Wined, Dined and Dead: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery

by Stacey Alabaster

  I heard Pippa whispering from the side. "Just relax, Rach."

  I tried to do as she suggested and unfolded my arms. "Well then, what are you planning on doing with me?"

  "How about coffee?" Jackson asked.

  "But it's almost seven am!" I exclaimed.

  Jackson looked bemused. "And seven am isn't a good time for coffee?"

  "I just meant..." But I couldn't say what I 'just' meant. I couldn't say that I only had an hour to go to solve the case.

  Besides, I did kind of want to get a coffee with Jackson. I mean, I did kind of want to get a coffee, no matter who the company with me was.

  "Come on, you look like you could do with one," Jackson said. "You clearly haven't slept all night."

  Good point.

  We arrived at the small cafe in downtown Belldale right at 7:00am, just as a blonde waitress was turning the sign around from closed to open. "You're my first customer of the day," she said with a large beam on her face. "Happy Valentine's Day! You two make a very cute couple."

  "We're not…" I stopped and shook my head. I didn't have the time to clarify. I just wanted to down my coffee and run. We ordered and I quickly sat in a booth, hoping that someone else would enter the cafe soon to break some of the tension.

  "This is romantic," Jackson said, glancing around the cafe. He must have seen the look on my face. "I mean the store. How it's decorated," he rushed to clarify. "Lots of roses and pink hearts everywhere."

  I shook my head and gripped my coffee. "It's okay, I knew what you meant."

  We were both quiet for a few moments.

  "I suppose you have your bakery decorated in a similar fashion," Jackson finally said.

  "I did," I said. This wasn't something I really wanted to talk about.

  "This must be a big day for you," Jackson said.

  "What do you mean?" I thought for a second he was talking about Kenneth. About my love life.

  "Valentine's Day. You must turn a pretty big profit. All those people wanting handmade candies and baked goods."

  "Yes, well, it looks like I won’t be turning any profit on Valentine's Day."

  "What do you mean?"

  I shook my head and sat my coffee down before quickly filling him in on Marcello's antics and the ruined floors and the closure that was inevitable.

  "I'm sorry, Rach," Jackson said. "Geez. It's not the greatest time of the year to have to close."

  I stared into my coffee for a few minutes. "No. But then again, no time of year is a good time to close. And yet this kind of thing just keeps happening to me. It just seems like there's always another setback. Scott is right. It's hard to run a restaurant."

  Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you actually like that guy."

  "Not like that," I said quickly. Then I realized that wasn't even what he meant. I was just way too jumpy about romantic issues right then.

  Jackson studied my face for a minute. "But you do like him on some level?"

  It wasn't 'like' exactly. "I do feel bad for him," I said. "If he has to close shop today through no fault of his own."

  Jackson almost spit his coffee out. "Through no fault of his own? I'm surprised to hear you say that. I thought you were investigating this case, Rachael." He sounded disappointed in me.

  "I am," I said defensively. "You're the one who pulled me away from it to have coffee!"

  "And yet you don't think that Scott has anything to hide?" Jackson asked. "Not to give too much away, but he's one of our main suspects. I don't think I've revealed anything too shocking by saying that to you."

  I stared back into my coffee. "Yes, I know what it looked like," I said.

  "So then why feel bad for the guy? Why have you completely discounted him from your suspect list?" Jackson asked. "Is this another way of cutting corners? Sticking to your deadline?" Jackson shook his head and leaned back. "What is that deadline all about anyway?"

  I was silent for a moment. "He offered me ten thousand dollars."

  I couldn't even bear to look up to see what the expression on Jackson's face was going to be. Probably complete disgust. Anger that I could compromise myself, and the case, just for a quick buck.

  But when I finally looked up, into his eyes, I actually found sympathy there.

  Huh?

  "It's okay, Rachael, I get that you need the money." Jackson took another sip of his coffee. "And it's not like detectives don't charge for their time." He shrugged. "If someone wants you to do a job for them, you should definitely get paid."

