by Agatha Ball
"You have our information," I pointed out to him.
"Everyone is a suspect! EVERYONE! Those who need to leave on the evening ferry, follow me please. I have reserved that booth over there and will take down all of your statements."
As the confused people formed a line, Nate pulled me aside. "This is even worse than I could have thought," he said. "If this gets out that Seaside is some sort of island prison instead of island paradise?" He watched as Stan had a difficult time getting the lid off his pen. "You know and I know that Stan and Fred are going to be absolutely useless in cracking this case."
"Well, you know what Granny always told me?"
"What?"
"If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Come on."
Chapter Nineteen
Nate and I walked up to the police precinct.
I had grabbed a bag of Granny's baked goods from Bitter Beans after Nate, Johnny and I filled her in on all of the drama that had unfolded at the bakeoff. She and her friends were all inside the shop enjoying the new air conditioning. Granny looked absolutely shocked. I think Wanda's blue hair was about to catch on fire.
Wanda took a big sip from her coffee cup. "Maybe we can start doing Jack the Ripper tours or something of Seaside."
"Don't even joke about that," said Nate. He shook his head ruefully. "And especially don't joke about it in front of Madison, because she might actually make it happen."
"I wish I could say I was sorry he's gone," said Granny. She wrinkled her nose. "But from what Richard tells me, he was a real... J. E. R. K. I'm spelling out the letters so no one can accuse me of speaking ill of the dead."
"What did Richard say he was doing?"
"Well, Shelia might have been allowing the young bucks to sway her vote, but only because what's good for the goose is good for the gander. That man practically had a printed menu of how much it was going to cost you to buy him out."
Wanda leaned against the counter. "Came into my shop and called my souvenirs cheap."
Holly piled on. "Came into my general store and was complaining that my tissue was too soft and expensive. Wondered why I wasn't stocking that single-ply scratchy stuff. When you meet someone who won't splurge an extra 50-cents to keep their nose from getting scabby when they're sick, you know you're dealing with a snake."
"He didn't come into my yarn shop," Marnie stated, almost apologetic that she didn't have anything to add.
"He was sick?" I asked. I looked at Nate. "He wouldn't have been able to taste anything."
"Well, that's what I assumed," said Holly. "His nose and eyes were all red when he came in and he kept sniffing."
"Could have been snorting something," Johnny piped up. Everyone turned around to look at him and he shifted uncomfortably. He held up his hands in protest. "Not my bag. I'm about the natural highs of life. But sometimes I've had a rich client come through who liked to 'party on a boat' if you get my drift." He leaned over to Marnie to explain. "And by that I mean, they would get on a boat and have a party, and then they'd try to come rent equipment to go scuba diving, but their nose would be running and you can't go down when you're sick. You'll blow out your eardrums from all the pressure. So I'd say, 'Sorry, sir.' And they'd get all huffy that they weren't sick they were just doing illegal narcotics, which is not better." He paused for a moment. "When I was incognito next to the pretty wooden lady, I heard some things."
"It would make sense," I began to hypothesize.
"What?" asked Nate.
"Well, if he did have a drug problem, and a money problem. I mean, the guy was cheaping out on Kleenex. That might give someone a reason to kill him. Like, if he had debts he hadn't paid off and they followed him to the island?" I paused for a moment. "None of us have seen the face of that mystery judge. We still don't know what his name is. What if he was sent here for another reason?" I looked meaningfully at everyone. "I mean, Lorraine said he was a friend but there have been a couple of times her chipper mood has seemed like it could have been 'enhanced'..."
"It seems like there would be a lot easier ways to bump a guy off," mentioned Nate.
"Maybe they like drama. Maybe they wanted to ruin the bakeoff as well as him. Who knows! But all we know is maybe there's something we should look into."
He held up his hand. "High five for a lead."
"Okay, we're headed over to the jail," I informed Granny. "We'll be back as soon as we crack this case."
