I chuckled despite myself. “I’m fairly sure if you had regular explosions I would have heard about it from Lenny. That’s not the kind of thing most people overlook.”
“Oh, well, after a while it gets to be old hat. You know? But maybe we’ll get a break for a few days at least. Next time maybe it’ll be a drive-by shooting.” She looked hopeful.
“Too late. You missed that one. Though I supposed I was the one who was driving. Does it still count? I think it should.”
“Close enough. Now if only they had theater and a symphony.” She pulled up her legs, snuggling them against her body and resting her chin on her knees.
“Does the double-plex theater on the north end of town count? And how about the Silver Spur? They have live music sometimes. It’s not quite world-class, but they still might make your creative juices flow.” I let my lips twist up. “If you call that music, anyway. Personally I think music should sound like more than screaming singers and screeching guitars.”
“Art is its own reward, even if it’s terrible. And everyone—well, almost everyone—has to start off terrible before they can get good.” Her brows furrowed. “Once in a while, there are people who just seem to stumble into amazing stacks of talent.”
“You?” My head was feeling fuzzy. I covered my mouth as I yawned.
“Not even close. My first paintings were horrible. Even those lame splatter paintings that masquerade as art were ten times better.”
“I doubt that.” My eyes began to droop and I fought to keep them open. “What do you consider art?”
“Anything creative. You, for example, are a true artist. And whatever that lunk-head I love thinks, he’s an artist too.” Her eyes went kind of soft and dreamy. “He showed me some sketches. He has some incredible cake ideas.”
“I’ve seen them,” I told her, smiling. “Some zen steampunk bride is going to fall head over heels for one of his designs. He’s a great complement to my style, totally different, innovative.” I yawned again.
She stood, moving back to the door. “I’ll let you sleep for now. I’ll be back to check on you in an hour.”
“Thanks.”
I remember her reaching for the door, but not pulling it closed. I fell asleep too fast.
If only the nightmares of my friends getting hurt or killed in that blast hadn’t come to haunt me during the night.
1 cup chocolate chips
1-7oz container of marshmallow fluff
8-12 graham crackers—about one plastic-wrapped package
Crumble up crackers into nickel to quarter sized pieces and spread across the bottom of a 9x12 cake pan. Sprinkle the chocolate chips across the top and then slid it into a preheated oven of 350 degrees. Bake for 1-15 minutes or until the chocolate chips go all melty when you touch them with a knife. Remove the pan and spread the marshmallow fluff on top. Allow to cool enough to handle and serve. Beware, they’re messing, but really good. You can do these in the microwave in a pinch, but you get best results in the oven.
Mrs. Hogan came into my shop the next afternoon, tears flowing down her cheeks, her hair frizzy and out of control. “I can’t believe it. They just took Michael in for questioning. They think he killed Eric. Like, for sure. And they think he’s the one who hurt you. They said he sent a threatening message to you.” She grabbed my hand over the counter and I flicked my eyes to Shawn—who hadn’t wanted me in the shop that day at all, never mind waiting on customers. With my hand in the vice of her fingers, and pain pounding in my head, I thought he might have been right.
He sat forward in his chair, ready to spring into action if needed. I shot him a look that said everything was fine. He didn’t appear reassured.
I took the woman aside and sat with her at the table next to Shawn’s, so he would feel better about having me close. “Mrs. Hogan, tell me what happened.”
She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “Well, he said he was at the skate park on the afternoon that Eric was killed, but it turns out he headed back to the fitness center. They found him on video tape in the back hall after the ceremony. It was about the time Eric died. They say they traced some nasty note to you to our place.” She rubbed her face with her sleeve, smearing her makeup. “I just can’t handle it if they take him away and put him in jail. I’ve already lost Eric, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. Michael is just a kid. You have to help me, Tess. You said you would.” She clung to my arm, tugging on it.
Shawn gave up what little pretense of minding his own business that he’d been using and turned to the woman. “You do realize she was nearly killed twice this week because she’s been trying to help you out, right?” His eyes shot darts at the poor woman.
I wished he was close enough so I could elbow him in the ribs, but he wasn’t so I settled with sending him my own eye-darts.
He ignored them.
“I’ve been working on it,” I told her before she could apologize or something equally stupid. I held her hand and patted it, hoping it gave some comfort. “We’re checking out the angles and talking to people. It’s been a real process.” I felt stupid saying that, but a murder investigation isn’t cake—it doesn’t have a formula you follow and things generally just work out. It’s more like mousse; no matter how closely you follow the recipe, if the conditions aren’t right, sometimes it flops.
I sighed, but listened to everything she had to say. Before sending her on her way, I told her I would see what else I could figure out.
As soon as the door closed behind Mrs. Hogan, Shawn moved in front of me. “You should have told her to go hang herself. Seriously, this isn’t your problem; you aren’t a suspect and you don’t have a stake in this. Why are you putting your life on the line for someone who knew you were hurt yesterday and didn’t even bother to ask how you were doing or look sorry?”
“I promised to help.” The words sounded hollow, put in that light, but I couldn’t walk away now. It wasn’t in me. “I have to find out the truth, Shawn.”