  I couldn't believe how understanding he was being. I was shocked, actually. The ten grand had been my dirty little secret the past ten hours.

  Maybe he just wasn't understanding. "Even though part of accepting the money was accepting the time limit?"

  Jackson sighed. "Well, that part isn't so great, I suppose." His face suddenly creased in concern. Suddenly, there was a hint of accusation there. I knew it. "Hang on, Rachael, you're not discounting Scott as a suspect just because he’s paying you, are you?"

  I bit my tongue for a moment. "Not exactly," I said. "I mean, it's not like I would keep it a secret if I found out he was guilty just because he was paying me. I just think that the fact he's paying me means that he ISN'T guilty." Didn't that make sense? I quickly drank the remainder of my scalding hot latte. It burned my throat like I'd swallowed lava.

  I coughed, as though that would do anything to cool my throat. "I'm just using my intuition. And my intuition tells me that Scott isn't guilty." If I said it out loud enough times, that would make it true, right?

  Jackson stared straight into my eyes. "Just be careful, Rachael."

  "I'm flattered that you've got so much concern for me." I gazed at him over the top of my empty latte glass while he tried to hide a smile on the other side of the table.

  Soon the cafe was filled with other couples—real couples—laughing and holding hands while they ate their poached eggs and avocado smashes that Valentine's morning. The blonde waitress turned the music up and suddenly the cafe was filled with the romantic melodies of old eighties love songs.

  "I love this one," I said, humming along a little.

  Jackson shook his head and laughed. "I'm sure you've got other things you'd rather be doing on Valentine's Day," Jackson commented. He tried to act all casual. "I mean...don't you?"

  I shrugged a little. "Not necessarily."

  I had noticed, at that point, that our hands had somehow gravitated towards each other in the center of the table. We were only about half an inch away from touching.

  Jackson looked into my eyes and moved his hand just that little closer to mine.

  Is he going to grab my hand?

  Suddenly, I saw a very familiar sight walk past the window.

  Oh no.

  Kenneth.

  Chapter 10

  By the time I'd grabbed my purse and handed the waitress a ten-dollar bill, Kenneth was already halfway down the street.

  I was out of breath by the time I finally reached him.

  "You're really fast." I had my hand on my chest, struggling to get the words out.

  "Guess I wasn't fast enough." He started to take off again.

  "Please, can you just stop."

  Kenneth shook his head but he did grind to a halt. "You know what, Rach, I don't want to hear it right now. I was at that cafe to buy you a Valentine's treat." He shook his head in disbelief again. "But you know what, instead of wasting my time, I am going to get back to work. Happy Valentine's Day, Rachael."

  "Kenneth, please, I can explain. Don't run off again!"

  Kenneth hesitated a moment before he stormed right up to me. At least he wasn't running away.

  "You know what, it was one thing when I thought you were flaking out on our Valentine's Day plans to solve a murder mystery, but it's another thing all together to find that you've bailed on them to go on a date with another man!"

  "It's not what it looks like."

  "You weren't having a romantic coffee date with
a guy who's not your boyfriend? On Valentines' Day?"

  No, I wasn't. Well, not exactly.

  "That was Jackson, okay? He's a detective. He caught me investigating the case and I thought I was in trouble! He was going to arrest me."

  Kenneth scoffed. "A cafe is a pretty weird place to take you to lock you up. I didn't exactly see any bars or jail cells in there."

  I really hoped he hadn't seen how close Jackson and I had been to holding hands. "Come on," I said with a smile, trying my best to let him know how entirely, completely innocent the whole thing had been. "I was just trying to smooth things over—get him to drop the charges. So I agreed to have a quick coffee with him."

  Just when I thought I had convinced him, Kenneth suddenly said, "Hang on. He's not...he's not the detective you had a thing with last year, is he?"

