“Coming up.” While I was at it, I’d make a latte for myself—I’d already had a fourteen-hour day and wouldn’t be finished for at least two more. Thank goodness my commute time was only the fifteen seconds it took for me to get from my upstairs apartment to the shop’s kitchen door every morning.
Detective Tingey took out his voice recorder, his pen, notebook and a few sheets of paper for me to write down the entire incident after he’d badgered every detail out of me. I was starting to find the drill very familiar. I joined him at the bistro table—not exactly sized for everything we crammed onto it—with the cinnamon rolls and drinks.
He only hesitated for a moment before indulging in a big bite of the closest pastry. “Okay,” he said once he swallowed it and had taken a big glug of his cappuccino. “So you left my scene because you had a baking emergency? And you bribed Jack to help you sneak out?”
I considered the exact situation with Jack and corrected him. “Actually I bribed him to give you the note so I wouldn’t have to hear you tell me I couldn’t leave yet. But I guess the sneaking out part was sort of wrapped into the deal, if you want to be technical. Is that recorder on?”
“Not yet. And you had a baking emergency?” His voice dripped with derision.
“Yes, my employee dropped someone’s anniversary cake and they needed it tonight. I had to come back and do a new one. And now I’m trying to catch up on the time I spent fixing her butter-finger problem.”
“Were you hard on the girl?”
“Not nearly as hard as she was on herself. She quit to save me the trouble of firing her.”
He looked amused. “And would you have fired her?”
I shrugged. “I was still trying to decide when she left. Mistakes are just that, but there were other issues.”
Tingey snorted a laugh. “There always are.” He finished off the first cinnamon roll and took a second.
“You mind if I turn on the recorder now?” His free hand went to the machine.
“That’s fine.” I wanted it over with, and I was still glad he had taken my disappearance so calmly. He certainly wouldn’t have a few months earlier. We went over the afternoon ad nauseum while he asked the same questions in a dozen different ways, trying to pull out new information or shake up my memory. It was nearly nine when my best friend, Honey Anderson, came knocking on the door.
Detective Tingey nodded and turned off the digital recorder. “We’re done anyway. Could you fill out the paper for me? I’ll come back for it in the morning,” he said.
“Sure.” I had the funny feeling I was going to see the wrong side of midnight before I was allowed to close my eyes. “Are you headed back to the crime scene?”
“Yeah, the guys are still there.”
“Good.” I jumped up and headed around my counter, reaching for a bakery box. “Everyone probably needs to refuel by now.” I started filling the box with a mix of items while he opened the door to let Honey in. When I passed it over to him, he thanked me and headed for the door.
Honey locked it behind her. “Okay, seriously, another body? What are the odds?”
This made two since I moved to Silver Springs in March, which was two too many in my opinion. “Tell me about it.” I started her a caramel steamer—she didn’t drink caffeine this late at night. “And Angela quit after she dropped a cake on the floor this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “You have the worst possible luck with employees.”
“I know. You think I could sweet talk you into helping out in the store for an hour tomorrow?”
“Sure, I take payment in pastries.” She accepted the drink from me and I passed over the cream cheese-filled strawberry cupcake she’d been eyeing.
“You’re welcome to them. In advance if you like.” I gave her a long look. “How did you know what happened?”
“Someone mentioned it in the store, and George overheard them talking about it. He said he’d take care of the kids so I could see how you’re doing. Figured you could use a listening ear.”
“I could, but do you mind talking while I work on this cake?” Tingey had been in my bakery longer than expected and I really did want to get to bed sometime before sunrise.
“No problem.” She settled in to watch from the cutout in the wall between the kitchen and seating area to finish her snack while I washed my hands and donned a fresh pair of gloves.
“So, was it gruesome?” she asked.
“Yeah, a bullet to the head isn’t exactly pretty.” I pulled out my fondant smoother and started working the edges.
“Was it bad? I mean, like a bullet hole or, you know, worse?”
I looked at her while she munched away at the cupcake. The woman should be a doctor, nothing bothers her. Thankfully she respected my more delicate sensibilities. “It was small. Thank goodness. I definitely would have hurled if it had been worse.” I was unsettled enough as it was.
“Who was it? George couldn’t get a straight answer.”
Tingey would have my hide if the story got around before their press release came out, but it wasn’t like Honey would tell the world. Not tonight, anyway. We chatted about the details while I finished covering the rest of the cake layers and began decorating them. My peach sugar camellias were the perfect color against the creamy fondant they’d chosen and the green foliage made me smile.
When we’d finished speculating about the murder, we moved on to the next topic, keeping up a steady stream of chatter. Yeah, we’d already talked for an hour earlier in the day, but we’d never run out of topics to discuss in the twenty-five years we’d been friends.
“So, are you going to do some more sleuthing on this one?” Honey asked. “Because that was a lot of fun.”
“Yeah it was, except for the fact that I nearly died.” I was talking as though I didn’t care about the murder, but actually I wanted to investigate—I just didn’t have a good enough reason to justify it. The whole risk of death in the previous investigation wasn’t all that appealing.
