by Harper Lin
“Really?”
“Yup. I know. John has the kids this weekend. I’m going to try to bump into that girl. See what she has to say.”
“Don’t you think you should leave that to the police? If she’s dodging them, then maybe she has something to hide. Maybe she’s dangerous. Especially if she did do the deed. Are you sure you want to get that close to a throat slasher?”
“Nothing really fazes you, does it, Lila?” Amelia teased. “You can actually call someone a throat slasher and it appears to be no different than if you were calling them an Italian or an Englishman. A throat slasher. Yeah, could be.”
“When you get to be my age, it’s best to be blunt.” She laughed. “Seriously, are you sure you want to run into her?”
“It’ll be daylight. Lots of people,” Amelia reassured Lila.
“Sure, just like the bridal shower?”
Lila’s words sent a shiver up Amelia’s spine.
Chapter Twelve
Buck Town had been a very rough neighborhood for many years. The buildings were old and run-down, if not abandoned altogether. Graffiti was on the sides of every wall of brick, and the most unsavory characters took up residence in the structures owned by slumlords or provided by the taxpayers as affordable housing.
But slowly a new element started to buy up the property. A couple of nice restaurants had popped up. A retail shop or vintage store had opened here and there. And the old brownstones were being bought cheap and rehabbed only to be rented out or sold at a profit. Soon the elements that made the neighborhood unsafe were seeing more police on the street. The new neighbors didn’t tolerate people loitering on street corners where they lived and their children played.
With a train to take people from Buck Town to the other hot spots in various Gary neighborhoods, the flow of people and money came pumping into the new area in gushes, attracting many affluent young people. Including people like Francine McManahan, who lived in a flat on the busy corner of Milwaukee and North Avenues.
Amelia didn’t know if the “F.” McManahan was indeed Francine.
“How many F. McManahans can there possibly be in Gary, Oregon? Or in the entire state, for that matter?” Amelia mumbled, alone in her car as she sat outside the apartment building she’d found listed in the phone book. Taking the Pink Cupcake truck would have been a little suspicious, so out came the old sedan in all its blahness. It was a cloudy day, and the clouds looked like they were about to crack open any second. That would be bad since Amelia might not be able to recognize The Crier if she was wearing a hoodie or tucked deep underneath an umbrella.
Thankfully, after her adventure with Detective Dan Walishovsky, she felt as prepared as any private detective. She had a thermos full of hot green tea. She had baked herself a special breakfast cupcake that consisted of a hash-brown base stuffed with scrambled eggs, finely diced peppers, a pinch of salsa, and crumbled bacon.
After easing her car into the shade underneath a massive oak tree, Amelia pulled out a tiny pair of binoculars from underneath her seat. They had been Adam’s when he was going through his “spy stage” at the age of nine, asking for anything he could use to gather information secretly. They might not have been as fancy as Dan’s, but they did the job well enough for her to see across the street. Pushing the seat all the way back from the steering wheel, Amelia got comfortable and waited.
It wasn’t long before the front door opened up and the familiar face of The Crier, Francine McManahan, emerged from the building. She was not alone.
A man was with her who looked as if there were a dozen other places he’d rather be, including the morgue and the dentist.
However, Francine was fresh faced, talking and pulling on the man’s arm, as if nothing were the matter. They walked in the opposite direction of Amelia’s car.
“Okay, nothing too odd about that,” she mumbled. Looking at the building and then at the couple as they disappeared, Amelia had a crazy thought.
“I’m not a person who does that,” she stated. “I don’t break into homes. I certainly don’t break into homes of possible killers. And for all I know, Francine McManahan is one. No. I won’t go break into her house.”
She sat quietly for a few minutes.
“I could peek in some windows. That I could totally do. I’ll just say I was looking for someone, if anyone asks.” She climbed out of the car, still mumbling to herself. “If any do-gooder thinks they are helping by calling the police, I’m just looking for a friend of mine. They live on Polk. Wait, wait, what? This is Milwaukee? Polk is two blocks down? Oh, I’m so embarrassed. So sorry. I must look like a real doofus.”