  "I...I...um…" I suddenly felt very hot despite the chil. I could actually feel my face turning red. "Not a thing," I explained. "More of a...you know, an acquaintance."

  "So yes, it is him," Kenneth said flatly. Then his voice rose as more information seemed to flood his memory. "He is the guy whose wedding you tried to stop!"

  Well, I had to correct him on that point. "No, I didn't stop his wedding. I was just there, and someone was killed, and the wedding was called off."

  Kenneth shook his head. "But before that happened, you'd intended to stop it! You just didn't get a chance!"

  I shook my head. How did he even know about that? I certainly hadn't told him. Pippa must have filled him in. I'd have to thank her for that later.

  "Kenneth, I really don't have time to argue about this right now. I still have to find out who killed Paul." I was exasperated. "Can we talk about this later?"

  "I'm sure you don't have time." Kenneth buried his hands inside his jacket pockets and turned away. "You never do. Not for me, anyway."

  I barged through the restaurant doors to find someone who seemed like an old familiar pal at that point. Scott. I couldn't quite believe I was so happy to see him—at least he wasn't an angry boyfriend interrogating me, or an angry police detective interrogating me.

  He was just an angry chef interrogating me.

  "Where have you been, Rachael? It's already seven-thirty!"

  "Relax," I said, placing my purse down on one of the tables, which had somehow been cleared and re-set since the last time I'd been in the restaurant. "The news story isn't going to air. Tyson McCall would never want to implicate himself."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "Tyson knew Paul," I said, explaining some of the details. "See, it looks as bad for Tyson as it does for everyone else. He's not going to run that story for anything."

  I was a little confused after I'd finished my story and Scott didn't look pleased or relieved to hear any of it.

  "Isn't that good news?" I asked, a little dumbfounded. "You're staring at me like I just told you your restaurant is going out of business. I've saved it. Well, I've at least stalled the ruination."

  Scott's face was still dark.

  "Rachael, look around this restaurant. What do you see?"

  "A lot of red," I answered.

  He didn't laugh at my comment. I wasn't surprised. He was highly strung.

  "You see a full restaurant, ready to open in less than four hours to make tens of thousands of dollars in one day. I don't care that the news story is not going to air!" He looked so angry and wild that he might be about to overturn a table in rage. "So what if there will be no news story at eight? Do you think this saves me?" Scott's face was red and puffy, his chef jacket bulging at the neck where his veins were popping out.

  "We've still got a little time," I said. But things were starting to feel a little hopeless. I couldn't see how Scott was possibly going to be able to open for lunch while the restaurant was still an open crime scene.

  "If this case isn't solved in two hours, I am ruined. This restaurant will go under." Scott glared at me. Suddenly, a strange look overtook his face. His eyes no longer seemed to belong to him, like he was possessed. His eyes seemed to be glowing red. I blinked a few times, sure I must just be so exhausted that I was hallucinating. But when I readjusted my eyesight, that look was still there on Scott's face, even if his eyes weren't literally glowing with fire. It caused me to lean back against my chair. I looked over my shoulder. Where was the fire exit?

  By the time I'd turned back, Scott was right up in my face.

  "Especially, Rachael, if people believe that I am guilty." He shook his head. "We can't have anyone thinking that, can we?" His voice was low and dangerous.

  I pushed the chair back from the table, skidding as I stood up. I had to be ready to run.

  With that, Scott reached behind me and with one almighty move, picked up the table I'd been sitting at moments earlier and turned it over.

  I jumped as plates and glasses slid to the ground, smashing like lightening as they hit the tiles below. I almost swore as I jumped to avoid any shards of glass flying up against my bare legs.

  He really did have a temper.

  "What did you do that for?" I gasped, but I could see that Scott was in no mood to have a rational conversation right then.

  He inched towards me, stepping on the broken glass without a care for the fact that he was pressing broken shards of glass into the bottom of his boots. Or making the mess a hundred times worse.

