For Whom the Bread Rolls

by Sarah Fox

  Once I had the information I needed, I walked back through the heart of town and into a residential neighborhood. It turned out that I’d jogged past Ivan’s place that morning without realizing it. He lived on Heron Drive, in a one-story cottage-like house nestled between two Victorians. The front yard was tidy, and the house looked as though it had received a fresh coat of white paint in the recent past.

  I noted the presence of Ivan’s light blue classic VW bug at the curb in front of the house. Why such a large man had such a small car, I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t about to question his choice. After opening the gate in the white picket fence, I followed the path to the front door, a flutter of nervousness making itself known in my stomach. Although I’d grown used to Ivan’s personality over the last few months, I would have been lying if I’d said I no longer found him intimidating. Still, I knew he was a good man, and the worst that could happen when I asked for his help was for him to say no.

  Reminding myself of that fact, I pushed my nervousness aside and knocked on the front door. After a few seconds of silence, I was beginning to think he wasn’t home. But then I heard footsteps, and the door opened so quickly that I jumped in surprise.

  “Hi, Ivan.” My smile was met by the chef’s usual glower.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked in his gruff way.

  “Nothing,” I hurried to assure him. “I just wanted to ask for your help with something.”

  His dark eyes stayed on my face for another moment or two, but then he stepped back and opened the door wider.

  I stepped into the foyer and looked around, not knowing what to expect. I’d never been able to picture what Ivan’s life might look like outside of The Flip Side, and I was surprised to find that the small house was tastefully decorated, with nice colors and furniture. However, I wasn’t surprised to see that the living room to my left was perfectly tidy, not a speck of dust in sight. Ivan was meticulous when it came to cleaning his kitchen at the pancake house, and I wouldn’t have expected anything less from him in his own home.

  As I quickly studied the living room from where I stood, I noticed that Ivan didn’t have much in the way of knickknacks or personal mementos. Aside from a watercolor painting of the ocean hanging on the wall and a thriving potted plant in one corner, two framed photographs sat on the white mantel over the fireplace. They were too far away for me to see in detail, but one seemed to show an elderly couple and the other several young men dressed in combat gear.

  Ivan’s parents and his buddies from the military, maybe?

  I knew from Jimmy that Ivan had served in the military for years before becoming a chef, but that’s about all I knew about his past. It wasn’t as if he was the type to share his life’s story over a cup of coffee.

  Ivan shut the door behind me and I had no more time to study the living room. He started off down a hallway toward the back of the house, and I figured I was supposed to follow him. I did so, soon finding myself in a small but bright and clean kitchen. The door to the backyard stood open, letting in the summer air, and the stainless-steel sink was filled with soapy water.

  Ivan went straight to the sink and resumed the job I’d clearly interrupted. As he washed a plate and set it in the draining rack, I drew in a deep breath, gathering my courage.

  “I’m pretty sure Ida was blackmailing Kirk Jarvis, the guy who owns the junk shop,” I said. “Actually, I think she might have been blackmailing several people, but I found what looked like part of a blackmail note addressed to Kirk shortly after I found Ida’s body.”

  “Did you tell the sheriff?” Ivan asked as he pulled the stopper from the sink, letting the water drain away.

  “Yes, but there are a lot of people who might have wanted Ida dead, and I need to find out if Kirk has an alibi. I’m a little worried about how he might react if I ask him questions, so I was wondering if you could go with me.”

  For several seconds, all that could be heard was the glugging of the last of the water draining out of the sink. Then Ivan grabbed a towel, drying his hands as he turned to face me.

  “Asking questions could be dangerous.”

  “I know. That’s why I don’t want to go alone.”

  Ivan scowled at me, but since that was a typical expression for him, I couldn’t tell if he was unimpressed with me or simply thinking. He hung the towel on the handle of the oven door before saying anything more.

  “It’s not wise, but you’ll still go.”

  Even though it wasn’t a question, I felt compelled to reply.

  “Yes. I need to figure things out. I can’t relax until Ida’s killer is off the streets. And until my name is cleared, our livelihoods could be at risk.”

  I did my best not to squirm beneath his dark gaze, but I wasn’t entirely successful. I waited, still not knowing whether he’d agree to help me. Just as I was beginning to think he was going to stare at me all day, he crossed the kitchen and picked up a hummingbird feeder, freshly filled by the look of it. He stepped out onto the back porch and hung the feeder from a metal hook. I watched him from the doorway, noticing that he had two other feeders out in his yard, one filled with sunflower seeds and the other with mixed birdseed.

  When Ivan turned around, I quickly stepped out of the way so he could come back in through the door. He shut and locked it behind him, and then he was off, striding toward the front of the house.

  “Let’s go,” his deep voice boomed, resonating through the house.

  I hurried after him, and by the time we reached Kirk’s junk shop, I was uncomfortably hot from my efforts to keep up with Ivan’s long, brisk strides. He held the shop door open for me, and I stepped into the dim interior. Before my eyes had even had a chance to adjust, I was tempted to turn around and leave. Without air-conditioning, the store was stuffy and sweltering. I could practically feel myself wilting away.

