Death by Scones

by Jennifer Fischetto

  We curled up on the sofa with teriyaki leftovers, buttered popcorn, the cupcakes, and two large glasses of milk and decided to catch up on the latest movies on Netflix. Unfortunately, the romantic comedy was a bust. It hadn't held my attention, and I kept replaying the last couple of weeks. Aside from this whole pesky murder business and feeling like I was on an episode of Jerry Springer with "who's your baby daddy?" I had to think about Jared. And of course those thoughts brought me to Will. He hadn't called or texted once. I knew we were on a break, but did that mean we stopped caring for one another? Surely he'd heard about my near-arrest by now. I'd had to tell Mrs. Hendrickson why I was closing the bakery early when I'd called to tell her not to come in. For that matter, why hadn't she called and asked how I was too?

  Oh crap. What if they'd learned about the kiss too? Stupid, Riley. Of course they knew about it. According to Tara, the whole town did. Great. Not that I had a reason to feel ashamed. Will and I were over, or at least on a break, but I didn't want him to think he'd been right all along. I honestly hadn't thought of Jared in that way until recently.

  The credits rolled on the movie, and I heard voices outside.

  I went to the window and gasped. There were reporters on our front lawn and a TV van parked in the street. What the heck?

  Grams stood beside me and pulled the sheer curtains aside more. "This is private property. They can't be here."

  A camera flashed at us, and I jumped back.

  Grams, however, marched to the door and flung it open. It bounced off the back wall with a loud bang. "Get off my lawn, or I'm calling the cops," she shouted.

  Nobody did much. A few reporters moved off the grass and onto the sidewalk, but considering the front yard wasn't much bigger than the length of a midsized car, their low chatter could still be clearly heard. I couldn't make out individual words. It was more like a hum of conversation.

  Grams stomped into the living room and grabbed the phone as another car pulled up. It was Max. He parked in our driveway, and I rushed to the door to greet him. Before I even opened it, cameras were clicking and reporters were shouting, wanting to know how he felt about his uncle's death. How did they think he felt? Gosh, it was such a dumb question.

  When Max stepped inside, his eyes were wide, hair wet and disheveled, and the front of his shirt soaked. He looked like he'd gone through the car wash without his car.

  "What happened to you?" I took his wrist and pulled him into the kitchen, where I tossed him a towel.

  "Those vultures are camped out in front of Uncle Nathan's too. In order to get past them, I snuck out the back and went through the neighbor's yard. His sprinklers went on just as I got close to them."

  I giggled, certain the old man had done it on purpose.

  "I'm glad you think it's funny."

  The more I laughed, the louder it became, especially when I pictured him driving across town dripping wet.

  "Glad to hear someone is having a good time," Grams said and frowned at Max. "What happened to you?"

  This made me laugh harder, and pretty soon Max joined in too. After I calmed down enough to be able to breathe again, I pointed to his shirt. "I don't think I have anything that fits you. Sorry." Grams and I didn't have a stash of ex-boyfriend's clothes. We never had guys spend the night here. It was out of respect for one another. Plus, no matter how long I lived here, I still considered this to be her home, not mine. I'd always be a welcomed visitor.

  Max shook his head. "It's fine. I'll dry off. I wanted to see how you were doing."

  Grams clicked her tongue. "It might've been safer if you'd called."

  Remembering they hadn't officially met yet, I made the introductions.

  Then Grams said, "I spoke with Detective Ohlsen. He said there isn't much they can do about the reporters, but he'll send someone over to make sure they understand no trespassing. Like it matters to them. Plus, the Cove Chronicles isn't a big paper. All of those reporters aren't just from this town. And the television crew?"

  She huffed and walked into the living room. A few seconds later, I heard her footsteps on the stairs.

  She was right. Word had gotten out to surrounding areas, and they'd made it here in record time.

