by Deany Ray
“Oh man! It’s the same way at the café!” Rosalie said, springing back to life. “We finally just gave up. We put up the Closed sign. Then we left and locked the door.”
Celia glanced at Burt. “We might just do the same before the week is over.”
He shrugged. “It’s not doing us much good keeping this place open.”
Celia sighed. “Over the years I’ve worried about a lot of things, about keeping a steady customer base and about the rising price of sugar. But who could have ever imagined this?”
Her husband finished her thought. “People scared to take a bite of cake. Townsfolk deathly afraid of lemon squares and brownies.” He set the boxes down.
“Lemon squares?” Rosalie asked. “Do you have lemon squares?” Her voice grew higher like it did when she was excited about something.
“I do, and I can’t say that they’re going fast,” Celia said sadly. “Buy one and I’ll throw in a butterscotch square, two brownies and three slices of apple cake.”
Burt kicked at a box of napkins that lay at his feet. “Nobody’s buying anything. Heck, I’ll even throw in a whole darn pan of cookies.”
“Yes please,” Rosalie said. “And I’ll take a coffee. Large. Extra cream, no sugar.” She reached to get her purse.
“That was a joke,” I whispered.
For the first time since we’d gotten there, Celia smiled a little. “Well, it was a joke. But if you’re hungry, we have lots of sweets to spare. We might as well all sit and have a little something. It’s not like we’re exactly busy.”
Burt smiled just the tiniest bit and held his hand out toward the dining room. “No wait for a table. No reservations needed.”
Rosalie and I chose seats at a table by a window. Soon we were joined by Burt and Celia who brought four coffees and a tray of treats. Rosalie clapped her hands and grinned as if she were at a fancy tea party and not a meeting hastily called together to discuss a murder that had put the four of us almost out of business.
Burt gave his wife’s shoulders a light massage. “I’m glad you girls came along today. Celia here is happiest when she’s got someone to feed.”
And so we discussed our mutual plight over a beautifully put together spread of assorted sweets. Celia had a nice touch, I thought, assessing my competition. The apple cake was light and flavorful. The butterscotch square had just the right amount of creaminess; it melted in my mouth.
I chewed slowly and thought about that photo on the bulletin board with the telltale bun. I was trying to figure out a way to delicately bring the subject up when Rosalie burst right out and asked.
“What’s the story about the clipping on the bulletin board in the back? We couldn’t help but notice that you’d covered Ada’s picture.” She shoved a whole lemon square into her mouth, and chewed while she waited for the answer.
Celia glanced at Burt.
“I don’t think Ada had a lot of fans,” Rosalie continued, “but you must have really hated her.”
“No doubt about that,” Burt said, his forehead furrowing in anger. “We wanted to put the article up because it made us feel so good to see our name there in the headline. It was right there big and bold. Purdy’s Coffee Beans. A business owner’s dream.”
“And it was on the front page too,” Celia said, proudly. “Did you see the date? It was from about this time a year ago. When they had the last cake contest.”
“Wasn’t that the one you won?” I asked.
Burt reached over to take Celia’s hand. “First place,” he said. “My wife’s coconut cake is a thing of beauty. Not even Ada could complain.”
“So we cut the story out,” Celia said. “We circled the part with the winners’ names.” She smiled. “We were just so proud. But they had to go and put in that picture of stupid Ada’s face.” A pout replaced the smile. “Why couldn’t they use a picture of some cute kid at the fair?”
“I had to cover up the photo,” Burt said. “I couldn’t look at Ada’s face every single day.”
“Understandable.” Rosalie reached for her second lemon square. “I wouldn’t want that either. It’s like the picture might start talking, telling me every single thing that I was doing wrong.”
“I need them to solve the murder soon,” I told Burt and Celia. “My budget’s tight enough without going days, or maybe longer, without any customers at all.”
“Tell me all about it.” Burt rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. “Just cause the customers stop coming doesn’t mean the bills stop too.”
“What do you hear about the murder?” I took a sip of coffee. “Have you heard anything at all that we could investigate? Maybe just the smallest clue?”
“Cause the police are moving kind of slow.” Rosalie said. “We need to solve this thing.”
He shook his head. “Most people hated Ada. But I haven’t heard of anyone who’d have a reason to take things as far as homicide. I can’t imagine what she could have done to make someone go and kill her.”
“The only thing I’ve heard is that she has a niece who’s coming into town.” Celia stirred some milk into her coffee. “I think the niece is from Seattle. She should be coming any day now to clear out Ada’s house. I don’t think there’s any other family.”
I wondered if Burt or Celia would bring up the news about the move to kick Ada off the judges’ panel.
Silence ensued as everyone enjoyed their sweets and coffee. Celia left and came back with a coffee pot, and refilled everybody’s mugs. Maybe they’d forgotten about the fact that someone had decided that Ada would no longer be a judge. Or maybe there was a reason that they hadn’t brought it up.
So I broached the subject. “I heard that after this year, they were replacing Ada on the judges’ panel. I wonder what was up with that.”
Burt squeezed his wife’s hand and, for an instant, something seemed to pass between them. “I heard that too,” he said. “But who knows what is true? You hear a lot of rumors.”
