by Deany Ray
“We’ll talk tonight,” I whispered to Houston. Then I gave Briana my best smile. “What kind of muffin would you like?”
Chapter Eight
Dwight leapt into the air but still managed to miss the Frisbee Houston sent his way. I sat and watched with Rosalie, and the sun shone gold and white on the blue waters of the bay. Gerry happily caught the disc each time it sailed past Dwight. Then the dog would run to me, insistent that I take the slimy toy out of his mouth.
Rosalie watched and pouted. “I think Gerry likes you best.”
But why would the dog pick me over Rosalie who lapsed into baby talk each time she saw an animal? While I had to admit that Gerry was super sweet (and cute), I had never been fond of dogs. I gave this one a gentle pat. “Go play with the boys,” I said.
Rosalie turned her attention to unpacking the picnic lunch. Her man was bad at sports, but he was a whiz with recipes. He’d packed us all a gourmet meal: roasted herb chicken with deviled eggs and a simple salad of watermelon and goat cheese.
When he missed the fifth toss in a row, our chef and Houston took a break.
“Just in time for lunch.” Rosalie handed Dwight a soda and passed around the sanitizing wipes. “Everybody clean your hands!” she said.
Houston sat down beside me and kissed me on the cheek. “Dwight, I have to thank you for giving me a heads up that the cops were at the Blue Bay Café. I thought they were through with Becky.”
Rosalie smiled and linked her arm through Dwight’s. “Isn’t he just something? Nothing gets by Dwight. He always has his ear out for crucial information.”
Dwight turned red from the attention. “Well, it wasn’t that I meant to hear. What happened was I tripped. And while I was laid out on the floor, I overheard the chief send the guys to the café.
Rosalie fed him a deviled egg. “And my Pookie saved the day.”
In his own strange way, he had.
Rosalie handed out the paper plates. “Becky doesn’t keep up with all the shows, or else she would have known: you don’t tell the police a single thing until you lawyer up.” She looked pleased to be able to put to use some fancy legal talk.
“She’s not a suspect,” Houston said as he piled chicken on his plate. “They don’t have a single reason to be looking hard at her.” He took a bite then smiled at Dwight. “Hey man, you can cook.”
“No need to worry,” Dwight told me. “You’re not the only one. The chief is sending his people all over town to question everyone. Because the mayor is telling us we need to solve this thing real quick.”
“Did the receipts tell them anything?” I asked as I took a bite of salad. I had given them everything from the day that Harry died and the day before.
“They were able to figure out three people who bought peanut butter cupcakes from your café the day the murder happened. But that may not mean a thing. Cause we all know you sell way more than three peanut butter cupcakes in a day. Sheesh. I bet you sell a zillion of those things every week.”
Unfortunately, most receipts don’t come with the particular details the police were looking for. Most people bought a combo deal, which meant their receipts would only say Combo A or B or C with no mention of what flavor cupcake they happened to pick that day. There’s a combo with a cupcake and the latte of the day. There’s one that combines a muffin and a plain coffee. And there’s the all-time favorite - the Cupcake Extravaganza, which includes three different flavors. And if people pay in cash, there’s no way to identify the buyer.
“But one of the names was interesting,” Dwight said. “A Mr. Arthur Klein. Makes you kind of think.”
“The one from Epicurean Delights who catered the party?” Houston took more chicken from the platter.
“One and the same,” Dwight said. “They plan to question him today. And it’s a funny thing. After the party, they sat down with him. Asked him all kinds of things. But he never said a word about going to the Blue Bay Café that day for a cupcake and a coffee.”
“That doesn’t seem so strange,” I said. I still felt the sting of being suspected myself, so I was quick to Arthur’s defense. “For some people, it’s a part of their everyday routine. And with the big party coming up, it’s no surprise that Arthur would need to come in and fill up on caffeine.”