  I motioned for Max to join me, and we sat at the table. "I hope they aren't still around in the morning. Working at the bakery won't be easy with a swarm of reporters."

  He looked off past me, out the kitchen window.

  When he hadn't responded, I asked, "You heard about the police questioning me?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. It's traveling around town, and Gloria called me to fill me in."

  Of course she did. She suddenly jumped ahead of her sister on my suspect list.

  "It took them long enough," I said.

  "What do you mean?" Max asked.

  I got back up and went to the coffeemaker figuring he could use something warm to drink even though it wasn't cold out. "I expected people to be more concerned, more outraged when Nathan first died, but nothing. Now news gets around that I may be a suspect, and suddenly people are interested. It's not right."

  This also meant we needed to tell Amber and Uncle Doug the truth immediately so they wouldn't hear it from a non-family member first.

  Max sighed. "You'll be fine. I stopped at the police station before coming here."

  I returned to my seat. "You did? Why? Did they want to question you too?"

  "No. I told them that you only learned about the accident the other night. You didn't know about the inheritance either."

  The police had never mentioned the inheritance, which meant they hadn't known about it until Max told them. Great. But I was grateful that he tried to help me.

  "Thank you. I appreciate that." I got back up and finished pouring water into the machine.

  "Have you thought about whether or not you want to know if Nathan was your biological father?" he asked. "I'm sure we could find something at his place with his DNA on it. Or we could see if they can use mine."

  The gesture was nice but… "I'm not ready for that now." I might never be.

  * * *

  The next morning, as soon as Jared grilled me on how I was doing, promised to check in on me later, and then left the bakery with his usual, a small crowd of locals pushed through the doors. For a second I wondered if another e-mail had been sent out, but instead of expecting free items, they all had their wallets out. Every single person asked me how Grams was, if she was bored yet in her retirement, and then we'd laugh. My cheeks hurt after an hour.

  I knew they were really asking how I was doing, maybe trying to gauge how I was holding up, but none were direct enough to ask. I loved my town. I didn't love the mob of reporters outside though. They didn't come in, but every time customers left, they tried to stop them and ask them something. I doubted their questions were "What did you buy?" and "How delicious is your muffin?"

  Time flew by, and I was grateful I'd chosen to wear a sleeveless, empire-waist dress. It had a black-and-white checkerboard top part and a black bottom part with a thin black band and bow separating the two. It wasn't constricting and didn't get in the way as I rushed around the shop.

  Another small rush happened midmorning. I hadn't a moment to catch my breath or sip some water. I liked it though. We were making money, and more importantly, it meant people still trusted us.

  There was a lull just before noon, and Amber arrived early for her shift. I was so glad to see her. I pulled her in for a hug. "Thank you. But why are you here early?"

  "I drove by on my way to class this morning and saw the place was packed," she said into my hair. "Thought you'd enjoy taking a break."

  I stepped back and smiled. "Yes, but I'm just glad we have business again."

  "Is everyone here because of yesterday?" She dropped her purse into a basket beneath the register.

  I picked up a rag and wiped down the back counter. "I believe so, but everyone was gracious enough to not ask any questions."

  The bell above the door chimed, and I tu
rned expecting another small crowd. It was lunchtime, and we were normally busy around now.

  Only three people walked in, a much more manageable number, but it was who they were that had my stomach in knots. Mallory Winchester smiled and walked to the last display—the one that held the cinnamon buns, cheese Danish, and mini seasonal pies. Right behind her was Erin, and on her heels was Will. It was the trifecta of evil. Okay, so Mallory was just a gossip, and Will wasn't evil, but the stern, grim line of his mouth told me he wasn't thrilled to see me. Erin, on the other hand, definitely had the pointy ears. I would've bet her pitchfork was being sharpened.

  Erin, not knowing who the others were, stepped up first. She eyed the menu, and I watched her pupils dart around so fast I doubted she was actually reading it. "Hmm, let me see. What do I want?"