Sure, she mused. That would work in a pinch. Sure.
Climbing out of the car, she kept her eyes focused in the direction Francine and the man had headed. They must have rounded a corner, because they were nowhere to be seen. Looking up at the brownstone, she climbed the steps and, just to be sure, tried the front doorknob. Locked.
“Of course it is.” She looked again down the street. No one seemed to be paying her any attention. Joggers were busy keeping their paces. Dog walkers were busy scooping poop. Everyone else was caught up on their cell phone or blocking out the world with earphones. For a moment, it seemed to Amelia she was the only one doing anything adventurous. It made her feel brave.
Slowly easing down the steps, Amelia quickly rounded the front of the building and slipped into the gangway. The windows were up too high for Amelia to reach. That was the intent of the architect, to help prevent burglars or transients from breaking in.
Around the back of the house was another door. Amelia walked up to it and found it locked, too. So much for her super sleuthing. Without another thought, she walked innocently back down the gangway, looking up at the windows, gauging whether or not she could jump and get a peek inside. As she rounded the front of the house, still looking up, she plowed right into Francine and the man.
“Oh my gosh!” Amelia started. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you doing? This is private property!” the man barked.
“I’m s-sorry. I was l-looking for 1818 Polk,” Amelia stuttered, her nervousness genuine.
“Cole!” Francine piped up defensively. “Polk is two blocks over. This is Milwaukee.”
Was this the one and only Cole Hansen? The Cole Hansen that Dana Foster had hoodwinked? It had to be, Amelia thought, remembering the scene Francine had made at the party, calling out his name.
“Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry.” Amelia sighed. “I’m looking for an apartment that had a room for rent. No wonder I didn’t see any sign. I’m sorry.” Then Amelia stopped and looked at Francine. “You know, you look really familiar to me. Have we met before?”
The young woman looked at Amelia and squinted.
“I don’t think so.”
“Wait, you were at the party at the Twisted Spoke. And you stopped at my food truck just the other day.”
Francine’s eyes widened, and then she nodded her head. Cole looked at his watch.
“That’s right. I’m sorry, Miss…?”
“Harley. Amelia Harley. What is your name?”
“Francine McManahan. This is my boyfriend, Cole Hansen.”
Amelia reached out her hand to shake. Francine grasped her hand firmly, but Cole had quite a limp grip and let go of Amelia’s hand almost instantly.
“That was some party, wasn’t it? I don’t know about you, but the police are still calling me.” Amelia rolled her eyes.
“I’m going upstairs,” Cole spouted, leaving the women and stomping up the cement stairs but not before giving Amelia a suspicious glare.
“I haven’t spoken to any police. I didn’t do anything,” Francine spat quickly, her face contorting into a weird, snooty kind of smile.
“Neither did I. They just keep asking if I’ve seen anything,” Amelia gushed, as if this was the most nerve-racking experience of her life. Little did Francine know this was not Amelia’s first murder. That thought frightened Amelia. “I d
idn’t even know the woman. Did you?”
“Look, I’ve got to get going. I’ve got things to do.” Francine quickly cooled to Amelia’s questions.
“I certainly didn’t mean to keep you,” Amelia apologized sincerely. “Please, come by the truck again sometime.”
Francine barely gave Amelia a nod before she turned and hurried up the front stoop. Once she was inside, Amelia looked up at the building to see Cole staring down at her. Amelia waved but got no movement in response. Bending down to appear to be tying her shoe, Amelia waited, feeling Cole’s eyes on her back. Then, just as she thought would happen, an argument ensued. The muffled words could still be heard at street level.
“Why are you talking to anyone about Dana?”
“I wasn’t talking about Dana. That lady was selling cupcakes at the restaurant. If I didn’t talk, it would have looked funny.”
