Wined, Dined and Dead: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  "Oh," he said, frowning as a glimmer of recognition flickered across his tired face. "I do recall your party," he said before sighing with annoyance. "I am going to have to get that suit dry cleaned, you know. I should charge you for the bill."

  For crying out loud, it was one drop of wine.

  "So is that what you are here for?" Tyson asked. "To apologize? Or perhaps you want an autograph. Well, I'm afraid I don't do any signings while I am in my robe."

  I tried to bite my tongue. "No, um, even though we are both huge fans of your work." I tried not to laugh. "That’s not why we are here this evening, Mr. McCall."

  And we're certainly not here to pay for your dry cleaning bill, I thought.

  Tyson McCall folded his arms. "Why are you here then?" he asked suspiciously. "And by the way, how the heck did you find out where I lived?"

  I couldn't give away the fact that Scott had sold out one of his best customers. "Like I said, we're big fans from way back," I said. Well, that just made us sound like stalkers, didn't it.

  "It's almost eleven-thirty," Pippa whispered to me.

  Right. I had to hurry up, "So you might recall that we all had to clear out of the restaurant quite early," I said to Tyson.

  "What was all that about anyway?" Tyson asked, confused. "I didn't really believe that the kitchen was flooded. I never saw any water."

  Very observant. Perhaps he should become a detective instead of a news anchor.

  Pippa and I exchanged glances.

  "I noticed that you left your table and got up to use the bathroom right before we had to clear out," Pippa said.

  Tyson pulled his robe tighter again. "I didn't realize you were watching my every move so intently."

  "Like we said," Pippa continued stifling a laugh. "We're very big fans."

  "Yes, well, I am used to the attention," he said, sounding a little resigned. And a lot full of himself.

  It looked like Pippa was using every amount of restraint to not react to that statement. "Did you see anything unusual while you were walking past the kitchen?" Pippa asked.

  Tyson let out a long exasperated sigh. "No. Just the usual. A bunch of busy, screaming chefs and harried waiters. Why on earth are you asking me about this?"

  "So nothing unusual?"

  "Nothing," Tyson said sharply. He looked like he was about to slam the door on us. That wouldn't be good.

  I stepped in a little closer so that if he slammed the door, he would catch me in it. I doubted he wanted the bad press of slamming a door on a young woman and breaking her ankle.

  "It's just that you must have walked by just as..." Pippa stopped. I knew that she couldn't say anything else without giving away exactly why we were there. For one thing, Scott had already warned us about not letting this get out to the press. And we'd blow our opportunity to trip him up if we played our cards too early and told him that there was a dead body.

  "Just as what?" Tyson asked, narrowing his eyes. He had one hand on the door, still ready to slam it on me at any second.

  "Just as...just as the kitchen was flooding," I said, cutting in. "Scott, the head chef, suspects that maybe someone was trying to sabotage the restaurant," I stated. Good cover, if I did say so myself. I was quietly pleased. Perhaps smugness was contagious.

  Tyson actually looked concerned for a moment. "Scott is a friend of mine. I’m sorry to hear that someone would try to damage his restaurant."

  I shot a hopeful look at Pippa before I turned back to him. "So can you help? Did you perhaps see anyone strange hovering around? Ducking into the stock cupboard, for instance?"

  Tyson shook his head slowly. "I’m truly sorry to say that I didn’t see anything. In fact, I don't even remember seeing Scott there last night."

  I shot Pippa a look out of the corner of my eye. What about when Scott had yelled at our poor waiter? He had been so annoyed that he'd thrown his napkin down and stormed out. That didn't seem like the actions of a guy who was very good friends with the chef in question.

  "I can always look into it, if you like," Tyson said. "I am a journalist after all."

  I coughed a little to hide my reaction. I don't think that what Tyson did really amounted to journalism, did it? Wasn't he just the face that read from the teleprompter? But we couldn't really take the chance.

  "No, no, there's no need for that," I hurried to say. "Scott wants to keep this all quiet for the time being. And he doesn't want to put customers off before tomorrow. He hopes that you can respect that," I said.

