Bakeries and Bodies

by Danielle Collins

  “So, no one—including the police—know that you two were…”

  “In love.”

  “But, you have to tell them, Fran. This could clear up everything. You do realize that you’re being held because they think you killed him.” She hated to be blunt, but the woman needed to understand that no reputation was worth a murder charge.

  “I’m innocent as the day is long, Margot. And they’ll discover that without my dirty laundry being aired.”

  “It’s not dirty laundry to love someone,” Margot gently pointed out.

  Fran sighed. “I know. There’s another side to this, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The competition.” Fran shook her head. “I may sound like a heartless, money-loving person, Margot, but Simon and I both agreed that our feud was good for the bake-off. The money raised goes to a good organization and we knew that half of the people who come or enter do so because they know we’ll be—or, would have been—fightin’ mad.” Fran sighed as if the weight of the world was on her shoulders. “We’d talked about maybe announcing our engagement after this year’s bake-off, but now that Simon’s gone—” She burst into tears and Margot fought the urge to reach across the table to console the woman.

  “I'm so sorry, Fran.” She understood now, at least in part, why Fran had remained silent, but her pride was going to be her downfall if things continued.

  “You’ve got to go on and bake without me.”

  “What?”

  Fran sobered immediately and stared back at Margot with intensity. “You are a world class bakery, according to Louise. You’ve got to enter the competition on my behalf. Please. It would mean the world not only to me, but to those children. Can you do that? For me?”

  “I…I’m not sure.” Margot felt caught off-guard by the woman’s request.

  “You can use my kitchen and supplies. Just enter your best Christmas recipe under my slot. I’ve already registered and my entrance fee is paid for. Will you do it?”

  Margot marveled at the fact that this woman was in jail and asking Margot to bake in her place. It seemed as if her priorities were confused, and yet Margot could see Fran’s commitment to her innocence and where her priorities lay. With the charity. With baking. And, unfortunately, with concealing the truth about her and Simon.

  Just then, the door flew open and Detective Russ Nelson barged in, red-faced and breathing hard. “You—” He pointed at Margot. “Out. Now.”

  “What are you doing meddling in my case?” Margot wanted to protest, but the detective went on without giving her a chance to respond. “You may have found the body, but that does not give you—or your detective boyfriend—the right to interfere. I could have you brought up on charges of interference. And I could give a call to Detective Eastwood’s chief. I’m sure they’d love to hear how one of their detectives in getting in the way of an investigation in Oregon.”

  Margot was growing angrier by the minute as Detective Nelson kept going, but when he threatened to call Adam’s boss, she knew she needed to interrupt.

  “Detective Nelson,” she said, striving to keep her voice calm. “I’d like to point out that Adam is nowhere near the property at this moment. I don’t know why you think that he’s investigating this, because he’s clearly not. And, to speak to your other accusations, I’m here talking to a friend. She and I have decided to collaborate for the bake-off. Unless it’s illegal to bake in this town—which I highly doubt it is—then I suggest you take your time and spend it accusing the actual person who committed this crime.”

  “If I even believe that you’re doing the bake-of for Fran, which I highly doubt, then I’m sure poor Ken Huxley will have a run for his money. Yes, Missus Margot Durand, I did a little digging into your background. It looks like you really are a baker.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes at his tone, but resisted. She would take the high ground here.

  “And, if it’s true that you aren’t looking into this case, I’ll be completely shocked. I know you have a history, I’ve seen the newspapers, but you can’t get away with that type of thing here. Your boyfriend won’t be able to come in and save you if I do charge you with obstruction of justice. Just remember that.”

  Margot took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I would suggest that instead of checking up on me, you look into solving the case you do have. Good day, Detective Nelson.”

  She sidestepped him and walked toward the front of the building. She heard his angry footsteps behind her but didn’t turn around. When she exited the hallway, she was shocked to see Ken Huxley standing near a desk in the middle of the room.

  She felt his gaze follow her as she walked down the narrow aisle one row away from him. She wouldn’t allow herself to look his direction, but she knew he’d seen.

  Then she heard Detective Nelson’s voice. “Hello, Ken. Thanks for coming. We have a few things discuss.”

  Without another backward glance, she pushed open the heavy front door and was greeted by a gust of cold wind. In all of her years as the wife of a detective, she’d never met someone so infuriating. A few of Julian’s colleagues had suffered from an enlarged ego, but at least they had been civil.

  She climbed into the SUV and turned it on, turning up the heat as the vehicle warmed up. The worst part about being in the police station was the fact that Ken had seen her there. Now, any pretense that she didn’t know what was going on would be gone. It was possible that her role in all of this would still be unknown, but she had a feeling Detective Nelson was going to tell Ken exactly who she was and what she was doing. Or, at least what he thought she was doing.

  Sadly, he wasn’t too far from the truth, but she would certainly not do anything that could be considered obstruction. She knew too much, and valued the truth coming to light too much, to do anything to harm the detective’s case. If he’d take a moment to talk with her, she would have made that clear.

