“Exactly!” Rachel said. “Look, the bakery faces the main street on one side and a fairly abandoned alley on the other. Nobody but my deliverymen use that alley. The killer bided his time and–”
“Yes, yes.” Sheriff Tanner waved her words aside. “So what you’re saying is, this murder was plotted out very carefully?”
“Absolutely.” Rachel nodded. “There’s no doubt in my mind more than one person was involved. Arthur’s a lawyer. Who knows what kind of business he got mixed up in? I’d recommend looking at all his clients to see if one of them was angry at him. Someone has to have had a grudge against him to do this.”
Tanner sighed, and switched off the recording device that was between them. They were sitting in a white-tiled room, bare except for a single, metal table, and a few folding chairs. Swaddle’s police department clearly didn’t believe in creating a cozy atmosphere while interrogating suspects.
Suspect. That’s what she was. As someone who had never broken a single law in her life, being on the wrong side of the law was new and scary. Especially because she didn’t trust Sheriff Tanner in the least.
“I’m telling you again,” Sheriff Tanner said. “If I were you, I’d hire a lawyer.”
“I don’t need a lawyer, Tanner. I’m innocent,” she said. “If I hire a lawyer, everyone in town will just assume I’m guilty—if they haven’t done so already.”
“You can be innocent and still need a lawyer.” He pointed out. “Look at it from my point of view, Rachel. You were the only other person in the house with Arthur. You have a witness saying you threatened him.“
“Henry Grant? That was a mistake, I asked him not to move so that the crime scene wouldn’t be compromised.”
“A witness against you, anyway,” Tanner said. “And then, to top it all off, you tried to escape.”
“I was scared,” Rachel said. “I wasn’t trying to escape the law, I was trying to escape the killer!”
“Ah yes, the mysterious killer, or killers—a highly professional bunch of assassins who got you out of the room, swooped in and killed Arthur. You see how small the timeframe is? A minute. Maybe ninety seconds.”
“Maybe they’ve gotten training. These killers are professionals.” Rachel shuddered.
Tanner shook his head. “The way I see it, you have two options—easy or hard. The easy way, you confess to everything, and maybe you can plead manslaughter instead of murder. That’ll get you less time in jail. The hard way, you hire a lawyer, stay mute, and we spend time gathering evidence that it was murder—and I promise you, we will. The third way, which you’ve adopted right now, is to make up ridiculous stories. That’s the crazy way. It’s not going to get you anywhere.”
Rachel bristled. “I’m not making up stories!”
“Rachel, we found the letter,” the sheriff said. He glared at her as though this statement was meaningful. Rachel, however, was baffled.
“What letter?”
“Playing dumb, hmm?”
“I have no idea what letter you’re talking about,” Rachel said, her voice calm. “Sheriff, you've got to believe me. I know we didn’t exactly have the best—“
“Here’s what I think happened,” the sheriff said. “You and Arthur were having an affair. He came over that morning to end it. Furious, you shot him, and in a burst of passion, you tore up and threw the love letter he’d written, all over his dead body. Then you fainted, Henry Grant came in and saw you. Panicking, you tried to escape, but we caught you before you could go anywhere. Is that what happened?”
Rachel stared at him with her mouth open. She felt as though her jaw had come unhinged. Love letter? What love letter? An affair with Arthur? She had been friends with both him and his girlfriend! “What are you talking about?” Rachel asked again. “Are you saying you found fragments of a love letter all over Arthur’s body? I can tell you I didn’t put it there.”
Sighing, the sheriff took out his phone and showed her a picture. It looked like a grotesque puzzle, a letter which had been torn into strips, pieced back together on a glass slide. There were brown stains on it, and Rachel shivered as she realized they were probably Arthur’s blood.
The letter was typed up, perhaps it had been an email. Before she could read it, however, the sheriff had snatched the picture back.
“We found the torn pieces all over him, like confetti,” he said. “I think that rules out a professional killer, doesn’t it? This is a crime of passion, Rachel.”
Rachel’s mouth, which was still hanging open, shut with a snap. Sheriff Tanner had just poured cold water all over her “professional killer” theory.