Houston disagreed. “Normally I would say that it’s not a thing you’d mention. But in this case, he had to know it was important. When a cupcake from the Blue Bay Café was on everybody’s mind.”
How well I remembered.
But Arthur was no killer. A little arrogant, perhaps, but not a cupcake-wielding felon. He was an older gentleman who collected model trains and showed them off each Christmas. Kids loved the little village he’d build around the trains. There were snowmen decorating trees and elves building tiny toys.
“I remember now!” Rosalie perked up. “He did come in that day.” She frowned. “He kept checking his phone for messages. He did look kind of nervous.”
“That’s because he had a million trays of food to get into the oven, a zillion tiny sandwiches that he had to make.” I took a sip of soda.
“Who else?” Houston turned to Dwight. “You said they know three people who came in that day for peanut butter cupcakes.”
“There’s Colin Bearden. You know him? From that little shop in town? Fixes clocks and watches.”
One of my best customers. A rotund, jolly man who came in four times a week for a cupcake and a slice of pie. After his doctor (and his wife) put him on a diet, he asked me to put the illicit treats in an unmarked, plain container. Our usual takeout bags are easily recognizable with their intertwined Blue B’s.
Rosalie frowned. “I hope it wasn’t him. That would not be good for business. Unless we delivered to the jail.”
“And the third person is some kid,” Dwight said. “Nolan Jenkins. He’s a senior at the high school. Never been in trouble. Works at Patty’s Pet Supplies.”
Houston took a deviled egg. “Any known connections? Between Harry and the clock man? Did Harry know this Jenkins kid?
“Not that they’ve determined.” Dwight stared out at the water where two men were wading out to swim.
We paused to watch as Gerry ran along the bay.
“Hey, Dwight,” Rosalie said. “Have the police linked the murder to a drug ring? Could Arthur be a drug lord? Could Colin, the clock man, have gotten mixed up with an operation to smuggle in illegal drugs? From maybe Mexico?”
Houston looked startled. He gave me a questioning look.
“Don’t even ask,” I whispered.
“No mention of drugs,” Dwight said. “So far it’s just the cupcake.” Suddenly, he jumped up to his feet. “I’ve just remembered something! There aren’t just three known purchases of the cupcake flavor that’s in question. I can confirm with some degree of certainty that there was a fourth one sold that day to an individual who can be identified.”
We all stared, waiting for him to go on. But he just sat in a stunned silence.
“Who was the fourth person?” Houston and I finally yelled in perfect unison.
Dwight’s eyes were huge with the realization that had popped into his mind. “It was me. I always buy peanut butter cupcakes after lunch on Saturdays. I get a chocolate one on Wednesdays. On other days, it’s only coffee and no sweets. I gotta watch the calories. I’ve got to keep in shape. I’m with the police, you know.”
“Yes, we know,” Houston said. He lay back and closed his eyes.
Gerry ran up to sniff the cooler, then settled his rather large self into my lap, looking around happily at the group. He’d been swimming in the bay, and he was soaking wet.
I looked at Rosalie. “Doesn’t this wet and dirty dog know he belongs to you?”
She smiled. “He belongs to Mrs. Arnold. But look how much he loves you! Isn’t that the sweetest thing?”
Gerry turned his head, slinging water in my face. I spotted a nearby stick and threw it toward the water. Gerry scurried after it.
; “Great idea,” Rosalie said. “You should buy a ball, throw it to him after work. He could use the exercise.”
“That would be just the thing to do if I had a dog.”
“Well, I need to head back.” Houston stood and began gathering up our things. “We’ve still got a mess to clean up with this shopping center deal. I told Archer I’d get him some reports first thing tomorrow morning.”
“I hear you’re still working crazy hours,” Rosalie said to him.
“Yeah. Deadlines coming up. So much paperwork. And half the time, I don’t have a clue where Archer even is. I’ll need to ask him something, and he’s nowhere to be found. And Briana too. They just up and disappear.” He reached up to rub his forehead as if just the thought of work had given him a headache.