“Not so much, huh? Aren’t you just a little curious?” She adjusted the elastic on her cornrows, never taking her eyes off me.
I bit my lip as I put the last cake tier back in the pantry and moved to the front of the store. “Okay, yeah, seriously curious. I mean, the guy wasn’t exactly my favorite person, but he seemed too bland for someone to want him dead.”
“But you’re going to keep your nose out?” She looked disappointed, even while watching me empty the rest of my display cases into a box for her to take home.
“Unless I have a compelling reason to get involved, I’m staying out of this one.”
Yeah, famous last words.
Cake mix:
2 cups white sugar
1 (3 ounce) package strawberry flavored gelatin
1 cup butter, softened
4 eggs (room temperature)
2 3/4 cups sifted cake flour
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup whole milk, room temperature
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1/2 cup strawberry puree made from frozen sweetened strawberries (about 1 cup before pureeing.)
Filling mix:
1 (8 ounce) package cream cheese, softened
1 egg
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons brown sugar
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Grease and flour 24 muffin cups, or use paper liners.
In a large bowl, cream together the butter, sugar and dry strawberry gelatin until light and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time, mixing well after each.
Combine the flour and baking powder; stir into the batter alternately with the milk. Blend in vanilla and strawberry puree.
To make the filling: In a medium bowl, beat cream cheese until soft. Add egg, vanilla and brown sugar. Beat until smooth, then set aside.
Place batter mixture in muffin cups about 1/2-2/3 full. Then add one tablespoon of the cream cheese mixture right in the middle of the batter. Try to keep cream chee
se from touching the paper cup. The filling will sink as it cooks.
Bake at 375 degrees F for 20 to 25 minutes.
I finally dragged upstairs shortly after midnight, hoping the paper I’d written for Detective Tingey actually made sense. My eyes burned and I knew I had to be back downstairs in six hours, putting the muffins and other goodies in the oven for the morning crowd.
I turned on the air conditioning since the summer sun had been beating on the upstairs apartment all day, and poked through a few of my cupboards. I really needed to do some grocery shopping one of these days. If only I could get a regular employee who I trusted to leave alone in the shop without worrying every minute.
I had no idea how my grandma ran a restaurant all of those years without having a nervous breakdown.
Her picture sat propped on the end table and I picked it up. After my parents’ deaths a dozen years earlier, Grandma had been my last relative. I’d been nineteen at the time, but still too young to be an orphan. Cancer took her away and left me alone. It had been a long three years without my family. I missed having her to turn to—maybe I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to accept Bronson’s proposal if she’d still been around. That was over now. Worn out and missing her more than ever, I touched the image of my grandmother, then returned it to its spot and headed for bed.
I think she would be pleased with how I was using her restaurant now. I’d have to content myself with that.
The wedding cake was loaded into my Outlander the next morning and Honey and I were going over some last-minute instructions when a mid-forties, mousy blonde walked into the store. Her face was blotchy, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot and she looked very determined. I’d seen her somewhere before. The previous night?
“You’re Tess, right?” she asked, looking at me.
“Yes, how can I help you? Do you have a celebration coming up?”
“No. I have a funeral.” Her breath hitched as she tightened her hand around a pink handkerchief that perfectly matched her pantsuit. “I understand you solved a murder last spring.”
“Um, yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“I’m Sandra Hogan and I want you to find out who killed my husband. I understand you found his body. The police think my son did it, but Michael’s a good kid. He couldn’t have done that. And they’re overlooking the most obvious suspect because he’s a former cop. I need someone impartial to take the case.”
I stepped back, surprised by the fervor in her voice. Really, she thought because I’d been lucky enough with one case that I’d be better than a trained detective? Flattered, I firmly reminded myself that I was very busy with my business and couldn’t possibly afford to spend the kind of time investigating that I had in the previous case. Still, I couldn’t help but ask, “Why do they think your son killed him?” I shot a glance at Honey, whose eyes were bright with curiosity.
I stepped from behind the counter and led Sandra to a table to sit and talk. I had a few hours before I needed to have the cake set up, so I could spare a few minutes for the poor widow before making my delivery. “Come have a seat and you can tell me everything,” I said.
That was all she needed to open the floodgates of information. “You see,” she said, once we were seated, “I’ve only been married to Eric for about a year, but I have three teenagers from a previous marriage. Michael, my youngest child, is seventeen and he and Eric were always arguing. My son is a bit of a, um, free spirit.” Her shoulders fell and she shook her head. “You won’t talk around town about what I say here, will you? Because I can’t tell you everything if you’re going to spread gossip.”
“Of course we won’t say a thing.” To anyone else—though Honey and I would probably discuss it thoroughly if it was interesting enough.
Honey pretended to lock her lips and throw away the key.
“Okay.” Sandra plucked at the damp handkerchief and stared at her hands. “One of the reasons I was so glad to move here is because Michael was in a bit of trouble back in Denver. He hung with the wrong crowd and I knew if we stayed there he would get into serious trouble. Falling in love with Eric and his proposal were the answers to my prayers. It was a bonus that he lived so far away so I had a good reason to pry Michael away from his friends.”