  Still fuming, she pulled out into traffic and headed back to the Eastwood estate. At least that night’s activity of a gingerbread house decorating competition with the kids would help to keep her mind off of the fact that Fran was still in jail and there were no new leads on the case.

  Chapter 9

  The early morning light barely reached through the spotty clouds. It was colder than Margot had anticipated and she hoped that Fran’s bakery had a good heating system. She had gotten the key from Louise, who had an extra, and she was going to try her hand at a few different recipes.

  She had considered making them at the Eastwoods’, but then she’d thought about wanting to view the scene of the crime again and the pull had been too strong. After a call directed to anyone at the police station except for Detective Nelson, she’d learned that they had release the scene and Fran had agreed to have a company come and clean.

  Now that everything was open, Margot saw the opportunity to try out one of her favorite recipes as well as being in town. She wouldn’t bake enough to open the shop, but she would get a feeling for the area.

  Margot pulled up at the back of the bakery just like she had that fateful morning with Adam. This time, she had to unlock the door and flip on the lights, but thankfully, no dead body greeted her.

  She quickly found the heat and turned it up, then made her way to the ovens to turn them on. Familiarizing herself with the other equipment, she went into the pantry and took stock. There were enough ingredients to make what she wanted, but she would likely have to make a run to the store before the competition started, depending on what she decided to make.

  On a whim, Margot stepped into the pantry and turned around as if she had been Fran when she and Adam had come in the morning they found Simon. Had Fran already been in the pantry with the skillet? Or had she gone in to hide? Or…

  Margot heard the back door open and close. She stiffened, looking for a weapon. She didn’t see anything nearby, but she did have her Krav Maga skills. Though thankfully she hadn’t needed to use them in self-defense, she felt confident she co
uld defend herself should it become necessary. She just hoped this morning wasn’t such an occasion. Then again, she hadn’t heard the door being broken in, so it was likely whoever had come in had a key.

  “Hello?” a soft voice asked. It clearly belonged to a woman and, while Margot didn’t completely relax, she did put her hands down from their defensive position.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” she said, stepping from the pantry much like Fran would have that terrible morning.

  “Oh my,” the young woman said, stepping back from Margot with her hand to her chest. “You startled me coming out of the pantry like that.”

  “I’m sorry. Um, who are you?” Margot tried to think of a better way to ask the question, but decided on transparency as being best.

  “No, I'm the one who’s sorry. My name is Stephanie. I work part-time with Fran and I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here. You must be Margot.”

  Margot smiled back at the woman. “How did you know?”

  “I talked with Fran last night. She said you might be coming in—the lights should have been my first clue, I think.” She pointed to the overhead lights sheepishly.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” Then a thought occurred to her. “How did you get in to speak with Fran? It was…a challenge for me.” She wondered if that was merely for the fact that she’d been there when the body was found and Detective Nelson didn’t trust her—or Adam, apparently.

  “Oh, I, uh…” Stephanie looked uneasy. “Maybe I should have fully introduced myself. I’m Stephanie…Nelson.”

  Margot made the connection instantly. Detective Russ Nelson had a daughter.

  “Yeah…” She shook her head and began pulling her hair up into a bun. “Everyone has that reaction.”

  Margot blinked and forced a smile. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ‘have a reaction.’ I just didn’t know he had a daughter.” Or that she would be so nice. Margot felt bad for her additional thoughts, but she was shocked to learn they were related.

  “It’s all right. Everyone is surprised. My father is actually a very nice person; he’s just very…focused on his job. He wants to find out what happened to Simon.”

  “That’s understandable.” She wanted to say there was a way to do that without being rude to most people, but that had no bearing on his sweet daughter. “That was nice of him to let you talk with her.”

  “Yes.” She looked down at her clasped hands. “I think he knows I’m stuck between a rock and hard place.”

  This caught Margot’s attention. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, I forgot you aren’t from around here. Everyone knows…” She trailed off and Margot wondered if the girl wouldn’t fill her in on the news, but soon she looked up and shrugged. “I used to date Ken Huxley and worked for Simon before I broke up with Ken and Fran hired me here. I think at first it was to spite Simon, but then…” She trailed off and Margot sensed that Stephanie knew more than she was letting on to.

  “How would you describe Simon and Fran’s relationship?” She used the term specifically to see if Stephanie would bite.

  “Re-relationship?”

  “Yes.” Margot stared at the young woman, willing her to catch her hint.

  “So, she told you?”

  There it was. Confirmation that Stephanie knew about Simon and Fran’s care for one another. “She did. But she won’t tell the authorities.”

  “I know.” Stephanie shook her head. “I tried to convince her last night. I told her that my father would listen to her, but she’s terrified of others finding out.”

  “We had a similar conversation,” Margot said, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms. The heater had kicked in, making the room feel warmer, but not too warm.

  “What I don't understand,” Stephanie said, looking up at Margot, “is how you know Fran.”

  “I suppose it does seem a little odd that me, a stranger in town, has gotten herself involved in all of this.”

  “Are you? Involved, that is.”