Rosalie sent me a look.
We packed up and headed to the car. Rosalie called for Gerry. I put him on his leash and we walked a little bit behind the guys. My mind was on the info that Dwight had passed along. With my cupcake in a starring role in the latest scandal, I was more than ready for the murder to get solved. “Let’s take a long lunch tomorrow,” I said to Rosalie. “Maia can handle things while we nose around the pet store.”
“And check out the kid?”
“Yeah. The police will be focusing on Arthur.”
Gerry walked close to me, nuzzling his nose into my knee.
“You take the leash,” I said. “I’m not a dog person like you are.”
She addressed her answer to Gerry in her high-pitched baby voice. “She loves doggies just like I do. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Chapter Nine
Rosalie filled a basket with bone-shaped cookies and stuffed toys designed for dogs.
I widened my eyes at her. “What happened to just one treat?”
She held up a small stuffed bear. “But isn’t this sooooo cute? I could get one in every color.”
She examined a hot-pink collar studded with fake jewels. While I cringed at the price tag (Twenty-five dollars? Really?), she threw it in the basket.
“Um.” I tried to nudge her toward the counter. “You do know that your dog – Mrs. Arnold’s dog – is actually a boy?”
“And he’d just adore this collar. It’s kind of fashion forward.”
The kid behind the register had a game up on his laptop. It seemed to involve fast cars, flashing lights and guns. He looked up as we approached.
Rosalie bent over the counter to stare intently at his screen. “We can wait a second, if you’d like, while you take that bad guy out. Oooh, he’s coming at you! That looks like soooo much fun.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay. I was losing anyway.” The kid was tall and thin with hair that fell across his eyes. He wore a Foo Fighters t-shirt and a name tag that said Nolan.
“This must be a fun job,” Rosalie continued as she emptied out her basket. “Have you worked here for long?”
“Nah.” He took the stuffed bear from the basket and turned it over to find the barcode on its ear.
He didn’t seem the chatty type which was unfortunate. We needed information way more than we needed cookies made for dogs.
“Have you lived here for long?” Rosalie kept trying. “Such a nice town. Don’t you think?”
Nolan began putting our items in a bag. “It’s an okay town, I guess. I’m almost out of here. As soon as I can scrape up some more dough. Me and my band, we’re moving. To Los Angeles.” He wore that kind of teenage look that signaled absolute and utter boredom with the whole world of adults.
“Ooooh, Los Angeles!” Rosalie said. “Lots of movie stars.”
He gave me a look that seemed to ask, “Is this chick for real?”
“Sounds expensive,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back to Nolan and his life.
“Yeah, you got that one right.” He handed Rosalie the bag. “And my mom and dad, they won’t throw in a dime. They won’t do a thing to help me and the band.” He scowled. “Now, law school they would pay for. Or an MBA.” He looked at the register. “That will be $48.62.”
“Are you from Ouna Bay?” I asked after Rosalie had paid.
“Nah, I’m from St. Richland,” he said. That was the next town over. “I just come here for work.” He turned back to his game.
I studied the kid in front of me. I didn’t remember ever seeing him before. Was the day of Harry’s murder his first time at the Blue Bay Café?
“Do you ever go downtown?” I asked, still fishing for some info.
“You would love our place. We sell the town’s best…” Rosalie stopped, distracted by the carnage that had started back up on his computer screen.
“We sell the town’s best coffee.” I stepped in to finish for her. “And our cupcakes are to die for.” Okay, that was stupid. That was a happy little slogan that no longer worked.
So I tried again. “We have killer desserts.” Oh, sheesh. That one was even worse.
“You will love our muffins and our cupcakes.” Rosalie to the rescue. “Becky here makes all of them herself.” She smiled proudly at me.
“Oh, yeah?” That had his attention.