“You don’t even know her.”
“She’s not a cop, obviously. She doesn’t even know what street she’s on.”
“You don’t find that suspicious?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you are dumber than she is.”
“Ouch,” Amelia growled. “No need to get personal. Sheesh.” She stood up and walked down a block, away from Francine’s place. Crossing the street, she made a beeline for her car, climbed in, and drove home.
Her mind was racing. Was Francine the one responsible for the brutal death of Dana Foster? Did she have enough anger and resentment toward the girl to kill her? Or did she do it for love? That Cole Hansen seemed pretty shaken up to see her talking to anyone about the incident. So much so that he must have planted the idea in her head to avoid the police.
When Amelia got home, she began to bake. Her idea for orange brandy cupcakes had been buzzing around in her head for too long. Now she really needed to process what she had just experienced with Francine and Cole. The best way to do that was to start baking in the kitchen.
The first batch contained enough brandy to get the taster a DUI if they were pulled over by the police. The second batch was just a plain old almond-flavored cake with a pungent orange aftertaste. But the third was heavenly.
A layered flavor of almond cake, a slight warmness from the brandy, and the pleasant aroma of orange that barely registered on the tongue made Amelia clap her hands as she ate three of them.
“Just a warm glaze over the top. Nothing heavy,” she mumbled as cake crumbs fell from her mouth. “I am so good at this.”
Smiling, she wrote down her list of ingredients and their amounts and prepared a list for the grocery store so she could stock up the truck.
“Come Monday morning, my customers will feel like they just slipped into a cozy log cabin with a warm fire burning, a glass of liqueur in a snifter, and the icy cold far away outside the windows, and all of this will be in their mouth.” She laughed at herself.
She still hadn’t decided what to do with her information on Francine and Cole. Truthfully, she didn’t really have any information. She just had a hunch.
“I could call Dan.” Her voice was loud in the empty house. Her kids would be home bright and early tomorrow, so if she was going to take any action, she’d better do it tonight.
Realizing it was just a little after noon, Amelia decided to keep the information to herself for the time being. Dana Foster would still be dead and Francine and Cole would still be suspicious for another twenty-four hours—or until she decided what to do next.
Chapter Thirteen
“The website looks great!” Amelia gushed as Adam spoke with her on the phone. He had gone with his father to his law office. There, he went into the marketing department and was allowed to play around on some of the fancier computers used for design and promotional materials for the firm.
“I downloaded the pictures from the camera and was able to manipulate the images so you’d catch the details of the cupcakes in every frame. Plus, do you see how the cupcakes are more vivid while the images around them are just subtly blurred and darker? I did that, too.”
“Honey, I can’t get over this.” Amelia was blown away. “Where did you learn how to do this stuff?”
“I picked it up on the streets,” Adam teased.
“Now, does your computer do this or…?”
“No, Mom. I could go all tech geek on you, but I won’t. Let’s just say these are special designing computer programs that require a lot of space. My computers can’t handle programs like this.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, don’t go all tech geek on me.” She studied the pictures and smiled. “You really caught some great shots at the party, too. You’ve got a natural eye to see things in a really artistic way. It’s just beautiful, Adam, just…”
There it was.
Amelia squinted.
“Hey, Mom? Meg wants to know if Katherine can come over when we get back,” Adam said while shushing his sister in the background.
“Yeah, sure. Hey, Adam. You said you darkened the backgrounds. Can you lighten something for me if I needed?”
“Sure, but you might lose the image in the foreground.”
“That’s okay.” She told Adam what frame she was looking at and the particular part of the picture she wanted cleaned up. She was sure she knew what she was looking at but didn’t dare just assume. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just the best you can do, sweetie.”
“Okay, Mom. I’ll have it for you when I get home tomorrow.”
Amelia quickly squeezed in a couple of “I love yous” to Adam and Meg, who was listening, before she hung up with them.