“Who needs the truth? Is it for you, or for her, or for that son of hers? Tingey is more than capable of doing his job. You don’t have to get involved. Tingey said the kid is a mess-up. He’s going to end up in jail eventually, so are you trying to save him from himself, or do you just like the adrenaline rush of being injured?”
“Whoa, hold on.” I stood from the table and faced him toe to toe, hoping he couldn’t tell when I went a tad light-headed. “Are you saying that the kid is going to end up in jail eventually, so we might as well send him now for murder, even if he didn’t do it?”
“No, of course not.” He spread his hands defensively. “I would never want to send anyone to prison for something he didn’t do. But this isn’t your responsibility, and I hate seeing you get hurt. Why are you doing this? Don’t you see—you could end up dead this time.”
That made me pause and re-evaluate—not what I was doing, or whether or not I was going to see it to the end, but what to say to Shawn. Several seconds passed as I considered the best way to explain. “I see something in him, okay? He doesn’t have to end up in jail; he could do something useful and honest with his life if he’s given the chance. Look at Lenny.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I’d made a mistake.
Shawn picked up on that topic right away. “Yeah, perfect example: the ex-con who was hacking into a company’s system a couple of days ago. He’s not exactly the picture of an upstanding citizen.” He kept his voice low, which was good, because I heard the back door open and close while he was saying it. That meant Lenny had returned.
Shawn went into protective mode, shifting me out of the way, moving so he could see into the kitchen through the cutout in the wall. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because he relaxed.
“Okay, you really have to get over yourself,” I whispered furiously. “You know nothing you say is going to change how I feel about Lenny, so let it go, already. And if I spend my time trying to help hopeless causes, how is that any o
f your business?”
“You’re just so stubborn.” He spun on his heel and walked over to the front window, looking out on the street. His chest heaved a little. “I just want you to stay safe, Tess. That’s my only concern right now.”
One part of me wanted to appease him, but he didn’t have a say in my choices and I wouldn’t let him think he could order me around.
Still, I didn’t want to chase him off, either. Things had been pretty scary that week and I felt safer with him nearby. “Look, I don’t want to get hurt again, so I’m willing to listen to your suggestions. I’ll let you play body guard, and even be happy to feed you and make you caramel lattes all day long if you like. But this is my life. I am who I am, and if you can’t handle the fact that I have to see this thing through, maybe you’re looking for something to happen between us that never will.” The words were painful to speak, but they couldn’t be avoided.
Lenny poked his head around the doorjamb just enough to see me and smirk. He pulled his head back, going about his work again. He wasn’t exactly Shawn’s biggest fan.
I moved toward Shawn and he met me halfway, taking my hand. Why did we have to fight?
He met my gaze and huffed a little, but when he spoke, his voice had calmed. “Look, I’m sorry—really I am. It scares me that you could get hurt again, and much worse. You could actually be killed. I can’t stand the thought of that.”
“Don’t think I’m not aware of that. I know this is dangerous.” I searched for a way to make him understand. “Your job isn’t exactly safe, but you don’t pack it in and leave whenever you get in a sticky situation, do you?”
His hands came up to cup my elbows and he leaned closer, tipping his forehead against mine. “There’s a difference between a sensible retreat and running away. The issue here is that you don’t have to do this. It’s not your job.”
I pressed my finger to his lips. “End of subject. I’ll be careful and follow your recommendations, but I won’t give up, okay?”
Shawn’s shoulders fell as he stopped fighting. For the moment, at least. “Fine. Just be careful.”
Lenny must have decided the coast was clear because he came out of the kitchen. I filled him in on the conversation I’d had with Mrs. Hogan.
Lenny’s hand rested on the computer monitor when I finished and he tapped it for a moment, then turned to me, looking thoughtful. “I wonder if someone could have hacked into the Hogans’ computer and sent the message with the husband’s name on it from there? I mean, I could do it.”
“We’re all well aware of that,” Shawn said with censure in his voice.
“There have to be other people around here who have those kinds of skills,” Lenny returned. “Probably quite a few.”
I ignored Shawn’s look of disbelief and focused on Lenny. “Yes, but as far as I know, none of our suspects are nearly as tech savvy as you are. Is there another way?”
Lenny thought it over for a moment. A smile spread on his face. “I think there might be. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” With a determined smile on his face, he headed out to his car and drove off.
“Does he always come and go at will?” Shawn asked. “Is that how you run a business? No wonder you were never happy with your old employees.”
“Back off.” I hobbled to the kitchen to start another batch of cookies, since the customer before Mrs. Hogan had bought several dozen for a party that night.
Shawn, Lenny, Honey and Kat had spent the previous evening cleaning up the debris in the kitchen while Jerry came over and hung a new door. It had taken several hours, but eventually the space became usable again, though we found bits of debris all over the place in nooks and crannies that had to be cleaned up before we did our morning baking, and I would have to replace a few of the cake pans that had been drying on the rack near the door.
Though Shawn let the subject drop, he followed me into the kitchen, as he had been doing all day, and took a stool in the corner where he’d be out of the way. “I could help with that.”