  Margot wanted to tread lightly. While she didn’t think that Stephanie was a spy for her father—that seemed drastic even for the gruff detective—she didn’t want to admit to anything that could endanger Adam. Then again, she wasn’t sure that was possible since they were talking about her, not Adam.

  “I’m not sure if you knew, but my boyfriend and I found the body here.”

  “I did hear that. It must have been awful.”

  “It was. But, let’s just put it this way,” she decided to bare a little of her heart to this young woman, “I don’t believe for one instant that sweet Fran had enough strength to not only knock out but kill Simon. The fact that she is also in love with him is even more proof—to me, at least—that she is innocent. And I don’t like seeing innocent people put in jail or being accused of crimes they didn’t do.”

  Stephanie’s expression softened and she took a step toward Margot. “You’ve got a good heart, Margot. I think, if it weren’t for all of this, you and my father would get along really well.”

  Margot merely smiled, but she wasn’t sure she’d agree with that. Detective Russ Nelson seemed like a hard man and she wasn’t sure that would change if a case wasn’t present.

  “And, just so you know, I’ll do everything I can to convince Fran to tell my father about her relationship with Simon. He needs to know all the details and I really think Fran needs to be the one to tell him.”

  Margot nodded, glad they could agree on that, and then turned toward the empty counters. “Want to help me try out a few recipes for the bake-off?”

  Stephanie smiled. “Absolutely.”

  Margot and Stephanie spent the rest of the morning trying variations on recipes and trying to add the most amount of holiday flavor without overwhelming the senses. Lunchtime came and they split a sandwich. By this point, Margot felt comfortable enough with Stephanie to ask about her relationship with Ken.

  She hadn’t shared much, but she had explained that he was an extremely competitive person who had big goals. He wasn’t content running his outdoor adventures part-time, he wanted to buy land and build a lodge, among many other ideas he’d run past her while they were a couple.

  While she’d supported him at first, she knew he was dreaming without one foot in reality. When one instance had led them into a large argument over her support of him, it had started the downward spiral of their relationship—in her words.

  Now, as Stephanie gathered her things to leave, Margot knew her next destination had to be to talk with Ken. Even if he wouldn’t open up to her, she had to try and have a conversation with him. Besides, she still had to leave her deposit.

  They locked up the bakery, both carrying out heaping plates of test goodies, and said good-bye. Margot pulled out and headed toward the edge of town where Ken’s adventure office sat. She found a front row parking spot and smoothed her hand over her jacket as she climbed out of the SUV. She had a feeling this conversation would go very differently from the last one now that he’d seen her in the station. Then again, maybe she’d be proven wrong.

  When she walked in, the door chimed and Ken looked up. His features immediately hardened.

  So much for things not changing, she thought.

  “Good afternoon,” she said, placing her purse on the counter in front of her.

  “So you’re the one taking over the bake-off for Fran.”

  If he was going to get right to the point, she could too. “I am. And I’m sorry to hear about your father. You must be devastated.”

  “I am,” he said, though his words seemed to lack emotion. Then again, Margot had seen plenty of people lack the appropriate reaction when it came to loss. No one person reacted the same.

  She looked around and noticed a plate of cookies on the counter. “Trying out new recipes for the bake-off? Those look good.”

  His gaze narrowed. “No, these are our typical recipe. And I’m sure they are good.”

  “You haven’t had one?” she said, t
rying to lighten the mood.

  “No. I don’t eat many sweets. Look, what can I do for you, Missus Durand?”

  “I came in to put my deposit on my credit card like we’d talked about before. And I wanted to now if you knew anything more about your father’s death.” Would that be bold enough for Ken?

  He looked taken aback. “M-my father’s death? What do you mean?”

  “I just mean that I’m fairly certain that Fran didn’t kill him.”

  “How would you know that?”

  She toyed with the idea of mentioning the puncture mark behind Simon’s ear, but it didn’t feel like the right time. “She’s a frail woman. There’s no way she was able to hit him with enough force to kill him.” She felt guilty talking so bluntly about Ken’s father, but he seemed more angry than sad.

  “Who knows what we can do when we’re scared. Right?”

  “I suppose. But I just don’t know what her motive would be. I feel like there have to be others with a stronger motive.”

  “If you’re talking about the will, you’ve got it all wrong.”

  She kept quiet, knowing that silence often brought out more truth than words did.

  “Just because my father was talking about changing his will doesn’t mean that I’d become a killer.”

  “Then I assume you have an alibi.” She said it innocently enough, but his eyes blazed with the offense.

  “In fact, I do. My landlady can confirm with the alarm records.”

  Margot found it interesting that he didn’t have a personal alibi, only one based on technology, but she wasn’t going to mention that.

  “Besides,” he continued, his cheeks heating, “there are others with more motive than I. That’s for sure. Like that deadbeat Wade.”

  The statement piqued Margot’s interest. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s stolen money from my dad before. Dad was always really nice about it—too nice, if you ask me—but I think Wade had always wanted more from Dad. I just bet he’d have a hand in this.”