Cast Iron Suspicion (The Cast Iron Cooking Mysteries Book 5)

by Jessica Beck

  “I’m so sorry,” Annie said, and then my sister did an amazing thing. Putting their past differences aside, she hugged Jenna tightly as my ex-girlfriend began to cry. I should have offered her comfort myself, but Annie was better in those situations than I’d ever been. As she was consoling her, Annie mouthed the words, “Call Kathleen” to me. Had she made the gesture to keep Jenna there, or was there a dual purpose to the offer of sympathy? It didn’t matter. I did as she suggested.

  Stepping away from them for a moment, I dialed Kathleen’s number.

  She answered impatiently, “Patrick, I haven’t had enough time to come to any conclusions yet. These things take as long as they take. I’ll call you when I know something.”

  “Don’t hang up,” I said. I knew that she’d been about to, based on my past experience with my older sister. “Jenna is here.”

  “Jenna Lance? At the Iron?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. “Annie’s comforting her at the moment. We just told her what happened to Timothy.”

  After a moment’s pause, Kathleen said, “I really wish you had let me do that.”

  “Sorry, but I wasn’t thinking of you at the moment. I’m not sure how long we’ll be able to keep her here, though. I just thought you’d like to know that she was back in town.”

  “Back? Where was she?” Kathleen asked, though I could hear she was multitasking as a car engine roared to life in the background. Evidently she was going to talk and drive at the same time.

  “She told us she had a fight with Timothy yesterday. She broke up with him, as a matter of fact, and then she headed straight for her sister’s place in Hickory.”

  I thought I’d been circumspect, but when I looked up, Jenna was staring at me. “Is that your sister on the phone?” she asked me.

  “I thought you might like to talk to her about Timothy, since she knows more about what happened than we do,” I explained quickly. It would have been the nice thing to do, even if it hadn’t been my primary motivation for calling Kathleen.

  “Let me talk to her,” Jenna demanded as she reached for my phone.

  “She wants to talk to you,” I told Kathleen before Jenna ripped it from my hand.

  “Where are you? I need to know about Timothy right now.” After nodding a few times, she said, “Okay.” As Jenna handed my cell phone back to me, she said, “She’s on her way. Thanks for calling her, Pat.”

  “Sure,” I said, feeling uneasy about getting praise for doing something for my sister’s benefit and not hers. “Glad to help.”

  Thirty seconds later, a squad car came tearing into our parking lot. Kathleen got out and hurried for the door, where the three of us were waiting for her.

  “I need to know everything,” Jenna said.

  Kathleen nodded toward us, and then she turned to Jenna. “I understand, but we shouldn’t do it here. Pat and Annie are just opening for the day, and there’s going to be a crowd of customers here soon.” I appreciated her optimism, but I doubted we’d be experiencing any sudden morning rushes. “Let’s go back to my office where we won’t be disturbed.”

  “I don’t care where we do it,” she said. “I just want to know what’s going on.”

  “Come on then,” Kathleen said. “Thanks for the call, Pat,” she added before they left the Iron together.

  Annie looked at me after they were gone and asked, “Was that a good idea, calling Kathleen so quickly?”

  “I don’t know, sis, it was yours. What choice did we have? Jenna has to be high on Kathleen’s list of suspects. It would have been negligent of us not to tell her that she was with us.”

  “I know. That’s what I was thinking when I suggested it, but now that Jenna is gone, I’m beginning to wonder. Pat, do you believe her?”

  “Which part?” I asked.

  “That she broke up with him. After all, the only other person who can refute it is conveniently dead.”

  “Annie, what could it possibly matter who ended things?” What was my sister driving at? Even as I asked myself the question, the answer popped into my head. “You think if he broke things off with her, she might have killed him in a fit of rage, don’t you?”

  “It’s a possibility that we need to consider,” my sister said. “Whether we like it or not, Jenna is smack dab in the middle of this murder investigation.”

  “I still have a hard time believing she could do something like that,” I said, realizing that Annie was right. No matter how illogical it might seem on a rational level, I knew that rage could do terrible things to someone’s judgment, no matter how levelheaded they might normally be.

  “I know. I’m sorry, there’s no way around it. We have to consider the possibility that Jenna killed Timothy.” She looked as upset saying it as I was hearing it.

  “Okay. If Jenna did kill him, it’s probably going to be on Kathleen’s shoulders to prove it. We need to spend our time trying to figure out if any of our other suspects might have done it instead.”

  “We certainly have a list to choose from,” Annie said as a timer went off in back. “That’s my bread,” she said, rushing to the grill part of our business.

  “Relax, it just went off,” I said as I followed her to the back. I was stopped short by Edith, our mail lady, and Skip, our young assistant, as they walked into the Iron together.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Edith said. “It was all my fault. I had a flat tire, and Skip was kind enough to change it for me.”

  “I was happy to do it,” the young man said. “I can’t believe what happened to Timothy Roberts. How’s Annie taking it?”

  “She’s pretty upset,” I said, trying not to give too much away about our decision to investigate on our own.