"I'll see if I can get the judge's name from Richard." She held out a bag of great smelling baked goods. "Here's your bail money. Get some good use out of it!"
Johnny raised a finger. "Um... could I get a bag to go?" He apologized to Nate and me. "I gotta clean up the equipment at the shack. I forget I have a job sometimes."
"You take care of your livelihood, cuz," said Nate, doing some sort of complicated handshake-fist bump-something that he and Johnny had worked out. "We'll fill you in on everything."
"Peace out!" said Johnny, backing toward the door. And then he jogged forward, grabbing the new bag Granny had put together for him, and jogged his way out again. "I'll keep my ear to the ground!"
Nate and I trudged up the hill to the precinct. It was a square, cinderblock building covered in beige bricks. Probably one of the ugliest buildings on all of Seaside, but it served its utilitarian purpose. Nate held open the heavy, bulletproof glass door for me.
Fred was sitting at the desk with his feet up on the table. He quickly pulled them away as soon as he saw who it was.
"I was working," he informed Nate defensively.
"I'm not here on any sort of official capacity," Nate reassured him.
"We're just here to see Kylie," I explained.
Fred shook his head and relaxed. "I'm afraid she can't see anyone until we get a full statement from her," said Fred.
"Even if I brought fresh baked goodies from Bitter Beans?" I offered, waving the bag.
Fred eyed it with rapidly dissolving resolve. "Who made them?"
"Granny," I informed him.
"Your granny?" That was the little nudge he needed to push him over the edge. He snatched the bag out of my hands. "You've got ten minutes. And if Stan asks, I didn't eat all of the baked goods. The baked goods were never here. You spoke to no one and brought nothing."
"Fair enough," I replied.
Fred got his keys and unlocked the door to the jail cells for us. Nate and I went inside, sadly both entirely too familiar with this corner of the police building than two innocent people should be.
Kylie sat on the cot, still in her chef's clothes. Even in the clink, her long, highlighted hair looked perfect and there was barely a dusting of flour on her dark pants.
She almost sprang to her feet when the door opened, but then saw who it was and settled back with disappointment. Or at least I think it was disappointment. Her face didn't move too much from all the botox.
"What do you want?" she asked.
"We're here to help," Nate informed her.
"Did you bring a lawyer? Because I'm going to sue the heck out of this stupid place."
I tried to remind myself that we had been in her position at some point over the course of the past few months, and everyone reacts to powerlessness differently. I sat down in the chair outside of her cell and asked, "Is there anyone you need to call? Anything you need us to do?"
She rolled her eyes. "I already called my parents and as soon as that stupid blockade has been lifted on the ferry, they'll have their lawyer here on the next boat."
I hooked my thumb back at the office. "Listen, Stan and Fred? They're idiots. And they'll frame you for whatever if it looks like they can reenact their favorite scene from CSI." I scooched forward. "But we actually want to find out who really did it. How do you think cyanide got into your bake?"
She shrugged with apathy. "You got me. After that disaster with all of the people getting sick during the public taste testing, I thought that our cooking area was going to be patrolled by those yahoos who arrested
me. All I know is I came in and opened up my hutch, got out my ingredients, and evidently they were poisoned."
"Were they new ingredients?"
"Yes. I mean, not boxed. Unboxing takes time and the only reason to do it is to increase your YouTube followers. But, they were new and sealed. After my crate was destroyed, I ordered a bunch of stuff and my sponsors spent a lot of money sending it over."
"Had you told anyone what you were going to be making?"
"I've been over in Trevor's Saloon every night, hanging out with everyone, and yeah, we totally talked about what we were making."
"Do you remember who was around you?"
"Everyone. Madison, Trevor, Lorraine, Victor, Richard... Everybody has been there. It's been the only place to hang out on this stupid island."
I ignored the slights to Seaside. In her position, I'd probably be a little put off by it, too. Instead, I focused on the information she shared with us. "So, all people staying at the Grand Hotel..." I mused.