  All I could think was what a pain that was going to be to clean up before opening.

  But maybe he really had no intention of opening for the lunch service.

  I tried to stand my ground as he came closer. "So why haven't you solved this crime yet, Rachael?" Scott glanced at a steak knife lying on a still-set table. "Is it because you believe that the killer is the one who is paying you? The one standing right before you?"

  The one cornering me while glancing at sharp knives? Um, yes, I was starting to think that person was the killer.

  "I saw you..." I said, backing away when I no longer had the option of standing still.

  Oh my god, why did I ever take this case? Why did I ever think that going into business with a crazy person was a good idea? Why did I ever agree to take his money?

  I reached into my coat and fumbled for my phone, wondering if I could dial 911 without Scott seeing. Or, at least, message Pippa.

  "Saw me what?" Scott asked, sounding annoyed.

  "I saw you yelling at Paul last night, just before he died. Threatening him, actually."

  Some of the anger drained from Scott's face. Instead, it was replaced with confusion. "What are you talking about?"

  "Please don't play stupid," I said, holding my ground, on this point at least. "If you want this case solved, at least own up and be honest."

  "I honestly don't have any clue what you are talking about, Rachael."

  "You yelled at Paul for offering to give us free wine last night?"

  Scott's face looked blank.

  Geez, was he really going to play completely innocent? I had seen him with my own two eyes! And heard him!

  Fine. He was really going to make me clarify and use up more time? Did he even care that the clock was ticking?

  "We spilled the wine at our table—well, Marcello did—and Paul offered to give us a complimentary bottle. You screamed at him from behind the bar and told him he was going to have to pay. I assumed that meant that the price of the wine was coming out of his paycheck." I gulped. "Now I'm beginning to wonder if that meant something else entirely."

  Scott still looked completely blank, as though the whole scene had been erased from his memory.

  "Why would I yell at him for giving out free wine?"

  "Um, because all you care about is money and the bottom line?" I asked, throwing my hands up. "You screamed at him—in front of all the customers in the restaurant, too, I might add. Great way to make your clientele feel welcome. I think it actually caused a few people to walk out. It was totally unprofessional."

  Scott shook his head, almost like he was disappointed in me. No
t angry, but just disappointed. "You know how committed I am to my business, Rachael." He looked like he was very far away, almost lost, as he pulled a chair out and sat down at the next table over. "I would never yell at a staff member like that and cause a scene." He looked up at me, sort of forlornly. "And I would never have yelled at Paul for giving out a complimentary bottle of wine if you had knocked yours over. I would do anything to keep my customers happy."

  "I— Uh." I was a little speechless, to be honest. What he was saying made sense on some level. I had only seen him, since the incident at least, to be completely committed to his restaurant. He didn't seem like the kind of guy who would do anything that would lose business, even if an employee had annoyed him.

  So, it wasn't that I didn't believe him, exactly. At the very least, I believed that he believed what he was saying was true. It's just that it didn't make any sense to me in reality. How could he argue with what had actually happened?

  "But...but...I saw you..." I said. "Saw and heard you with my own eyes and ears."

  "Did you actually see me?" Scott asked.

  "Yes," I answered quickly. "I saw a man wearing a tall chef's hat."

  Scott shook his head. "And that's all you saw. A man wearing a chef's hat. Whoever that man was, it wasn't me."

  Chapter 11

  Why wasn't Pippa picking up?

  Finally, after the fifth try, she answered her cell. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't get Lolly to settle down."

  I would listen to stories about how difficult it was to get the baby to settle all day—when the case was solved, that is. Right then, I had no time to hear about it.

  I leaned against my car and interrupted her story. "I'm sorry. This is important. I don't know if I'm going crazy or if I've just been really stupid...and I'm not sure which is the better option." They both seemed pretty awful.

  "Pippa, you were there last night. Tell me, after Marcello spilled the wine and Paul offered to get us a new bottle, what happened?"