  “I imagine she would be,” Edith said. “I’ll go see if I can offer some comfort to the poor child.”

  I knew that Annie wouldn’t want to be fawned over, no matter how good Edith’s intentions might be. “I’m sure she would appreciate the gesture, but let’s all give her a little space right now, if you don’t mind,” I said softly.

  “Yes, you’re right. That would be for the best. Tell her I asked about her, would you?”

  “Me, too,” Skip added.

  “I will, but the best thing we can all do right now is to go about our normal duties and give her time to let it all sink in.”

  “Very good,” Edith said. Before she disappeared into her own domain, the small corner of the space that served as the mail drop for our town, she patted Skip on the cheek gently. “You’re a fine young man, and I appreciate you very much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along when you did and rescued me.”

  He blushed slightly under the praise. “Anybody would have done it.”

  “Tell that to the four cars that passed me by before you stopped,” she said, and then she did as I suggested and entered her mailroom domain.

  “What can I do this morning?” Skip asked me.

  “Well, first you can wash your hands,” I said as I looked at the grease stains covering his fingers and palms.

  “Consider it done,” he said with a grin. “And after that?”

  “We got a shipment in yesterday of Christmas decorations. Why don’t you carve out room for a display?”

  “I’d love to. Could I add a few of my own things into the mix?” Skip was constantly trying to find a way to make extra money using his many talents, and I had no problem with him displaying the crafty pieces he created.

  “What did you have in mind?”

  “Let me show you,” he said as he dug into his letter carrier bag and pulled out a five-inch decorated Christmas tree cut from a thin piece of veneer. It even sported tiny painted lights and garlands on it. “I’ve got lots more. What do you think?”

  “This one is great,” I said. “Ho
w are you going to display them, though? They are ornaments, aren’t they?”

  “Well, they are now,” he said with a grin. “All I need to do is drill a hole through the star on top and put some thin red ribbon through it. That’s brilliant, Pat.”

  “I’m glad I could help,” I said. “I’m curious, though. What was your original plan?”

  “I made little bases with slots in them,” he explained as he dug out a small two-inch-by-four-inch piece of wood painted white. Skip had cut a slot in the top, and after setting the base down on a nearby counter, he stood the tree up as a three-dimensional display. “Ta da. I won’t need the bases now, though, since I’m making these into ornaments.”

  “Don’t do anything rash,” I said. “Sell them both ways. You could have some trees on stands and others as ornaments. You know, I think you may have something here. Have you thought about making snowmen as well?”

  Skip frowned for a second, and then he broke out into a grin. “Cool. I can make a longer base and have snowmen and Christmas trees placed randomly. Man, you’re contributing so much to this project I feel as though I should cut you in on the profits.”

  Coming from Skip, I knew what a concession that would be. “Thanks, but just make me three sets for myself and we’ll call it even.”

  “Sure thing, but why three?” he asked me.

  “I’m going to need one set for me, and one each for Annie and Kathleen. I’ve been wondering what to give them for Christmas, and these would be perfect.”

  “Done and done, boss,” he said. “Now I’ll get busy on that display.”

  “After you wash up,” I reminded him.

  “Check.”

  Chapter 6: Annie

  I got to the bread just as it was about to burn on top, which was a real relief, since I’d already invested so much time in it. I’d been experimenting lately with baking my bread in a cast iron Dutch oven, and so far, I’d been loving the results. At first it seemed counterintuitive to put the dough in a closed container after it had risen, but I was a true believer after I realized that the bread steamed as it baked. During the last five to ten minutes, I removed the lid and let it brown naturally until it developed a crisp crust to go with the moist interior. After it cooled, when the bread was cut, it felt more like a sourdough variety than a plain yeast bread recipe, with holes and pockets of air scattered throughout the loaves. I’d snuck down to the kitchen a few hours earlier to get it started since I was staying with Pat, and I’d mixed up the dough so I could give it enough time to rise before I baked it.

  I was just slicing one loaf up for French toast when I saw someone approach my counter. Pat wouldn’t have known him on sight, and he must have walked right past my brother without him realizing who it was.

  Unfortunately, the two of us had met before.

  “Hello, Mick. Sorry for your loss,” I said automatically.

  “You’re not surprised I’m in town, Annie? Is this place really that big a gossip mill?” he asked with a frown. Mick had been quite a bit thinner when we’d first met, but he’d since packed on the pounds in all of the wrong places. When I’d been dating his little brother, Timothy had told me that Mick went through wives like some men traded in cars. He had a habit of marrying eighteen-year-old girls, no matter his own age. The last I’d heard, his fourth and hopefully final wife had left him, no doubt in search of a man and not a petulant little boy. Mick’s looks had faded over time, and I doubted he could snare another teen in his trap, though I doubted it would ever stop him from trying.

  “What can I say? News travels fast in a small town,” I said. “How long have you been here?” It was a question I’d been dying to ask him, and I was ready with it when he’d suddenly showed up.