  Tyson raised his eyebrows in a show of annoyance. "Well, if that's all you’re here for, I really have to ask you to leave and get off my property. If I see you again, I will be handing you that dry cleaning bill after all," Tyson stated before he finally slammed that door shut.

  We headed back to the car. Time was ticking and I didn't feel like we were making any headway at all. There was that panicky feeling in my chest again.

  "Do you believe him?" I asked as I settled behind the wheel again.

  Pippa shrugged a little from the passenger side and pulled on her seatbelt. I tried not to be too annoyed by her show of indifference. We didn't have time to mull the facts over, though. "Well, come on," I said. "Gut instinct. Was he telling the truth?"

  "No," Pippa said, shaking her head.

  "I don't think he is either," I stated.

  But we didn't have time to waste sitting there thinking about it. We had to press on.

  "Hey," Pippa said, looking at the time tick over on the dashboard. "It's Valentine's Day."

  Chapter 5

  We pulled into the parking lot of Scott's restaurant only to be met by him violently waving at us. At first I thought he was just really pleased to see us, but by the time I saw the police car sitting there, it was too late. He wasn't greeting us. He was trying to warn us away.

  My phone buzzed. Happy Valentine's Day, Kenneth wrote, adding five kisses at the end. I quickly typed back You too before putting my phone away.

  "Crabs. What are we going to do?" Pippa asked.

  "Maybe they haven't seen us yet," I said, but I wasn't hopeful. Even if they hadn't seen precisely who was there, there was no way the ding of my rusty car hadn't been heard in the dead silence of night.

  "Pippa, you've got a person who is relying on you for everything. And you've also got a baby," I said to her. "You should make a run for it," I said as I saw Detective Jackson Whitaker's head through one of the back windows of the restaurant. "There's no point in both of us spending time down at the station tonight."

  Pippa nodded and grabbed her purse out of the car. "I'll try and get some more info on Tyson McCall," she whispered to me, just as Jackson exited the back door of the restaurant. "I'll try to find out what he's hiding from us!"

  Jackson walked over to the car, shaking his head.

  I couldn't tell whether he was pleased to see me or not. "Rachael, it's been a while," he said, as I stepped out of the car. "Don't tell me you're here for a late night feast. The place is closed," he said, gesturing to the restaurant.

  "I know," I said heavily. "I was here earlier." No point in lying. He was going to find out the truth eventually anyway.

  "Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting?" Jackson asked, leaning back against my car. He was probably going to get dust all over that expensive suit he was wearing, but I didn't bother to warn him. "So you were here when the incident took place?"

  'Incident,' yes, I supposed that was what we were calling it.

  "I was."

  Jackson narrowed his eyes. There was a slight flicker of amusement dancing across his face. Probably very unprofessional of him considering he was in the middle of solving a murder, but I supposed he wasn't on a ten-hour deadline. Police didn't usually accept money to wrap up a case as quickly as possible. Well, none of the reputable ones, anyway.

  "So what are you doing back here so soon afterwards?" Jackson asked.

  "I didn't have anything to do with it," I stated. "I'm not returning to the scene of the crime,
if that’s what you are suggesting."

  "No," Jackson said, arching an eyebrow. "But you are investigating the case, aren't you?"

  I gulped.

  "I saw the head chef, Scott, desperately trying to wave you away. And I thought I spotted your car speeding away from the scene earlier."

  "Fine, you caught me." I joined him in leaning against the car. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that we were chatting. More hands on deck could only help me solve the crime quickly, right? He might accidentally let something slip.

  Jackson and I had kind of...a history. A kind of up and down history. It had all started when I'd solved my first mystery here in Belldale well over a year ago and gotten underfoot. I kind of had a habit of doing that. But eventually we'd come to like each other and sort of dated for a while. Of course, that had all been ruined when he'd suspected me of being a killer—that plus the fact he got engaged to someone else.

  But he'd called off the wedding and things had been awkward between us since, in a romantic sense.