  Resisting the temptation to escape from the store, I approached the counter. It was with a mixture of relief and wariness that I realized Kirk himself was behind the counter this time. He was seated on a stool, his attention focused on his smart phone. When I stopped in front of him, Ivan behind my right shoulder, he looked up.

  “Can I help you?” He didn’t sound too interested in whether he could or not.

  “I was hoping to ask you a few questions,” I said, trying to sound as unthreatening as possible.

  “What kind of questions?” Kirk’s eyes narrowed with recognition. “Wait a second. You were in here the other day.”

  “That’s right.”

  He stood up and shoved his phone into the pocket of his shorts. “I’m closing up for my lunch break.”

  Realizing that he was trying to escape, I didn’t waste any more time. “Where were you on the morning of Ida Winkler’s death?”

  Kirk froze and slowly returned his gaze to me. “Who the hell are you to ask me that?” His voice was low and menacing now.

  Ivan took a step closer to me, and Kirk didn’t miss the movement. His eyes shifted to the chef, and his thunderous expression faltered, although only slightly.

  “I’m trying to figure out who killed her,” I explained.

  He refocused on me. “And you think I did it? Get out of my store.”

  I didn’t move. “Ida was blackmailing you, and that gives you a motive. But she was blackmailing other people as well. If you have an alibi, that would narrow the field of suspects.”

  Kirk let out a string of swearwords. In my peripheral vision, I saw Ivan fold his muscular arms across his broad chest. The shop owner looked from me to the chef, then back to me.

  He swore again, but then said, “I was here in my store from eight o’clock onward. Ask Jake if you want to be nosy. He’ll back me up.”

  “Your employee?” Ivan asked.

  Kirk nodded. “Jake Fitzpatrick.”

  “Can anyone else confirm your story?” I asked, not convinced that his employee wouldn’t lie for him.

  Kirk leaned across the counter, pointing a finger at me. “Listen here—”<
br />
  Ivan cut him off. “Answer the question.”

  The shop owner’s nostrils flared, but he dropped his finger. “A couple of people were in and out early that morning. I gave their names to the sheriff. He’s already asked me these questions. And like I told him, I don’t need an alibi because I didn’t have a reason to kill the crazy woman.”

  “But she was blackmailing you,” I said.

  “That’s what I thought too. At first, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

  “I mean,” Kirk said as he continued to glower at me, “Ida Winkler wasn’t the one blackmailing me.”

  Chapter 16

  Kirk’s statement left me so surprised that it took me a moment to find my voice. “If Ida wasn’t blackmailing you, who was?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  I pressed the fingers of one hand to my forehead, feeling completely befuddled, a condition that wasn’t helped in any way by the oppressive heat of the store. “Back up a bit. How do you know it wasn’t Ida?”

  At first I thought Kirk wouldn’t answer, that instead he’d tell me again to get out of his store, but after glowering at me for another few seconds, he seemed to resign himself to having the conversation.

  “When the note was slipped under my shop’s door, I thought right away that it had to be Ida.”

  “Because she knew about your illegal activities?” Ivan asked.

  “Hey, I run an aboveboard establishment here.”

  His objection wasn’t particularly convincing, and when Ivan and I said nothing, he eventually continued.

  “Whatever. She thought she knew I was involved in something shady. She’d implied as much in the past. Plus, the location of the drop was telling, or so I thought.”

  “Telling how?” I asked.

  “The note said to leave the money in a paper bag under the bench on the west side of Wildwood Park, next to the drinking fountain.”

  “So?” I didn’t see how that implicated Ida.

  “She always sat on that bench,” Kirk said. “Every day, feeding the damn pigeons.”

  “Okay, then what made you think she wasn’t the blackmailer after all?”

  “I went to her place to confront her. I tore up the note and threw it at her feet, told her there was no way I was paying her a single cent. She could go to the police if she wanted to, but good luck trying to pin anything on me. There was no proof.” He sat down on his stool. “She said she had no idea what I was talking about.”

  “And you believed her?” Ivan sounded incredulous.

  “Not because she denied knowing anything about the note, but because of the look on her face when I confronted her. I know that woman could lie through her teeth, but I’m pretty good at sussing out when someone’s being real or not. And I’m telling you, she really didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “But you have no idea who the blackmailer really is?”

  “Not a clue.” He got up from his stool again and put a hand into his pocket, jangling what sounded like a set of keys.

  “You didn’t hang around the park to see who picked up your money?”

  Kirk looked at me as though I were stupid. “I didn’t put any money in the park. You think I’m gonna dance just because someone tells me to dance? I’ve got nothing to be afraid of. Like I said, the police can’t pin nothing on me.” He came out from behind the counter and herded me and Ivan toward the door. “Now, if you’ll get out of my store, I’m closing up for lunch.”

  Deciding I wouldn’t get anything more out of the shop owner, I didn’t resist his attempts to get rid of us. As soon as Ivan and I were out on the sidewalk, Kirk locked the door and flipped the OPEN sign around so the CLOSED side faced outward. I remained standing in the hot sun, barely aware of its intense rays.