  I glanced over her shoulder. Will just stood by the tables, as if he was a regular customer waiting to place his order.

  Erin lowered her gaze and loudly asked, "Do you have any tarts?"

  Amber made a sound. I'd almost forgotten she was beside me. "No," she said with attitude. She couldn't have known who Erin was. I hadn't mentioned around her that Jared's ex was in town. But somehow she knew this woman wasn't here to play nice.

  I didn't want a scene though. Not with Mallory or Will here to witness it. So I said to my cousin, "Why don't you help Mallory, and I'll take this one."

  Amber raised her brows and stared at me. Then a quick glance to Erin, and she stepped further down.

  "Do you really want to buy something, Erin? Because I have other customers." I said it as softly as I could without sounding like I was whispering. Who knew what would set her off?

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. "I am a customer." She practically shouted the words.

  "Okay. What can I get you?"

  A couple minutes of hemming and hawing took place. If Will was just a customer, I could've taken his order and he'd be gone by the time Erin decided on something. But I knew he wanted to talk, and I knew she didn't really want anything from me, so I impatiently waited.

  Amber didn't seem to be having any better luck with Mallory, who changed her mind several times. The fact that she kept glancing over at us told me she was just biding her time to hear what else went down.

  Finally, Mallory said, "Let me think on my to-go order. In the meantime, can I get a blueberry muffin and a medium black coffee for here?"

  Yep, Miss I Don't Normally Eat Carbs wanted to catch every juicy morsel, and I wasn't talking about my soft, delicious muffins. Part of me couldn't blame her though. I'd be curious too.

  Erin looked to the cupcake display and then to my body. "How is it you work here and you're not fat?"

  Like she really cared. "I get a lot of exercise."

  She stared into my eyes. "Oh yeah, doing what…or whom?"

  Will stood a bit straighter. Mallory nearly walked into a chair with her attention on us. And Amber almost dropped the pot of coffee on the floor.

  I raised a hand to my cousin, not wanting her to lunge at Erin's jugular with her teeth. "Whatever your problems are with Jared, they have nothing to do with me." I tried to keep my voice on an even keel.

  She scoffed, then shouted, "You kissed him."

  Great. I shut my eyes for a second and shuddered. If Will hadn't known, he sure as hell did now. But when I opened my eyes, he didn't seem surprised. Amber, however, made mewing sounds behind me. She hadn't known. Under friendlier conditions, it would've been the perfect time to turn and yell, "Surprise!"

  "No," I said. "Technically, he kissed me, and that's still none of your business. He broke up with you in New York. He didn't invite you here. You came on your own misguided beliefs that you two were getting back together just because you said so."

  Hurt and anger flashed before her eyes. I expected a meltdown of gigantic proportions, but all she did was grin. "Is that what he told you?"

  I blinked, and pressure built in my throat. What did that mean?

  Before I had a chance to ask, she turned and strode out.

  I watched her turn at the corner and head down Main Street. Had Jared lied to me about their breakup? He wouldn't have done that.

  Suddenly Will was in my face. Luckily for me, and unluckily for Mallory, he didn't believe in theatrics. He kept his voice low and steady. "I'm so glad I've heard about you and Jared not once but twice now. Too bad you didn't tell me yourself."

  "What was there to tell? You broke up with me, and over the phone. I don't owe you any explanations after that."

  He leaned closer. "We were on a break."

  I watched way too much television, because I said, "I am not Rachel Green, and you are not Ross Gellar. A break isn't a vacation. You don't get to not want to see or date a person and expect that they're sitting around knitting until you're ready to take them back."

  "Obviously not." His tone was laced with sarcasm, and part of me wanted to slap it away.

  "I get that you're hurt, and I'm sorry for that. I didn't set out to hurt you. I didn't plan anything, and I never thought of Jared in that way before." Even I was starting to wonder if this was true. "But everything after that phone call has nothing to do with you."