“Not without a food handlers permit, you can’t.” I doubted anyone would actually check and fine me, but I was being stubborn and wanted to make him suffer and be bored if he was going to be so pushy. Besides, I had no idea if he could cook and wasn’t going to risk him messing up.
While I worked, I waited impatiently for Lenny’s return and Shawn didn’t try to start a conversation. I sold a few goodies to people who came into the shop as Shawn hovered in the doorway behind me. I wiped down all the counters with sanitizer and looked at upcoming orders to plan my next few days.
Finally Lenny came back in, grinning from ear to ear. “Check your email,” he told me.
I sat at the computer, wondering what this was all about, and found an email with another cake request in it. But this time it had Lenny’s information in it. “So what does that prove?”
“If you check the IP address, you’ll find it’s the one for Michael’s house. They have unsecured WiFi, and anyone could have hooked into it from the street with a laptop—or even a smart phone that is WiFi enabled—just like I did. So no matter where the email came from, it’s not proof that Michael sent it.” He smiled in that self-satisfied way that usually irked me, but made me want to high-five him this time instead.
“It’s not proof Michael didn’t send it, either,” I told him.
“Of course it’s not, but maybe we should see what we can do about proving that.” Lenny rubbed his hands together in anticipation. He always had a love for dramatics.
Much against Shawn’s wishes, when the day was over, we went back to Michael’s house to talk to him. Lenny came along; I hoped he would be able to get more information out of the teen than I had. Lenny would understand him in a way I probably couldn’t. At least, that was my hope.
Though Shawn accompanied us, I made him wait in the living room with Mrs. Hogan, which was probably pure torture—and after the mean things he’d said about her and her son, just what he deserved. Or not, but I didn’t have time to worry about that at the moment. He oozed the aura of cop—or so Lenny said—and I was afraid Michael might clam up if Shawn was there.
Michael was in his room, lying on the bed in his clothes, on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. “Go away,” he said before he even looked to see who was there.
“I brought you some cookies. And a friend who wants to meet you.” The cookies had worked well enough the first time, right? I decided I might as well try them again.
“I don’t care,” Michael said, but he glanced in my direction. It must have been the promise of cookies.
“Sorry, you need to work on being more convincing next time.” I sat on the side of the bed. “We think we might be able to help you, but you need to give us some information, and give it to us straight. None of this lying.”
He snorted in disgust. “What’s the point? The cops are doing their best to pin this whole thing on me anyway. It’s not like there’s anything we can do about it. I don’t know why my mom even bothered trying. Seriously, I’m a lost cause. Just leave the cookies and go away.” There was a slight curve to his lips when he said this last part, which I took as invitation to keep pushing.
“We come with the cookies. We’re a package deal, sorry.”
Lenny flipped on the bedroom light and sat in the chair at the computer desk, sliding it over closer to him.
I handed the treats to Michael.
“We want to talk to you,” Lenny said. “I think we might be able to prove you didn’t do it, or at least throw enough suspicion on the thing that they can’t pin it on you without something more.”
Michael shot him a look of disbelief. “Why would you care? I don’t even know you.”
“No,” Lenny said, smiling. “But I think I know you. In fact, I’d just bet I know you very well.” He pushed Michael’s leg out of the way so he could prop his feet on the corner of the bed. “In fact, I bet I could tell you a whole lot about yourself that would surprise you, but that’s not why I’m here.
Today I want to find out what happened when Eric died. And where you were during the times when Tess was attacked would be handy too.”
Michael looked at me. “Attacked? What does he mean?”
I pointed to the little scabs and the large bruise on my forehead. “You think I got all this in the line of duty while making wedding cakes?” I looked so un-gorgeous right now. It boggled the mind that Shawn kept hanging around. “No, someone tried to shoot me through the side window of my car a few days ago, and that was fun compared to yesterday.”
He pushed himself up against the headboard like a crab trying to scamper out of sight. “Well, it wasn’t me.”
I chuckled, though it was mostly for show. “I really didn’t think you did it. But we think this is all related. If you didn’t hurt me, couldn’t have hurt me, either on Saturday or yesterday, then you’re probably off the hook—unless they can find DNA or something.”
“What happened yesterday?” he asked. His brow furrowed. “Wait—that was your place where the bomb went off? One of the guys said they thought it was the fabric shop next door.”
Obviously the idea worried him, which made me feel better. I didn’t think he was particularly good at hiding his feelings, but I’d rely on Lenny’s take when we finished here.
“Where were you?” I asked.
“Yesterday, what time?”
“About four.”
He pointed in triumph. “I was at a baseball game. I’m really good. Our team has won games with people all over the place. We played in Prescott from three until about five. No way that was me. And on Saturday we traveled to Phoenix. So unless it happened before nine or after five, chances are, I wasn’t in the area.”
“Well, that’s going to help.” I felt relief that he couldn’t have hurt me. I hadn’t thought it was him, but hadn’t dared cross him off my list before now. “Did the police ask you about this?”
Pistols & Pies (Sweet Bites Book 2) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) Page 15