“So you don’t think the murder was premeditated, then?” Rachel asked. “I’m so confused. Parts of it look as though it were a crime of passion, but on the other hand, I’m very sure a lot of thought has gone into the death of Arthur Rafferty.”
“You tell me,” Sheriff Tanner said. “Was it a crime of passion? Or did you plan it?”
“I didn’t do it,” she said, and although her voice shook, something in it must have convinced the sheriff, or at least gave him pause. “You’re wasting your time coming after me, while the real killer is on the loose,” Rachel said.
The sheriff simply clicked on the recorder again. Rachel buried her head in her hands, thinking furiously. She was in a jam, that much was certain. It did look like an open-and-shut case from where the sheriff stood. Except for one thing.
Her head snapped up. “The weapon!” she exclaimed. “Have you found the weapon yet?”
The sheriff frowned, and for the first time since he’d started to interview her, his mask of self-assurance slipped a little. “We’ll find it soon enough,” he said. “And when we do, Rachel Rowan, your game is up.”
*****
Chapter 6
Cakes Of Christmas Past
The door opened just as the sheriff made his ominous pronouncement, and Deputy Lewis stuck his head in. He looked embarrassed. “Er . . . Sheriff. There’s someone here to see you.”
“I’m in the middle of something, Lou. Can it wait?”
“Don’t think so,” Lewis said. The two men stared at each other for a second, and even though no words were exchanged, a lot was said. Rachel could see by the slight slump of Sheriff Tanner’s shoulders that Lewis had won this one. The sheriff clicked off the recorder, and excused himself, leaving her alone in the room.
She sighed, and gazed at herself in the large one-way mirror that covered a wall. Were they testing her? Had they left her alone hoping she might break down and then confess? Was this a police interrogation strategy of some kind?
Rachel was exhausted. Reality was too much to handle right now. Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and wondered what she should do now.
“I need a break,” she muttered to herself. She squeezed her eyes tight, and put a hand over them, blocking the harsh electrical lights. The darkness calmed her a little. If the day had gone as planned she would have been in the middle of a lot of prep work. After all, she wanted to open the bakery tomorrow. With a twinge, she realized that there was no way her grand opening would continue as planned. She’d have to delay it, for at least a week, if not more—that is, if she didn’t end up behind bars for a murder she hadn’t committed.
Her anxiety was spiraling out of control with these thoughts, and Rachel tried to calm herself by thinking of more cheerful things. Aunt Rose had been quite a hippie back in the day, and she’d been a great believer in channeling the right energies. Rachel was a more practical, boots on the ground kind of person, but she still remembered the advice Aunt Rose had given her at sixteen. She smiled a little as the memory came back.
*****
Rachel had been staying at Aunt Rose’s for Christmas weekend. The clock had struck three a.m. as she snuck down to the kitchen. She’d rummaged through the fridge and the pantry looking for something to eat. Back home, there were many nights when her parents’ fights kept her awake, and Rachel had gotten into a habit of snea
king down and eating a midnight snack on those occasions. This time, when she’d turned around with a pint of ice cream in her hand, Aunt Rose was standing behind her in an old sweatshirt and velvet pants.
“Ice cream at three a.m.” Aunt Rose said. “What’s that all about?”
Rachel had bitten her lip. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Missing home?”
Rachel had shaken her head. “I like it better here.”
“I like it when you’re with me.” Aunt Rose had smiled. “Come on, let’s make you something proper to eat. Want to bake a cake?”
“A cake? It’s way past midnight!”
“There’s a cake for every occasion, you know. Except maybe the French Revolution.” Aunt Rose had smiled. “Birthday cakes are good, so are anniversary cakes, and congratulations-on-your-promotion-cakes, and graduation cakes, and just-for-fun cakes. But out of all these, midnight feast cakes are my favorite. Let’s see . . . chocolate or vanilla?” She frowned, with a pack of cocoa powder in one hand and vanilla extract in the other.
“I love both equally.” Rachel had smiled.
“Right, then. You’ve made our choice. We’ll make both.”
“Two cakes? Really?”
“Two cakes in one.” Aunt Rose winked. “Marble cake.”
Rachel had hopped up on the counter as Aunt Rose began sorting the ingredients.
“You can’t control life, you know,” Aunt Rose said casually. “Here, beat these eggs for me.”
