you and your girls.”

  “Anytime.” Lucy brushed back her lovely blonde hair. It was thick and had those beachy waves everyone wanted. Except hers were natural. Like me, she wore black slacks and a white tee shirt. But instead of BAKER’S TREAT her shirt said GRANDMA’S DINER. That was the restaurant that Lucy owned and ran. “That’s what family is for.”

  “Yeah, Grandma Ruth said the same thing. I guess I worked so hard to be independent that I’d forgotten how to ask for help and work as a team.” I rotated my cup of orange zest tea between my hands.

  “How’s Tim holding up?” Lucy asked.

  Lucy had a slender figure that was the envy of all the other women in town. She had five kids and still looked as beautiful as the day she got married. The best part for her was she had curves while I was as thin as a beanpole. I suppose the happy thing was that we both had the same blue eyes—a genetic gift from Grandma Ruth.

  “He’s holding it together as best he can,” I said.

  “I have to wonder how single people prove their innocence. I mean, we live alone. How can we find anyone to alibi us?” Lucy traced the lip of her cup with her fingers. “Isn’t it supposed to be that you’re innocent until proven guilty? I mean, isn’t it the prosecution’s job to prove you’re guilty? Beyond a reasonable doubt?”

  “Yes.” I nodded enthusiastically. “What the prosecution discovered was that Tim had been renting hotel rooms around town at least once or twice a week.”

  “Oh, come on, where would he get the money to do that?”

  “Why would he do it?” I asked and sipped the tea. “Someone came up with the idea that Tim was selling drugs in those rooms. Now, who would be stupid enough to use their real name when they signed into a room? Especially if they planned on doing illegal things?”

  “So, Tim is in the clear because Brad will ask that question and point out that Tim was not stupid.”

  “And yet they discovered a rather large bag of cocaine in the garage.”

  “Well, if anything they should arrest you, not Tim, for possession.”

  “With intent to sell,” I added. “The amount of drug was too big to be someone’s recreational stash.”

  Lucy’s mouth flattened. “So someone is framing Tim and doing a bad job of it. Do you have any idea who it could be?”

  “There are a couple of suspects.” I sipped more of my tea, savoring the tangy taste of orange zest. “But again, nothing concrete to tie them to the murder. And if I merely go off circumstantial evidence I’m no better than the police.”

  “Yeah.” Lucy sighed. “I can see the problem.”

  “Murder investigation aside, can I ask you a business question?”

  “Sure, honey.” Her lovely eyes held concern.

  “How was your cash flow the first year you were in business? Mine seems to come and go, hovering around my must-pay-the-bills line. Is it true you have to stay afloat three years before you see a profit? I mean, that’s a lot of time and effort invested if the business never really takes off.”

  “Oh, I remember those days. There were some months where I thought I’d have to close and then somehow the money came through. People became regulars and I learned what the bestsellers were. I adjusted my menu for the bestsellers with one or two chef specials a day to keep my cooking skills fresh and to ensure that I’m not missing out on a new ‘favorite.’ I mean, there is comfort food and then there is boredom. Sometimes it’s a fine line. People like the same thing, only different.” She laughed. “That’s the key, honey. If you can figure that out, then you’re golden.”

  “I think I know what you mean. I already have some bestsellers that I’ve begun to stock daily. And yet there are seasonal favorites like pumpkin pie in November, chocolate peppermint pie in December, and dark chocolate in January.”

  Lucy smiled. “Don’t forget angel food cake with strawberries in March and April.”

  “But of course.” I giggled. “So keep on doing what I’m doing as long as I can?”

  “As long as you can,” she agreed. “If you’re persistent, it will all work out.”

  “Well, that’s a good thought,” I said. “Because if I don’t significantly increase profits this month, I may have to close the doors next month.”

  “Oh no, don’t think that way. I mean, you can always have fund-raisers.”

  “Fund-raisers?”

  “You know,” she said with a glint in her eyes, “you can have a bake sale over at the senior center. Old people love their sweets.”

  “Right?” I shook my head. “Grandma puts so much sweetener in her coffee it has to have as many calories as a donut. She’s just fooling herself that there aren’t any calories in a whole box of zero calorie sweetener.”

  Lucy laughed. “Grandma’s brilliant, which means she can argue herself into getting what she wants every time.” Lucy leaned in and studied me.

  “What?”

  “Are you dating yet?”

  A wash of embarrassment went through me. “No. I promised myself I’d wait a year from my divorce.”

  “Oh, honey, you’re punishing yourself.”