She used the handkerchief to pat the gentle tears trickling down her cheeks. “And then there’s my ex-husband. He’s … unconventional at best. Michael all but worships the ground he walks on, and that’s not the direction I want him to go.” She sucked in a calming breath. “Anyway, Michael and Eric never got along, both at home and in public. Eric had a definite idea of the difference between right and wrong and the importance of coming clean. After the last one disagreement, Michael yelled something about how Eric would be sorry.”
She looked into my eyes, desperation in her face. “I know he wouldn’t have killed Eric, though. He’s not a bad boy, just a little confused.”
I thought that I knew a lot of parents who would say the same thing about their kids even if they were guilty. But as I studied her, I decided to take her at her word. For now anyway. “So tell me about this cop and why you think he did it.”
Honey slid my notebook onto the table, opened to a clean page and set a pen on top. She looked smug, as if knowing she was going to get her way and we would investigate. I had the feeling she might be right.
I picked up the pen and tapped it against the paper. “Who’s the cop, anyway?”
She twisted her handkerchief in the tabletop. “It’s stupid, really, but the man owns some property next to the proposed site for the state prison. He insists his property value is going to drop if the prison gets approved and he’s already in the process of subdividing.”
“Right, and your husband was working on getting the prison approved.” There had been plenty of controversy in the papers and heated town hall meetings. It was definitely a hot topic right now.
“Yes, because it’s going to bring in a lot of jobs to the area and more jobs means more homes and more taxes and everyone benefits.” She spoke with an intensity that said she agreed with her husband’s feelings on the project.
I made a few notes. “So who is it?” I asked again.
“Gary Roper. He retired last year and his family has owned this land since the beginning of time. They used to run cattle on it, but with the beef industry being what it is, they sold all of the animals years ago. He rented it to others the past few summers, but now he’s seeing new homes and dollar signs. And who does he think is going to buy all of those houses if the new prison doesn’t come in, anyway?”
That seemed like a fair question to me, though people in Prescott were pushing into the surrounding towns in search of less expensive housing and a small-town feel. I imagined the lots would sell okay even without the new jobs. And I could totally understand why someone wouldn’t want to live next door to a prison. “Money is always a powerful motivator. You said he’s a cop?”
“Former,” she corrected. “He worked at the county jail—ironically enough. He retired last year, so he’s got a pension, a wife who is absorbed in her hobbies and too much time on his hands.” She pursed her lips as she dabbed at the angry tears rising in her eyes while her lips pursed in a hard line.
“Right.” I made a few more notes about issues I should check into. “I’ll need to talk to your son.”
Her brow furrowed. “But why? I already told you he’s innocent.”
“Because I need to know his side of things, and to see if he has any other ideas. The more I learn, the more likely I’ll uncover something important.” And I was pretty curious about this mixed up kid who was wrongly accused. Maybe wrongly accused, I reminded myself.
“Well, I suppose.” She twisted the bit of fabric in her hands. “Could you get to work on this right away?”
It only took me a moment of consideration before I gave in. I couldn’t let Michael go to jail if he wasn’t guilty. “I have a wedding cake to set up but I’ll get on it as quickly as possible.”
We watched her go. I turned to Honey, who gave me a knowing look. “What?” I asked. “It’s not like I went in search of an excuse to investigate. I did say that I wouldn’t do it unless I had a compelling reason. The woman’s son could go to prison. Nothing is more important than that.”
She snorted. “You’re such a big-hearted sap.” Her eyes teased as she waited for me to drop the angelic excuses.
“Yeah, aren’t I though?” I grinned and flipped my notebook closed. “Okay, so the boy is still on my suspect list, but I’m going to keep an open mind about the former cop. After all, there’s nothing cops like more than to band together to protect each other.” I doubted that would be a problem here, as Tingey seemed honest enough to me, but it was somewhere to start looking.
“You’ve seen too many police dramas if you think Detective Tingey won’t give every one of the suspects a close look, regardless of their former job,” Honey said. She ducked behind the counter and picked up her cooling cappuccino.
I wiggled my brows. “I know, but it sounds like a compelling reason to investigate, doesn’t it?”
“You bet. Now go set up that wedding cake so we can start planning.”
Marge was in the shop chatting with Honey when I returned.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said to Marge as I grabbed a cup for a shot of espresso. I was paying for the late night and had been yawning for the past half hour. “I was going to come pick your brains this afternoon anyway.”
“I decided I needed a few minutes’ break and wondered if you were going to go all detective on me again.” Marge nibbled on her sugar cookie.
“You know me. I have an insatiable curiosity. And Honey is such a bad influence.”
“It’s not like you weren’t going to do it anyway. I just gave you some encouragement.” Honey passed over an order form. “You have a wedding cake request. I told her I’d have you call for more particulars.”
Pistols & Pies (Sweet Bites Book 2) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) Page 2