“Well, you see, that’s the problem right there. I don’t hear any rumors.” Rosalie frowned and took a large slice of apple cake. “You heard that Ada was getting ousted. And so did the hairdresser who works next door. Why am I suddenly out of the loop?”
We finished our coffees and wished the Purdys well.
Then we hung out for a while at Rosalie’s house and traded theories about who might have poisoned an uptight woman who liked to make her opinions known no matter whose feelings she might hurt.
“I think we should talk to that reporter next,” I said. “Reporters are trained to keep their eye out for little details that others might have missed.”
Rosalie took out her notebook and began making a list of questions we should ask.
“Hey, I’ve got to get out of here,” I said, checking my cell phone for the time. “Houston’s coming over.”
“Houston! Ooooh!” Rosalie winked. “You lovebirds have a good time. I’ll see you tomorrow and you can fill me in.”
An hour later, I caught Houston up on our visit with the Purdys while I made spaghetti sauce.
“You girls be careful now,” he said while he cut an onion for our salad. “I worry about you, you know, asking all those questions. This is dangerous stuff.”
“I know.” I tasted the sauce and decided it needed more oregano. “But Houston, having to close the café has got me worried sick.” I had never expected the Blue Bay Café to make me a rich woman, but business had always been so steady. People liked their mid afternoon jolt of caffeine or a sweet treat after work.
He smoothed back a stray hair from my forehead and leaned in for a kiss. “You know it’s not your fault.”
“Well, when the utility bill comes due, they won’t care whose fault it is. I can’t just call them up and say I need my lights kept on for free because this woman dropped dead at the town fair and now nobody wants to order cake.”
“Point made.” Houston peeled a carrot.
“Houston, you have to help us. You talk to so m
any people every day. See what you can find out.”
“Becky. It scares me for you to get involved.”
I stirred the sauce. “I don’t know what else to do. The police don’t seem to have a suspect. Unless they’re keeping it under wraps.”
“Do you promise to be careful?”
“If you promise to ask around.”
He kissed me again. “I guess we’ve got a deal. And it looks like we have spaghetti. I’ll go set the table.”
Chapter Six
The next day, I woke up early. I had tossed and turned all night, worried about which bills I could put off paying if the investigation dragged.
Rosalie and I had been checking in constantly with Dwight. He would lean back, cross his arms and frown in an official way as if he was about to make a huge announcement. Then he’d say the same words every time. Nothing to report.
Disappointed, I’d look at Rosalie and sigh. When would we ever learn?
There was no point in making muffins for a town terrorized by baked goods, so that morning as I made coffee, I decided to go for a run as soon as the caffeine kicked in. It had been ages since I had felt the wind in my face as I jogged along the sidewalks while the sun rose on Ouna Bay. Running always helped when I felt stressed, so this seemed to be the perfect time.
I gave a quick goodbye kiss to my exhausted boyfriend who was still fast asleep and snoring lightly. He didn’t even move as my lips brushed across his forehead. He’d been working late all week. He was tired, but I was kind of jealous that he had work to do.
I ran past my neighbors’ houses and methodically and slowly went over the facts of the case. Which clues were important? What exactly might they mean? And what was it we were missing?
I pictured the scene just before the murder. The contestants had been excited, happy, and even a little anxious about what the judges might think about their cakes. Who among that cheerful bunch had been hiding an extra reason to be very, very nervous?
As I went over possible motives, I realized that I had jogged beyond the familiar sidewalks of my neighborhood. Worry must give you energy, I thought, and ran a little further. If they didn’t find the killer soon, I might be a whole lot poorer, but at least I’d be in shape. I guess everyone around here would soon be thin and svelte. They were doing as the doctor asked: cutting back on cakes and muffins.
I ran beside a small park and watched as lights began to come on in the windows of the houses that I passed; Ouna Bay was waking up. When I had the time to enjoy a run, this was my favorite time of day.
Then I recognized a wide porch and a freshly painted red door that I knew belonged to Ada. I slowed down to look. My mind had been so busy trying to solve the crime that I had almost run right past the victim’s house without knowing where I was. Some detective I was.
A flash of white caught my eye as I glanced toward the mailbox. I walked closer to check it out. The tiniest tip of an envelope was sticking out of the mailbox door.
I reached out to grab it. But then I pulled my hand back. What are you doing? I asked myself. It’s someone else’s mail. Not that she would read it.
But, still, I knew that it could be a clue. To get me baking again and, most importantly, to put money in my register. I touched the envelope...which I knew might be evidence in the investigation of a murder.
No, I told myself. I ran a little further. Then I turned around. I heard Houston’s voice inside my head. Becky, don’t! What are you thinking?
But someone else was in my head as well. It was Rosalie. Which usually meant trouble. This could be what we’ve been waiting for, said the voice of my best friend. Grab that thing and run.
One small piece of paper. It could get me locked up. Or else it could save me.
I made sure no one was looking. Then I took the envelope. My heart was beating fast, and not just from the running. Darn it. When did I start listening to Rosalie of all people? That almost never ended well.