"What was that?" asked Nate.
"Bryce is staying in the cottage near me. The people who were around to hear were staying at the hotel and would have had an opportunity to sneak in if they wanted to."
"But who has a motive?" Nate pressed.
"Everyone hated Victor, but not enough to do this to him," Kylie informed us.
"Madison hates Seaside and wants it to burn?" I shrugged.
"Don't you dare suggest one of my sorority sisters would try to frame me for murder. She wouldn't do that. And she most DEFINITELY would not ruin one of my recipes."
Nate pressed. "We were thinking that maybe someone meant it for you, thinking that you would taste it before you put it out for the judges."
"Did anyone hate you?" I asked.
She rolled her eyes again. "Um. Everyone loves me."
Nate switched tactics. "Do you think there was anyone jealous of you?"
"Oh. Well. Probably every baker in that room. I'm really good." She leaned back and thought for a little while. "I mean, Bryce was always threatened by me. He probably hated that I was going to win now that he was gone." Kylie thought a little longer. "I mean, Richard's always so weird. I thought I got a sense that he wasn't actually very interested in baking. I have no idea why he became a judge. And we have no idea who that mystery judge is who just popped up. Maybe someone I went to school with who wanted to sit at my lunch table. I got, like, a million views of that video I posted about the cleaver, so maybe someone from my past came to get me. And Lorraine probably hated me because I'm a woman, and women are so catty to each other."
I so wanted to break it to her that any cattiness was less about feminine rivalry and more that she was a horrible human being.
"It was probably one of Lorraine's crazed fans who hated me because she looks so bad standing next to me."
Suddenly, the door swung open and Fred popped his head in. "Okay, you kids. Time for you to skedaddle. Stan's on his way back and I don't want to have to answer any hard questions."
He began spraying the air with Lysol to cover the scent of cinnamon and butter.
Nate stood up. "Thanks, Kylie. We'll let you know if we discover anything. And know we're here if you need anything."
She shrugged. "The sooner you can get me out of this Fyre fest dumpster, the happier I'll be."
Chapter Twenty
Nate and I slowly strolled back to Bitter Beans. The summer sun had finally set, leaving a trail of pinks and golds across the sky. The white, ironwork streetlamps flickered on. The noise from Trevor's Saloon was a distant din, hard to hear over the rolling sound of the waves.
We were both silent as we mulled through everything that happened today. It was a lot. In fact, the whole entire weekend had been a lot.
Nate was the one to finally speak. "Have you noticed that Richard's name keeps popping up?"
I really didn't want to admit I had noticed it, too.
"I mean, had you ever heard of this Richard guy before he showed up?" Nate continued.
I looked over at him. His features were soft in the dim light, but it could not hide his concern.
"We can't go accusing someone of something before we have any proof," I reminded him. "I've learned that lesson far too many times."
We pulled to a stop and sat down on a park bench to look at the stars come out over the beach.
"Trevor said something is off with Richard, Kylie said he doesn't seem like a judge. And your grandmother's lost love just happens to arrive on this island for a competition she is entered in?"
"It's not the first time a handsome fellow has come to the island and raised some eyebrows," I reminded him, leaning over to kiss him on his crooked nose.
He reached out and took my hand, laughing. "Killer good looks is not the same as killer looks." He then sighed, inhaling the salty sea air deeply. "What are we going to do, Paige?"
I pulled out my phone. "You know, the best thing about our modern digital age is that it makes background checks so much easier."
"Ooo!" He leaned over to look at my screen. "You have me intrigued..."
"I mean, if Richard is who he says he is, there should be all sorts of information on him."
"My little stalker," Nate said, kissing me proudly on the top of my head.
I typed Richard's name into the search bar. "Huh," I said. "That's odd."
"What?"