  “I’m so confused,” I said with a shake of my head. “If Ida wasn’t the one blackmailing Kirk, then she probably wasn’t the one blackmailing Mr. Haynes or anyone else. And if she wasn’t blackmailing anyone, then several of my suspects no longer have a motive.” A thought struck me. “Unless the killer was being blackmailed and—like Kirk did at first—believed Ida was behind it. They might have killed her, not knowing they were mistaken.”

  Ivan grunted, and I wasn’t sure if he was endorsing that idea or not.

  “But at any rate, I can strike Kirk off the suspect list. He probably is involved in something less than legal, but I think he believes what he said—that the police wouldn’t be able to pin anything on him—and he knew Ida wasn’t the one threatening him.”

  “Sounds right,” Ivan said.

  I thought things over. “Maybe I should talk to Sheryl Haynes again and see what she has to say about the blackmail. If Melinda found a blackmail note among her father’s belongings—which I think is likely—then the fact that she went charging over to Ida’s house suggests that she believed Ida was behind it. And if Sheryl found out about the note from Melinda, then she might have believed the same thing. Either one of them could have confronted Ida and killed her in the process.”

  Ivan crossed his arms over his chest again, watching me steadily. “You’re going to talk with her now?”

  “If she’s home.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  I was about to tell him that wasn’t necessary, that I didn’t think I had anything to fear from Sheryl Haynes, but then I stopped myself. After all, if she was a killer, she was dangerous. And after my altercation with her daughter the day before, I didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

  “Thanks, Ivan,” I said instead.

  We made our way to Sheryl’s house, where we found her on her front porch, a watering can in hand, tending to the flowers in the boxes beneath the windows. When we turned up the walkway, she looked our way and frowned. She set down the watering can and rested her hands on her hips.

  “I had a distressed phone call from my daughter yesterday,” she said when we reached the base of the porch steps. “What do you think you were doing upsetting her like that?”

  “I’m sorry I upset her,” I said, still standing at the bottom of the steps. “But did she mention that she tried to attack me? I don’t think that was warranted.”

  Sheryl’s frown deepened. “She didn’t mention that, and of course she was out of line doing that, but so were you.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m trying to figure out who killed Ida.”

  “And you think my daughter did? Absolutely ridiculous.” She fingered the string of pearls around her neck. “I told you before, she couldn’t have. She was in my line of sight all morning, except for when she went over to Ida’s place, and she was out in the open when she did that.”

  I didn’t bother to contradict her, even though Melinda had given me a different story. “Your daughter is only one of several people who might have wanted Ida dead, but she did find the blackmail note.”

  Sheryl sighed. “So you know about that. She was angry about it, yes, but she certainly didn’t kill the woman.”

  I gestured at the chairs on the front porch. “May we?”

  Sheryl let out another sigh, but she took a seat in the nearest chair, crossing her legs and sitting primly, her hands resting on her knee. I took a seat a few feet away from her and Ivan remained standing at the top of the steps, arms once again crossed over his chest. Sheryl sent an uneasy glance his way, but then returned her eyes to me, her expression one of obvious disapproval.

  “I don’t know what else you expect me to tell you. Melinda didn’t kill Ida, and I’d appreciate it if you left us alone from now on.”

  “I just have a few questions about the blackmail,” I said.

  Her expression didn’t change, but she didn’t object, and I took that as a sign of acquiescence.

  “What was it about the note that made Melinda think Ida was behind it?” I figured her answer would be the same as Kirk’s, but I wanted to be sure.

  “Aside from the fact that blackmail seemed right up Ida’s
alley?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The note said to leave the money under a bench in the park, a bench where Ida sits pretty much every day. And the fact that she lived right next door meant that she probably had an opportunity to, on occasion, overhear private conversations.”

  Although I was tempted to ask what secret the blackmailer had held over Mr. Haynes’s head, I didn’t think that was relevant and I didn’t want Sheryl clamming up on me.

  “Do you think your husband believed Ida was responsible as well?”

  She was no longer frowning, but her mouth was fixed in a firm line. “I know he did.”

  I blinked in surprise. “You knew about the blackmail when he was alive?”

  “Of course. He told me about it when he received the note. We didn’t tell Melinda, because we didn’t want her getting upset. As you’ve seen for yourself, she has a tendency to…react rather strongly to things.”

  That was putting it mildly, but I kept that thought to myself. “Did your husband do what the note told him to do? Did he ever catch sight of who picked up the money?”

  “Of course he didn’t do what the note told him to do. Do you really think we’d give that witch a single cent?”

  “So you don’t know for sure that it was Ida.”

  “Who else would it have been?” She shook her head. “There’s no doubt in my mind that it was her.”

  My thoughts were racing, but I managed to stay focused long enough to ask another question. “And what happened when your husband didn’t pay up? Did you receive any further threats?”

  “No, nothing happened after that.” She smiled, although the expression held no good humor. “I knew her bark would be worse than her bite.” She stood up. “I’ve answered your questions, and now I’d like you to leave.”

  “Fair enough.” I got up and started to follow Ivan down the steps.

  “And Ms. McKinney?”

  I paused and looked back.