Scrolling through her updated website, she was thrilled at how professional it looked. Would anyone believe she had a sixteen-year-old as her designer?
Adam was very talented, but it was just sheer luck that he had snapped off a picture at the Twisted Spoke that could cause the whole case to crack wide open.
“See there?” Amelia was showing Lila the picture Adam had taken at the bridal shower that she requested he develop into a clearer image. He had made it crystal clear.
“That’s the girl who threw the drink on Dana, for sure. But who is that guy?”
“That is Cole Hansen.”
“What was he doing there?”
“We know he wasn’t invited. It looks to me like he came in from the kitchen and not the main entrance, certainly not the open garage doors where the party was.”
“So he snuck in and out without anyone knowing?” Lila shook her head.
“Well, I think Francine knew. I think she knew and maybe even put him up to it. There was something about the way they acted when I ran into them.”
“Amelia, I’m going to be honest with you.” Lila’s face became long and concerned. “I don’t think you should do any more without talking to Detective Walishovsky.”
“I still could be wrong, you know.” Amelia studied the picture. “Then I will have wasted his time, and he’ll think I’m just some busybody jumping at every lead just to feel like I’m part of something big.”
“I’ve never heard cops say they were upset to get leads, even if they turned out to be nothing.” Lila wiped off the counter as she and Amelia got ready to open the truck. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Not just because I could be out of a job but because you are my friend.”
“Lila, you are so wonderful.” Amelia hugged the older woman tightly. “I’m certainly not going to go throw myself into the lion’s den. I’ve got kids to worry about and an ex-husband to show up. Plus, I like seeing you every day, too.”
Lila laughed.
“Good. So long as your priorities are in line.”
The women laughed and talked about how Cole Hansen could have gotten into the restaurant unnoticed. They talked about how Adam’s work on the website captured the picture. Most importantly, they marveled over the new orange-and-brandy cupcakes they were making. As it turned out, the batches made in the truck were even better than the ones Amelia created alone in her kitchen.
“It�
��s got to be the exhaust fumes that give it that extra something,” Lila teased as she tasted another crumbled bit of sample.
“Something,” Amelia concurred, but as she served her growing line of patrons, she couldn’t help thinking of heading back to Buck Town and seeing what Cole and Francine were up to.
“I don’t believe this.” Lila shook her head. “We are out of everything. No more cupcakes and no more flour. That was a twenty-five-pound bag that we went through in less than a week.”
“Let’s call it a day.” Amelia smiled as she hung the Closed sign on the open window and began cleaning up. Lila sat at the tiny counter and added the receipts for the day.
“How do we look?” Amelia finally asked after over twenty minutes of tallying.
“You’re in the black again,” Lila stated. “This is getting to be a habit with you.”
“Let’s hope.”
As usual, Amelia waved good-bye to Lila, who walked home from Food Truck Alley every day to her high-rise apartment in the financial district just a couple of blocks away. With two solid hours before the kids came home, Amelia decided to head over to Buck Town and the mysterious apartment of Francine and Cole.
The chance of Francine being home was slim. She worked during the day, as she had said when she and her group of gals came to the truck.
Cole might have a different schedule. Either way, Amelia was determined to get inside that building and see what she could see.
“Francine isn’t home,” came the robotic-sounding voice through the intercom at the building on Milwaukee Avenue in Buck Town.
“That’s really okay, Cole, because I’d like to talk to you,” Amelia said, pressing the button so she could reply to him.
“Are you a cop?”
“No, and I’d like to avoid getting the police involved if they don’t need to be.” She tried to sound as kind as possible but was afraid she was sounding more like a blackmailer. Before she could say anything else, the connection went dead.
“So, I guess I will let Dan know about all this.” Amelia found she spoke out loud to herself a lot and wondered if she always had or if it was a recent development. Before she got to the sidewalk, the door to the apartment building opened behind her.