  “What?” I tilted my head and tightened my fingers around my mug.

  “You feel guilty for divorcing Eric and you’re punishing yourself for doing it.”

  “No, I’m not.” I drew my eyebrows together. “I’ve seen too many smart women get divorced and marry again quickly. It never works out. So I’m giving myself time to grieve.”

  Lucy patted my hand. “A woman has needs.” Her expression was full of concern and had tears welling up in my eyes. “
It’s no sin to date a handsome man . . . or two. You don’t have to marry them, you know.”

  “Wow.” I sat back, stunned by her point of view. The thought that I could date Sam or Brad and not do something stupid never crossed my mind. I had been so dead set on my “rule” I hadn’t thought of just how lonely living alone could get. Trust me, even with a large family coming and going a person could be alone.

  “So.” Lucy pulled back and looked down at her hands then back up at me. “Who are you going to date first?” There was a twinkle in her eye.

  “I don’t know,” I said coyly. “The world is full of eligible men.”

  “Stop it! I happen to know two who are interested in you, and possibly three.”

  “What do you mean, three?”

  “Didn’t Officer Strickland bring you back into work the day after the storm?”

  “Yes.” I chewed the inside of my mouth. “But that doesn’t mean he wants to date me. Grandma made me call him and ask for a ride so that I could question him about Tim.”

  “And did you question him?”

  “I tried,” I said and it sounded lame to my own ears. “I’m not very good at that.”

  “No problem—you’re a baker, not a sleuth, right?”

  “Finally, someone who understands,” I said and smiled.

  “Of course I understand. I’m your favorite cousin. So who are you going to date first?”

  I took a deep breath and blew it out. “So many men so little time,” I quipped.

  “Toni! I’m serious. You need to treat yourself. You’ve been working hard for months.”

  “Okay, let’s leave it up to fate. I’ll date the next eligible man who comes through the door.”

  “Oh, you may regret that. . . .”

  I leaned back. “How can I regret that?”

  “Officer Emry is eligible. . . .”

  “Oh, no!” We both broke up laughing.

  The door bells jangled, and Officer Strickland walked through the front door. I was more relieved than I wanted to admit. The chances of my dating Officer Strickland were null and none. “Hi, I’ll be right with you.”

  Lucy giggled even harder. I gave her the stink eye, and that only made her laugh even harder.

  It was hard to keep a straight face as I got up and sent Officer Strickland a sunny smile. “What can I get you?”

  He took off his police hat and pushed his hair out of his eyes. I noticed how square his hands were. His jaw was a little soft and his mouth thin, but his shoulders were wide.

  “What can I get you? Coffee, tea, or dessert?” Okay, that sounded wrong. I bit my bottom lip and accepted the blush that raced across my fair skin.

  “Hi, Officer Strickland,” Lucy said and waved from the safety of her seat at one of the small wrought iron tables. “I recommend the pecan pie. It’s to die for.”

  “I bet,” he said and his confused gaze went to my face. “I’ll take a thermos of that good coffee and a croissant.”

  “Of course, for here or to go?”

  “I’m on duty tonight, so I’ll take it to go.” He leaned over and placed his thermos on the counter as I grabbed a clean tissue paper and put a fat croissant in a paper bag. “Are you still working through the nights?”

  “What? Oh, no. My cousin Lucy and her girls came out to help.”

  “Nice.” He turned to Lucy and sent her a smile. “It’s great to have a large family.”

  “Any news on the murder?” Lucy asked.

  His expression turned solemn. “We’re building a case.”

  “You know my brother Tim is being framed,” I said.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that’s your theory,” he said. “I take it you’re investigating.”

  “She is,” Lucy said before I could get the words out. “We have a few suspects of our own.”

  “Really?” He looked from Lucy to me. “Care to share?”

  “No, I think we’ll wait until we have more than circumstantial evidence.” I filled his thermos full of coffee and capped it tight. “There’s enough false evidence in the case already.”

  “You think the case against your brother is circumstantial?” he asked.

  “That’s seven ninety-nine,” I said and put his goodies on the countertop. “Yes, I do.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I know my brother. He doesn’t deal drugs and he certainly would never stab anyone.”

  Officer Strickland’s gaze was intense. “What’s your theory on how Harold died?”

  “I won’t say until I have proof,” I said and crossed my arms. “It’s not good to unjustly blame someone without proof. That’s what’s happening to my brother. I wouldn’t want to do that to anyone else.”

  “Smart girl.” He gave me his credit card. “Do me a favor, would you?”