  But at least one thing had kind of shifted. He seemed to respect me more as a detective these days. At least he wasn't immediately yelling at me to get off the case and to stop interfering with important police business. So we had come a long way there.

  "So, do you have any clues so far?" Jackson asked. I could see Scott glaring at us out of the corner of my eye.

  I shrugged noncommittally. "One or two irons in the fire."

  "The kid was young. In college. It's a real shame," Jackson said.

  I nodded as guilt twisted in my stomach. I had to remember that this wasn't about the money, or the clock running out, or Scott glaring at me. It was about Paul.

  "You probably got closer to the scene than I did," I said in a low voice, hoping I could coax something out of Jackson without scaring him off completely, like trying to catch an animal in the wild. "How did he die, exactly?"

  Jackson cleared his throat and hesitated just a second. "Blow to the back of the head."

  I tried not to over play my hand. "Could have been an accident then?" I asked. "Could have slipped and fallen. Stock rooms can get pretty slippery...oils...and things like that.” I was rambling.

  Jackson nodded, but he didn't look sure. "Still, better that we look at all circumstances," he stated.

  But I'd got him. Paul's death had been confirmed as a murder. I gulped and looked at Scott, wondering what this meant for him and his business. An accidental death was bad enough, and enough to keep the patrons away. But a murder? That was a hundred times worse.

  "So," Jackson said, straightening up. "If you were here earlier tonight, then you must have seen something."

  "Oh..." I said, standing up straight as well. Crabs, I was the one who had been caught.

  "Which makes you a witness," Jackson said. "So I'm afraid I'm going to have to take a statement. I can either give you a lift or you can follow me down to the station."

  I was weighing my options and whether or not I could pretend to follow Jackson down to the station and then take off like a fugitive when Scott came racing towards us.

  "Are you kidding me, Rachael?!" he screamed, red-faced and about to burst.

  I pressed myself into the car, worried that he might actually attack me right then and there.

  Geez, he really does have a temper when people annoy him.

  "What have I done wrong?" I asked, thinking, aside from spending all night rushing around town trying to save your bacon.

  Scott was steaming. "I just watched the late night news broadcast," he stated.

  Uh-oh. This couldn't be good.

  "They have reported a suspicious death here tonight!" Scott yelled. "What did you say to Tyson McCall?"

  I swallowed. "Nothing. I didn't give anything away, just like I promised. If Tyson knows something, he knew it before I ever went to visit him."

  Scott's breathing was shallow as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You were supposed to solve this case within twelve hours, Rachael, so that I could open tomorrow.” I could almost see the steam pouring out of his nostrils. "Not completely destroy any chances of me doing so!"

  "You were supposed to do what?" Jackson asked, cutting in. It became pretty clear that he no longer respected my detective skills as he glared at me. "You are trying to solve this case in twelve hours? Do you have any idea how stupid that is?"

  No? It sounded pretty smart to me. "You're just annoyed because I can do a better job of this than you can," I said to Jackson.

  "That's it," Jackson said. "I'm no longer giving you an option, Rachael. You'll have to come down to the station with me. Leave your car behind."

  "But," I said, trying to protest, "it's already almost one."

  Jackson glared at me over his shoulder as he strode back to his police car. "I hope you're not still looking at the clock, Rachael. You won't be solving this crime by lunchtime tomorrow. Take it from someone who actually has some experience. A real police officer."

  "It's weird down here in the dead of night," I said to Jackson as I sat down in the middle of the bullpen. Because the station was so quiet, we hadn't even gone to an interview room. There was no one to overhear except one solitary uniformed cop manning the phones twenty feet away, and he was more interested in whatever was on his phone than what we were doing.

  Speaking of phones, I quickly got mine out and tried to covertly send a text to Pippa to let her know that I was being held up.

  I glanced up at the large white clock on the wall of the precinct. Am I going crazy? Are those hands spinning around even faster?

  I put my phone away and sighed. Did it even matter how quickly time was passing anyway? It hadn't sounded like Scott was too keen to keep me in his employment. But I was itching to go anyway. Now that the challenge had been set, I was eager to prove that I could meet it, even if it was only to prove something to myself.