I scrolled down. "Well, his bio comes up for this event. And there's a couple of pictures of him at bakeoffs over the past couple of years. But that's it." I kept scrolling. "He's not featured in any magazine articles or interviews. There's a lot of stuff about a vacuum cleaner salesman from Poughkeepsie." I clicked on the article and it brought up a picture.
"Oh crap, Nate," I said, showing him the picture. "He's not a food critic."
Suddenly, we were interrupted by the sound of a scream.
I looked at Nate. "That was Granny."
We leaped to our feet and tore off to Bitter Beans. My heart was pounding in my chest as the adrenaline pushed me to go faster. I ripped open the door.
Granny was nowhere. Richard was half hidden by a bookcase. He held a broom handle back, ready to strike something.
"STOP, MURDERER!" I shouted.
Nate skidded in behind me.
"Paige?" Richard replied, looking at me in confusion.
"WHERE IS MY GRANNY?"
"Paige! Paige! I'm right here!" Granny said, peeking out of the kitchen door. She shouted at Richard. "Did you get it?"
Suddenly, a field mouse went skittering along the baseboard and ran straight out the door. I shrieked, jumping up as it brushed past me.
Captain wrested out of Granny's arms and streaked out of the kitchen to catch it.
"Captain! Come back!" Granny yelled at him.
Nate reached down and grabbed him before he could get outside.
Suddenly, time seemed to slow as I figured out what was going on. The mouse. Richard. My grandma. Granny had been startled by a mouse. She didn't want Captain to kill it. Richard was trying to get it out the door.
And now we were all here. Together. And I had called Richard a murderer.
"Sorry," I apologized, as I realized everything was fine. "I thought... you might have hurt... Granny..."
Richard lowered the broom. "Why would you think I was a murderer?" he asked, his voice colored with a mixture of betrayal and hurt.
Nate pointed his finger accusingly. "We know you aren't who you say you are. We know you're not a professional food critic."
All the air seemed to get sucked out of the room. Granny looked at him in confusion. "Is this true?"
Richard stepped back, a man cornered, and then his head bowed in shame. "It's true."
Granny folded her hands, bracing herself for his confession. "Go on."
"I am so sorry for deceiving you." He reached out to her, apologies in his eyes. "But it's not what you think. Who knows how many days we have on this planet? It doesn't do any of us any good to play coy anymore." He paused, as if h
e needed to steel his courage, and then he blurted out, "I never got over you, Cindy. I lost you once because I was scared of telling you the truth. I'm not going to make that mistake again."
"It was a mistake?" she asked, confused by his words.
"I regretted it every day of my life that I let you slip away. And a few years ago, I was on the Facebook and saw you were living here on Seaside and you had opened up a coffee shop. I knew I would never be enough... just being some old retiree who spent his life selling vacuum cleaners and small appliances. I knew you wouldn't look at me with respect—"
"That's not true," she tried to protest.
"In my mind, Cindy, you were such a prize, my old self never would have been enough. I settled for second best in everything, and for once, I wanted to be the best. So..." He took a great big breath.
"What is it? What are you frightened of telling me?" she pressed, stepping toward him to take his hands in hers.
"I became a connoisseur, a foodie, in the hopes that when I finally worked up the courage to come to the island, I would be able to talk to you as an equal, not just some old fella pining away for a love that happened forty years ago." He looked at her intently. "I knew you were here. I came here... I volunteered to come here to have a chance to see you. I became a bakeoff judge in the hopes that you might see my name and think about me, too."
Her smile was soft and gentle, tinged with sadness, but also with a little bit of wonder. She reached up and touched his cheek. "You did all that for me? You changed your whole life in the hopes of getting my attention? All you had to do was call, Richard..."
"It wouldn't have been enough." He brushed away a tear that was leaking out of the corner of his eye.
"It always would have been enough for me."
"You were the one who left," Richard reminded Granny.
"Because we quarreled! I wanted you to fight for us! I wanted you to show me I mattered! But when you quietly left?"