  “I’ve been here a few days,” he admitted. “Timmy and I have been wrangling about our father’s estate, since he was in charge. I don’t know what Dad was thinking. Maybe he felt sorry for him.”

  I knew that Timothy hated being called Timmy, and the only one who did it was his older brother. While Timothy had gone on to college, getting a degree in accounting and making something of himself, his brother had tried to skate his way through life. For some reason, their father had indulged his older son, bailing him out of trouble again and again, but now Mick’s safety net was gone. “I didn’t realize your father had passed away,” I said. “It’s been a pretty tough time for you, hasn’t it?”

  “It would have been easier if Timmy had loosened up the purse strings. I asked for a reasonable advance against my inheritance, but he wouldn’t give me a nickel. Instead, he kept pushing off the final disposition until the last minute. I don’t know what I’m going to do now that he’s dead. I’m probably going to have to hire a lawyer to sort this mess out.”

  “I’m sorry his death is going to be such an inconvenience for you,” I said, slamming a cup down in front of him and filling it quickly with coffee, managing to splash a little on his hand in the process. It had been difficult to do intentionally, but I’d somehow pulled it off, and for some odd reason, I was proud of the fact.

  “Hey, that’s hot,” he protested.

  I tossed him a dishrag. “So sorry. What can I get you?”

  “How about some burn ointment?” Mick asked as he dabbed at his hand.

  I looked at it a second, and then I shook my head. “You know, if you hadn’t moved the cup, it wouldn’t have happened.” It was true that he’d touched it, though barely, and it had had no impact on my aim, but I was going to head off a lawsuit before he could even consider it.

  “Whatever,” he said, the resignation clear in his voice. “What’s good here?”

  “Everything,” I said. “I thought you were staying with Louisa and Cynthia at their B&B. Doesn’t that, by its definition, include breakfast?”

  “If you can call it that. The only thing they had to eat this morning was oatmeal. I hate oatmeal.”

  “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve got other choices. What can I get you?”

  “What’s the special? Anything cheap?”

  I wanted to take the dishrag from him and smack him with it, but I resisted the temptation. “I’m making French toast with homemade bread,” I said.

  After I quoted him the reduced price, he grimaced a little before saying, “I suppose that would be okay.”

  “Well, I’ve always got the Twofer. It’s even cheaper.”

  He showed a little interest. “What’s that?”

  “Two eggs and two pieces of toast,” I said with a smile.

  “No sausage or bacon?” he asked.

  “Sure, but that would be extra.” For some reason, I loved giving this man bad news.

  “You know what? I think I’ll pass on all of it.” As he stood, he reached for his wallet, but I figured that since I’d splashed him with the coffee, it wouldn’t be right to charge him for it.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

  “Why? Because you burned me, or because my brother just died?”

  “Let’s say it’s in honor of your brother’s memory and leave it at that,” I said, meaning it as I said it.

  “Is it too late to change my order, then?” Mick asked me with what he must have thought was a charming smile.

  It didn’t work on me. “Yes. Have a good day.”

  Mick frowned at my refusal, and then he walked out of the Iron, a little the worse for wear.

  Pat joined me in back as I was wiping up the spilled coffee. “What was that all about, Annie?”

  “You two have never met. That was Timothy’s older brother, Mick,” I explained.

  “As he walked past me, he said something about suing us, but the place wouldn’t be worth it if they gave him the keys.”

  “Ignore him. He’s a whiney little baby,” I said.

  “Is it true? Did
you splash him with hot coffee on purpose?” Pat asked me.

  “Not nearly enough of it, if you ask me,” I admitted. “He’s more upset about their father’s will being held up than he is about Timothy’s death.”

  “What are you talking about?” Pat asked me.

  “Evidently Timothy was the executor, even though he’s younger than Mick, and he’s been dragging his feet settling the estate. That’s why Mick said that he was in town. He admitted that he and his brother have been battling over the will since he arrived.”

  Pat took that in. “That gives him a motive then, doesn’t it?”

  I considered it for a moment before replying. “Pat, I can’t stand the man, but would he kill his last remaining family just for money?”

  “I don’t know him at all. You tell me,” Pat said.

  Once I looked at it in those cold and calculating terms, I realized that it could be true. “It’s possible. He admitted that they’ve been arguing about money since he arrived. Do you think he’s trying to do a preemptive strike by announcing it to any and all who will listen to him?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but Kathleen needs to know what’s going on with Timothy’s brother. Are you going to call her, since you’re the one who just spoke to Mick?”

  “I suppose I have to,” I said. “Hey, you didn’t have much of a breakfast. I know you were worried about Jenna, but at least she showed up. Can I whip you up some French toast?”

  “I really shouldn’t,” he said, though it was clear by his tone of voice that he wanted to.

  “Come on, Pat, live a little. The store’s not crowded, Skip can handle anything that comes up, and you deserve something good to eat.”

  “Okay, you twisted my arm,” he said with the hint of a smile. “Make it quick though, okay? I don’t like taking Skip off his display work.”

  “Seriously? Christmas decorations already?” I asked as I dipped slices of my handmade bread into the batter I’d prepared.