  "What time did you arrive at the restaurant?" Jackson asked, his pen poised over a notepad.

  I shook my head. "Around seven-thirty, I believe. Our booking was for seven, but Marcello was running late."

  Jackson looked up at me sharply. "Marcello."

  "Pippa's husband. You remember him, right? He's back from Europe."

  "Oh right," Jackson said, relaxing a little. "So you were there for dinner with Pippa and her husband?"

  I hesitated a moment before answering. "Yes." It wasn't a lie.

  "Did anyone else join you?" Jackson's pen was still poised. "It's important I know. For evidence," he added quickly. "Everyone who dined in that restaurant tonight is a suspect."

  "Well, I hardly think Kenneth killed the waiter," I said with a loud scoff.

  "Kenneth? Who is Kenneth?"

  I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Why was I so hesitant to tell Jackson who I had been out to dinner with? Kenneth and I had been dating for months. It should have been easy for me to talk about him.

  It just wasn't easy to talk about him with Jackson Whitaker.

  "The fourth person at our table," I said quietly. "My date," I finally added.

  "I see."

  Jackson slowly lowered his pen and wrote something on the pad. "And how well do you know this Kenneth man? For evidence."

  I sighed. "He didn't kill the waiter, Jackson. He was seated beside me the entire time. He didn't leave the table."

  He looked up at me. "Are you sure about that?"

  "Yes."

  "What about the rest of your party? Did anyone else leave the table at the time of the incident?"

  I wasn't sure if I should answer honestly. "Well, yes...Pippa did. She was the one who found the body."

  Jackson put his pen down.

  "Where is Pippa right now?" He furrowed his brow. "Because I could have sworn I saw her fleeing the scene of the crime not once, but twice."

  "This is ridiculous. A waste of time," I said in frustration, about to stand up, consequences be darned. "We've got a limited time to catch whoever did this."

  "Sit back down, Rachael," he said.


  "You can't hold me here," I said, still half out of my chair.

  "Did you know that Paul was working at the restaurant on an illegal visa?" Jackson asked me. "In fact, he was using an entirely fake identity. The ID we found on the body was counterfeit."

  Well, well, well. That changed everything. I needed to get back to Scott. Explain to him that I had a new lead and that I could still save his restaurant if he could just give me a chance. There could be a whole bunch of people out there that wanted Paul dead, if that was even his real name.

  "I didn't know that," I said quietly.

  Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Didn't think so." His tone was far too smug. "See, this is what you get for rushing in and not getting all the facts."

  I rolled my eyes and nodded. Better to just let him have this moment so that I could get out of there and tell Scott what I'd discovered.

  "So, got any plans for tomorrow?" I asked as casually as I could while Jackson tidied up the last of his paperwork for the night. The clock on the wall was still tick, tick, ticking.

  Deep down, I knew how the question must have sounded though, asking Jackson about his Valentine's Day plans while we were in the middle of solving a murder mystery. I really had my priorities straight, didn't I? "Oh, I mean, today, I guess, isn't it..."

  "You mean for Valentine's?" Jackson asked, surprised. "I didn't think you would care what I was up to, Rachael."

  I shook my head. "No, oh, is it Valentine's Day tomorrow?" I asked, still trying to sound calm but by this stage sounding panicky. "I was just checking your plans...in general."

  Jackson put his stack of paperwork down. "You didn't know it was Valentine's Day tomorrow?"

  I shook my head.

  "Then why were you out for dinner at a Valentine's decorated restaurant, eating a romantic dinner with your boyfriend?"

  "It wasn't that romantic. Pippa and Marcello were there."

  Jackson raised an eyebrow at me. "And why are you trying to solve this crime so quickly, if there is no special reason the restaurant needs to be open tomorrow?"

  I pursed my lips. "It's never a bad idea to solve a murder as quickly as possible. Are you saying you'd rather a killer was out there on the loose? Surely it can't be a bad thing to get a murder solved as soon as possible?"