  "I don't think any of it ever had anything to do with me," he said and walked out.

  I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Tears gathered into the corners of my eyes.

  Amber placed a hand on my shoulder.

  I glanced over to Mallory. She was turned toward the window, the back of her head to us, but she'd heard every word. It wouldn't be long before the entire town talked about the life of Riley Spencer twenty-four seven.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, I knew it was time to tell Amber the truth. I'd been shocked she hadn't heard about it already. So I sat her down and started at the beginning.

  When I was done, she let out a deep breath and thanked me for telling her, but she'd already known. She had found out yesterday. As it turned out, the police had gone by her house and questioned her and Aunt Bernie. The police had told them. Amber understood why I'd put it off, but she'd still been hurt by all of it.

  I headed home and was spotted by a couple of reporters as I pedaled onto my street. I braked and contemplated my chances of getting inside my house and through the front door without being accosted. I could've ridden around back, but then I'd have to throw my bike over our neighbor's wooden fence and launch myself over it. In a dress. If the reporters caught any of that on film, I'd be humiliated. Front door it was.

  I rode at a breakneck speed and nearly took out the mailbox when I turned into the driveway.

  "Riley, what did the police ask when they questioned you?" one of the reporters asked.

  Did he seriously think I was going to tell them how I was interrogated and what I was asked? I never understood the way reporters thought. They had to know getting answers was a long shot, especially when it involved private details. My hands shook as I unlocked my door.

  "Did you kill Nathan Dearborn?" the other asked, and I realized it was Duncan Pickles' voice. He was brave, returning here again. He was lucky Tara wasn't with me.

  I grabbed my handlebars and pushed the bike over the threshold.

  "Riley, wait, just give us something. How did you feel when you learned Nathan Dearborn killed your parents?"

  I stopped moving. The sheer stupidity of their questions made my blood boil. Part of me knew I'd regret this in a minute, but part of me didn't care. I turned and faced them. "Do you even hear yourselves?"

  They kept their cameras on me but glanced at one another.

  "Those are ridiculous questions. How do you think all of those things felt? When you can ask respectful, intelligent questions, I'll consider answering one."

  Duncan smirked and got another photo before I turned, went inside, and slammed the door behind me. I locked the deadbolt just in case.

  I walked the bike through the living room and parked it by the door to the garage. I went into the kitchen and notice
d a note on the table. I lifted the sheet of paper. It was from Grams. She was making a quick trip back to Seattle for Julius's art show, but she'd be back tomorrow evening. Promise.

  I smiled and headed upstairs. In the bathroom, I pulled off my dress and stepped into the shower. I wasn't upset this time. Grams had her own life to lead, and being retired meant she was a free woman. She didn't need to hold my hand. And she deserved a romantic life. If I couldn't have a normal one, I was glad she was happy at least. Even if picturing them together made me want to bleach my brain.

  After the longest shower ever, I dressed in black skintight capris, a soft pewter halter top, and black pumps. Tara had texted right before I'd left the bakery, wanting a night of drinks. She suggested coming over, but I wanted to go out. That had surprised her. Normally, it would have surprised me too, but I still had a murderer to uncover, and I wouldn't find her at home. I also wasn't going to allow the press to stop me.

  I needed to find out more about Holly and Gloria, and what better place than the Smugglers' Tavern. And I knew Tara wouldn't say no.

  She pulled into the driveway and honked.

  I went into the garage and hit the button for the door to rise. As I dragged my bike in with me to the back wall, Tara pulled in. Duncan and the other reporter tried to get a glimpse, but I was too quick with the door. I grabbed the automatic garage door opener and my purse, and I locked the house door.

  Inside her car, she smiled. "This is a great plan, and you look fabulous, as usual."

  She wore a black miniskirt and a purple silk blouse. Her black hair hung loose down her back. She wore it up in a bun during dance classes, so when she was off work, she preferred it down and unadorned.