“The Blue Bay Café,” I told him. “Do you know the place?”
He turned red at the mention of the name; his eyes filled with a kind of panic. Or at least, the left eye did. I couldn’t see the other because of the lanky strings of hair that covered half his face. He busied himself with the game. “I told you I’m not from here. I don’t know the place. But I’m sure your stuff is cool. I’m sure your stuff is great.”
“The caramel cupcakes are my favorite,” Rosalie chimed in. “But people love the peanut butter ones.”
With that, his face turned even redder. “Um, thanks for coming in,” he said. He began to rearrange a stack of heartworm pills that seemed to already be in pristine, perfect order.
“Well, that was odd,” Rosalie said as she started up her convertible. “Fasten your seat belt, hon.”
“Something’s up with that kid.” I leaned back into my seat. “Why lie about coming into a café and ordering dessert?”
“But what could the connection be? Between Harry and this Nolan?”
“They met at the Moonlite, maybe? Had some kind of falling out? Or maybe it was someone else who had the beef with Harry. And they paid this kid to help.”
“We know he needed money. A person of interest for sure,” Rosalie said. “We are soooo good at this. This is so much fun.”
Well, I wouldn’t call it fun. It was really kind of dire.
“I called Dwight this morning.” Rosalie pulled up to a light and stopped. “He said the big thing now is to figure out a motive. They can’t find that Harry had a single enemy. Most people never even heard of him. Until the shopping center deal.” The light changed and she sped off.
“Some people that I talked to knew him from the department store where he worked.” I used to see him there, strolling through the aisles to exercise his legs after hours behind his desk. Sometimes he’d pull a coin out of his pocket and hand it to a kid who was shopping with a parent. It always made me wonder why he had no kids himself.
“We need to find a motive,” I told Rosalie.
“I’ll work on that tonight, hon. I’ve come up with a plan. Dinner! Hugo’s Oyster Bar at seven.”
“I don’t understand.” What kind of plan was that?
“They have peach margaritas. And these little sausages that they wrap up in bacon.”
“Which will help us…how?”
“Cliff, my old friend from the bank is gonna meet me there. The one who tends the bar at the Moonlite. He couldn’t give us much information the night we were there, but he was busy. Maybe if I can get him to a quieter place, he’ll remember something about Harry. When people drink, they talk. And people spilling out their stories could be very good for us.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. I made her promise to call me first thing, as soon as she got home.
“If it’s not too late I will, hon. But I might stay ou
t awhile. They have a band tonight.”
“I know.” I rolled my eyes. “And peach margaritas. And little sausage things.”
***
It must have been too late to call when she finally made it home to hang up her dancing shoes. But while she was at the restaurant with Cliff, I got a series of vague texts from her.
Very interesting.
What exactly does that mean?
Ohmygosh Ohmygosh Ohmygosh
????? I asked.
Later I tried again: Rosalie! I’m dying. At least give me a hint.
Sorry. Got to go. They’re playing Dancing Queen!
The texts stopped for about an hour, then I got one more.
Now I want to cry. I feel so bad for Harry.
Like she hadn’t felt bad for him before? With him being dead and all?
This time I didn’t bother to ask her what she meant.
***
The next morning as soon as she came in, I pulled her over to a table. “Right this second. Spill!”
“Let me take care of Gerry first.” She let him out the backdoor. The dog now spent most of his time in a fenced-in area out back.
She rushed back in and sat down, eager to report. “Well, apparently our victim was at the Moonlite almost every single night. Cliff is pretty new there, but after we talked to him that one night, he heard lots of talk. So,” she leaned back in her chair. “Harry was a regular. Sometimes he would dance, but mostly he’d just drink. He would drink and cry.”
“And cry?”
“Becky, that’s the thing. Something was eating at Harry; it was breaking that man’s heart. Cliff said that he’d just sob when he got really drunk.” Rosalie looked so distressed I thought she might weep herself.