“I know.” Barefoot on the tiled floor with the moonlight streaming in, Rachel began cracking eggs into a bowl.
“When you’re done cracking three, add an extra yolk, but be careful not to add any of the white.”
“How come?” Rachel quizzed.
“We’ll get a moist, rich cake that way.” Aunt Rose tapped her nose. “Baker’s tip. Whites dry out the cake, so always add an extra yolk.”
Rachel nodded, and began beating the eggs into a lovely, frothy mix. The work had relaxed her, and her shoulders straightened, and chin came up.
“I used to wish I could control life,” Aunt Rose had said. “Used to wish I could control other people too, especially when the people I love made terrible decisions that I knew they’d regret. Like your parents, for example, I hate that they fight so much. So do you, I’m sure.”
Rachel had given her a sharp look from under her eyelashes, but continued to beat the eggs.
“That’s probably why I love baking so much.” Aunt Rose had smiled. “Everything is exact, and everything is methodical. It’s almost meditative, in a way. As long as you follow all the rules, you are guaranteed a cake at the end—and it’s always delicious.”
“Yeah.” Rachel had smiled. “Can’t go wrong with cake.”
“Yeah.” Aunt Rose smiled. “Life won’t always give you what you want, kiddo, but if you get the ingredients right and put in the work, sooner or later, you’ll be rewarded.”
“And what about when I put in the work and things go wrong?” Rachel had asked.
“Then you make yourself a nice marble cake, and wait for life to get itself in order.” Aunt Rose had smiled. They’d created two batters by now, one chocolate, one vanilla. She poured the vanilla batter into the greased cake pans, and added dollops of the chocolate batter on top. Then, with a butter knife, she’d carefully swirled the chocolate batter till it had formed a nice, marbled pattern with the vanilla. They’d eaten the fresh, hot cake with coffee ice cream. Even though, all that year, Rachel had been miserably anxious over the possibility of her parents separating, she’d found a few moments of peace in that kitchen, as she and Aunt Rose shared a slice of cake and some silence.
*****
The harsh clang of the door had Rachel sitting up straight. She realized that her eyes were slightly damp. The memories of Aunt Rose had given her strength, however. Her shoulders were squared as she faced the sheriff again.
Sheriff Tanner looked angrier than ever. He had his powerful arms crossed in front of him and a scowl slashed on his face. “You’re free to go,” he said.
“I’m what?” Rachel blinked. She couldn’t believe it!
“Free to go,” the sheriff said through gritted teeth. “I warn you, though, you’re not to leave town. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, and I’d love nothing more than an excuse to throw you into the slammer.”
“Well, what’s stopping you now?” Rachel was genuinely confused.
“I am.” A man stepped out from behind Sheriff Tanner. Rachel blinked again. Though he was a head shorter than Tanner, the man seemed to stand taller. He walked with his chest thrust forward and his chin up, owning the space around him. Dressed in a navy-blue suit with a pinstripe tie, he had gold-rimmed sunglasses resting on top of his head. He strode forward and shook Rachel’s hand, holding eye contact just a second longer than she was accustomed to.
“Rachel Rowan? We haven’t met, but you were a client of my firm. Arthur’s client, to be exact.”
Rachel’s eyes widened. She knew who it was an instant before the man said his name.
“I’m Jay Frank, Arthur’s partner—well, ex-partner. As far as I’m concerned, you’re my client now. I believe you’re innocent, and we’ll have the sheriff believing it soon enough.”
“This is really kind of you,” Rachel stuttered. She didn’t know what to think. As Arthur’s old partner, more importantly, as Emily Frank’s husband, Jay should have wanted nothing to do with her. Instead, he was being friendly.
She should have been cautious, but even the thought that someone was on her side made Rachel teary-eyed with gratitude. A voice in the back of her head warned her to be careful; Jay might have an ulterior motive. She pushed the voice away and gave Jay her brightest smile.
“So you convinced the sheriff not to arrest me?”
“He convinced me to wait until we have even more evidence,” Sheriff Tanner said. “Very different. You can leave now.”
Without bothering to say goodbye, Rachel stalked past the sheriff, grabbing her purse on the way out. Outside the police station, she shook Jay’s hand again and thanked him profusely.