  “What?” I asked as I swiped his card and handed it back to him.

  “Call me first if you find any evidence. I’d like to be the first to nail the true killer. Deal?” He held out his hand.

  I took hold of his hand and shook it, conscious of the heat and grip. “Deal.” I nodded.

  “Thank you.” He tugged his hat on, picked up his thermos and bakery bag. “Take care tonight. Don’t stay too late. I heard another big storm is on its way.”

  “Bye now,” Lucy said from her seat and waved her fingers.

  “Ma’am.” Officer Strickland touched the brim of his hat and stepped out. The wind blew in strong and icy. The sky was that low-hanging black of winter clouds and early sunset.

  “Is it really supposed to storm?” I winced at the idea of losing another day of delivery.

  “Hold on, I’ll Google the weather.” Lucy pulled her smartphone out of her pocket and tapped on the screen. “Huh, looks like there is a storm, but it’s fast-moving.” She turned the phone toward me. “With any luck it will be here and gone by morning.”

  The back doorbell rang. “And that’s the delivery guy,” I said with relief.

  “I’ll walk back with you.” Lucy got up and bussed our table. “I’ve got to get on over to the diner and see how things are going. I promoted Emmi to lead waitress. So far she’s done a bang-up job.”

  “You’re coming for Christmas Eve, right? I’m putting up a buffet and having an open house so people can come and go when they need to. Grandma Ruth and Bill will be spending the night at the homestead.”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Lucy dropped a kiss on my cheek, put the glasses in the sink, and grabbed her coat as I checked the peephole to see that it was indeed the overnight delivery guy in his brown suit. “Is there anything you want me to bring?”

  “Oh, bring your Christmas brisket. I love that. I don’t know how you make it so tender.” The doorbell rang again and I rolled my eyes. “Hold on,” I said and waited for Lucy to be bundled up before opening the door.

  “It’s a secret recipe,” Lucy said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s gluten-free.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the door and Lucy left as the delivery driver walked into the kitchen. Sharp, icy air blew in with them a sharp contrast to the warm sweet scent of baked goods.

  “I hear there’s a storm coming,” I said as the delivery guy checked off packages with his scanner.

  “Yeah, we know,” he said as he worked smoothly through the piles of boxes filled with baked goods. “No worries. Delivery is guaranteed this time—power or no power.”

  “Cool,” I said and signed his scanner. “With Christmas only a few days away, I need to guarantee my delivery times.”

  “We understand,” he said and gathered up the boxes and stacked them on a small dolly he’d wheeled in behind him. “My boss says we have to have the packages there and on time, even if it means we work through the night and have to walk through darkness, sleet, and snow.”

  “Like
that old postal service saying,” I said and smiled as I opened the back door and let him go out into the swirling beginnings of the storm.

  I watched as my baked goods left my custody. These deliveries were do-or-die for Baker’s Treat. It was out of my hands as to whether they arrived or not. I closed and locked the back door, rested my forehead on the cool wood and said a little prayer that nothing more would go wrong between now and Christmas.

  CHAPTER 27

  “I got it!” I shouted and stood with excitement. No one heard me because I was in my home office in the homestead and it was after midnight. Mindy was still out with Brad and Tim went to bed early to mope about his loss of his job and his apartment.

  Excitement washed through me. I printed out the list I had so carefully put together. I still needed to double- and triple-check the findings, but if they were right I had proof that it was indeed the same security guard number that coincided with all the nights that Tim had supposedly checked into the hotels.

  I grabbed up the papers and ran down the hall to Tim’s bedroom. The lights were out. I raised my hand to knock and then thought better of it. He hadn’t slept since the day he was arrested. I didn’t want to be the one to continue his streak. I looked at the papers with dates and numbers. If he was sleeping, then it would take him a while to wake up enough to decipher the meaning of the numbers.

  Deflated that there was no one to share the evidence with, I heard the front door open and close. Mindy was home.

  I rushed downstairs, spurred on by my discovery. “Hey, hi, how was your night?”

  “Fine.” She sounded the opposite of fine.

  “What happened?” I hit the bottom of the stairs and stopped her in the foyer.

  Mindy burst into tears.

  Oh no, my news was going to have to wait. I put my arm around her and walked her into the kitchen. “Come on, I have a special drink that I make at times like these.”

  Mindy sobbed, covered her mouth, and hiccupped, trying to stop. “I’m sorry.”

  I snagged a box of tissues on the way into the kitchen. “Here, let me take your coat.”