***
The kitchen smelled good when I got home. Houston had made eggs. He was in the bathroom shaving. “I saved some breakfast for you. Hey, how was your run?” he asked.
“It felt so good that I decided to run a little further than I usually do.” Which was about all the information that he was going to get.
He quickly got dressed and grabbed his briefcase, then headed for the door. “Big case today. Wish me luck.”
I kissed him goodbye. For once, I was anxious for my handsome man to leave. I couldn’t wait to examine my new clue. Was the answer to this whole thing on that tiny sheet of paper? I hadn’t wanted to stop and look as I ran home. What if the wrong person happened to come along and see? I couldn’t be too careful. There was evil afoot in town.
Or maybe it was just a plain electricity bill for Ada and I got worked up for nothing.
A few minutes later, Houston was out the door and I studied the envelope. There wasn’t a return address. Someone must have delivered it by hand. I opened it very carefully to find a one-page note that was scrawled in messy cursive.
I’m interested. Same place. Same time.
Well. I was finally on to something. This had to be important. But who wanted to meet with Ada? And what might be the subject of this most mysterious of meetings?
I brewed more coffee and thought about what it all could mean. The letter must have been there since before the murder. Because ten minutes after Ada had taken that fatal bite, the whole town knew that she was dead. Word spreads fast in Ouna Bay about subjects much less exciting than the sudden death of the town’s most hated woman. So after the events at the town fair, nobody would have slipped a note into Ada’s box, expecting her to show up for a meeting about...what? What did they want to talk to her about? As Rosalie would say, that was the magic question.
I took out a coffee mug and contemplated where to go from there. There had to be other notes. Because this one seemed to be just a tiny piece of a longer conversation.
But was it a conversation about something serious enough to lead up to murder?
The other notes had to be somewhere in Ada’s home. Unless the police had found them. Because surely they would have searched the house. I made a mental note. That was something that Dwight might know.
***
About noon there was a knock, and Rosalie let herself in before I could make my way to the front door.
“Hey hon!” she called. “I drove by two coffee shops and the donut store. Closed signs on every one.” She looked around my kitchen, disappointed. “I sure do have a taste for something sweet.” She checked the counters again, as if she might have missed something the first time that she looked. “Maybe something chocolate-y?” she asked hopefully.
I leaned against a cabinet. “Sorry. This baker is taking some time off.” I glanced at the stack of bills. “Not too long, I hope.”
“Well, I understand.” She sat down at my kitchen table. “You’ve got more important things to do than mixing up a bowl of batter. This is one tough case. I just can’t seem to crack it.”
“Well, I did find something just this morning. Something really good. I think this might be important.” I pulled the envelope from a drawer and put it in front of Rosalie.
She frowned. “You found a clue? You found a clue without me?”
“I wasn’t looking for a clue. I was just out for a run. And there it was. Right there! Sticking out of Ada’s mailbox.”
Rosalie’s eyes grew wide. Then they grew even wider as she read the note. “Ada was up to something! This is getting good.”
“Well, good is not the word I’d use. I’m broke, you’re out of a job, and Ada is worse off than either one of us. Ada has frowned her last disapproving frown.”
Rosalie was writing furiously in her notebook. “Who could have sent that note?” She chewed down hard on the end of her pencil. “Let’s talk to that reporter next. Maybe she’ll tell us something that will give us an idea. Cause I really do want to know what this note is all about.”
“A
nd we need to find out if there were other notes from the same person who sent this. I’m wondering if the police may have found them in her house.”
Rosalie wrote something down and grinned. “We can ask my sweetie.” Then she turned serious again. “That means we can’t investigate till I find something cute to wear. Pink or green? I can’t decide. Off the shoulder top with my new black skirt?” She wrote the choices in her notebook right beside her notes on motives, means and suspects. “I’ll go ask Dwight about the notes once I decide how to look extra fabulous while I ask the questions.”
I rolled my eyes. I wished that solving a murder was as easy as finding the perfect pair of heels and deciding on the perfect color to catch the attention of a spindly legged assistant to the police.
Chapter Seven
Rosalie called Dwight on our way to the Ouna Bay Gazette. “Hey babe, we need to meet soon.” She smiled. “Oooh, that sounds like fun. What time should I be ready?”
I didn’t want to wait to hear what Dwight might have to say about the notes. “Rosalie! Just ask him now.” I checked my speed and slowed down a little.
Rosalie shrugged, then fished her notebook from her purse. “Hey, babe,” she said into the phone. “We need to talk official business. What do you know about any notes the police may have found at Ada’s?” She listened intently for a long time, squinting her eyes in interest.
I could hear Dwight going on and on, although I couldn’t make out his words. That had to be a good sign, I thought. We must be on to something.
I passed the donut shop and the market, and when Dwight still was not done talking, I figured there must have been some kind of break in the investigation. I imagined him telling Rosalie about how they’d zeroed in on someone who had hated Ada much more than anyone else in town, how we could expect that any day now they’d have someone locked up behind bars.
Rosalie nodded in agreement as Dwight continued to talk. Then she finally said goodbye. “Get back to me, sweetie. Stat,” she said.