Jay smiled, his eyes betraying nothing. “You can thank me tomorrow by making me those pancakes Arthur praised so much,” he said.
“I’m afraid my kitchen is closed for the next few days.” Rachel sighed. “Sheriff’s got yellow tape up all over. The evidence isn’t collected yet.”
“You can make them in my kitchen,” Jay said. “You probably won’t feel very safe sleeping in Aunt Rose’s house. Would you like to come stay with us instead?”
Rachel took a step back, and looked at him incredulously. “Stay with you? And Emily?”
“Well, my wife and I are kind of a package deal. So yes. Me and Emily.” His lips curled upward a little. “What do you say? The sheriff should be done with evidence collection by tomorrow or the day after. You can go home then.”
“I—Jay, you better call Emily and ask her first. She may not like this.”
“I know my wife. She’ll be delighted.”
“Famous last words,” Rachel muttered. “Jay, I couldn’t.”
“I insist,” Jay said. “I won’t hear a word more. I’ll escort you home, and you can pack a bag. Let’s go.”
*****
Chapter 7
A Blanket While Asleep
“Welcome,” Emily said. Her smile was all teeth. Her eyes flicked from Rachel to Jay, and for a second, Rachel feared for the poor man’s life. He was going to get a tongue-lashing behind closed doors. Jay was either unconcerned or too thick to see through Emily’s anger, however. He walked through the door, tossing his jacket on the coat hook and his keys into a large bowl with odds and ends. A bright-eyed, young toddler came running full speed from the living room, and without missing a beat, Jay caught the young tot and swung him high into the air.
“Daddy!” the boy screamed. “Daddy, car! We go car!”
“No ride tonight, Ollie. Your dad’s exhausted.” Jay rubbed his nose on
the boy’s cheek and took a deep sniff. “Ah, you smell so good. I’m going to eat you up. Shall I eat you up?”
The boy laughed and wriggled, shrieking with delight as Jay made gobbling noises. “Noooo!” he cried with the dramatic skills of a seasoned performer.
Rachel couldn’t help but feel a smile form on her face. The strap of her duffel bag was digging into her hand, and her shoulders felt knotted with tension, but they relaxed a little now.
“This little terror is named Oliver,” Jay said. “Say hello to the nice lady, Ollie.”
“Hello,” Oliver said gravely. His eyes were wide and watchful. Like his mother, he had near-perfect features—big, green eyes, a button nose, and large ears that stuck out at an angle from his head. On him, even the ears looked cute.
“Hello.” Rachel smiled.
“Hello,”Oliver repeated, with more emphasis this time. He brought a thumb up to his mouth and started sucking at it.
“Hello!” Rachel’s voice was warmer this time.
“HELLO!” Oliver almost yelled, delighted at this new game.
“Bedtime,” Emily said, evidently sick of this new game. Without looking at Jay, she extracted Ollie from his arms. The little boy began to scream and claw at his father, but Emily ruthlessly plucked him out of Jay’s embrace and walked off to another room. Jay bit his lip and frowned at her back. He was pleasant as he turned back to Rachel.
“Let me show you to your room, it’s just down the hall. Kind of small, but I think you’ll be fine for a few days.”
“I’m really grateful,” Rachel said, “and I’m really OK with going to a hotel or something. Emily isn’t thrilled.”
“She’s just surprised, that’s all.” Jay lied as he led her down the hall. “Anyway, here it is. Make yourself at home.”
It was a small room with mint-green accents. A twin bed lay against one wall and a small desk and chair against the other. The window looked out into the backyard, where an overturned tricycle and a plastic swimming pool were visible. Rachel thanked him and began settling in as soon as he shut the door behind him. The clock on the wall struck seven, and Rachel realized with a pang that just twelve hours ago, Arthur had been at her doorstep with two mochas in his hand. She suddenly felt terrible for him. In all this time, she’d been too busy, or scared, or anxious to think about Arthur. Twelve hours ago he had been alive. Twelve hours ago he’d been confident that the years stretched out in front of him—smooth and inviting. Now Arthur was dead, and his killer roamed free. Rachel felt a wave of sorrow and pity wash over her. Exhaustion washed over her too.
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