Mann Cakes: A Beach Pointe Romance

by Mysti Parker

  Once inside, he locked the door behind them. "Call 911."

  "Why? What did you see?"

  "A note that said, 'You're next.'"

  Her jaw dropped. She came close and hugged his waist.

  "I need to go look around."

  Her lips trembled as though she wanted to protest, but then she gave a resolute nod. "Okay, I'll call the police while you do that. But wait a second."

  She picked up her purse where she'd left it under the table. Instead of a phone, however, she pulled out a small handgun. Garrett remembered the firing range instructor in basic training had affectionately called it the Baby Glock. That officer had gotten it for his wife to carry in her purse since they lived off base in a rough neighborhood.

  Morgan handed it to him, barrel down, grip facing him. "It's loaded."

  And here he thought he couldn't possibly admire her more.

  Garrett never did care for guns, but he had to get up close and personal with them in the military. So much so that he could assemble and disassemble an M-16 in his sleep. He took the Glock, and crept toward the door.

  Morgan softly spoke to the 911 dispatcher, “Someone just put a knife in our Jeep at Mann Cakes… No, we haven’t seen anyone yet... Garrett’s checking it out now… He’s fine, ma’am. He’s armed.”

  Gun pointed toward the floor, he pulled back one of the slats in the window shades just enough to see the sidewalk, in case someone was crouched down, waiting for him to storm out the door. He didn’t see anyone there either. Thankfully, their back entrance was a steel door, locked up tighter than Fort Knox. No one would be getting through there without him hearing it.

  Quietly, he reached over and turned the lock on the door. Finger on the trigger, he pushed the door open enough to stick his head out and peered up and down the sidewalk. A stray cat ran from the narrow alleyway between their store and the next and scampered across the street. A train ambled by on the tracks that cut across Main a block to his left. He stepped out, easing along the window to his right. Holding the grip of the gun firmly with both hands, he kept it pointed toward the ground and peered around the edge of the building.

  The alleyway was barely big enough for a single person to fit through comfortably. Dark and damp, it held nothing of interest but a drainage grate and their AC unit. No one stirred there either. He checked back over his shoulder and down the street to make sure no one was going to rush him. All clear.

  Pulling out his cell phone, he clicked on the flashlight, then aimed the bright beam down the alleyway, illuminating rocks, mud, trash, and things he couldn’t distinguish and probably didn’t want to. He was about to click off the light when it lit up something on the wall that flitted in the breeze. Garrett came closer. It appeared to be a piece of fabric on a nail. He yanked it off. It was black or maybe navy—he couldn’t tell—but the cotton material could have come from anything. It could have come from a jacket or shirt of one of the AC guys who had done maintenance recently. He put it in his pocket anyway, just in case.

  When he came back through the door, Morgan was crouched by the table with one of the heavy candlesticks held in both hands. She jumped to her feet, dropped the candlestick, and hurried over to him. "Thank God. The police are on the way, which means Jesse's on his way. Did you find anything?"

  "I found this in the alley.” With one hand, he kept the gun pointed toward the floor, away from Morgan, then took the piece of fabric from his pocket.

  "What is it?"

  "Some cloth. It was stuck on a nail like it had been torn off someone's clothing." In the brighter light of the shop, he could tell it was clearly navy.

  "That could have come from anything," she said with an apologetic shrug.

  "Yeah, I know, but what if this person had something to do with the fire and Will’s death?" Scrubbing a hand over his face, Garrett stalked to the window, where blue lights flashed from a police car as it turned onto Main Street.

  He thought they were moving past this nightmare. He’d been sending half his portion of the profits to Will’s family, who insisted it was unnecessary, yet were grateful all the same. Now this. How was he supposed to keep helping them if this store was now in danger?

  Morgan came to him and placed a gentle hand on his back. “Hey, we’ll figure this out, okay? This may not even be connected to what happened with Will.”

  The police car pulled up next to the Jeep. Its siren chirped before the door opened. Jesse emerged from the car, immediately spotting the knife in the Jeep's tire, and squatted beside it. He certainly looked the part today, from wide-brimmed hat, crisp gray pants with a black stripe down each leg, black uniform shirt with his shiny badge glinting in the sunlight, and polished black shoes.

  “Here, put this back.” Garrett handed the Baby Glock to Morgan.

  Luckily, she had her purse slung over her left shoulder. She nodded then placed the gun inside.

  He took her in his arms, holding her close for a moment. They’d already lost Will, who’d been like a triplet brother to their twin duo. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Morgan. Not now that he knew without a doubt how he felt about her.

  They both went outside. Jesse stood, hands at his hips. "Anyone hurt?"

  “No, we’re fine,” Morgan said, “just shook up a bit.”

  “What happened here?”

  "We found a note on the knife." She nudged Garrett. He sighed, retrieved the note from his pocket, smoothed it out and handed it to Jesse.

  The deputy scanned it, then lifted his eyes to them, an eyebrow arched. "You should have left it there. That's tampering with evidence."

  Morgan put a hand on her hip. "Can you just look for whoever did this?"

  He handed the note back to Garret and pulled out a palm-size notebook from his uniform shirt pocket. Garrett and Morgan stood on the sidewalk, arm in arm. His frown deepened as his eyes flicked between them. With his pen, he pointed to the knife in the tire. "Did you see anyone running from the scene?”

  “No,” Garrett said.

  “Mm-hmm.” Jesse licked the tip of his pen and scribbled down something. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?"

  Morgan stiffened. Her face flushed slightly. “Just a lunch date. Does it matter?”

  “Not necessarily, just need to know who was where and when. How do I know it wasn’t an inside job?”

  “What are you talking about?” Garrett squeezed the words through his clenched teeth.

  “Folks talk.”

  “Yeah? What do they talk about?”

  “Some say you might have had that shop of yours burnt for the insurance money,” Jesse said. His white-knuckled hand gripped the pen, hovering above the notebook. “Anything to those rumors?”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would I want to destroy my brother's Jeep tire when it's my only transportation?”

  That son of a… He was itching for an excuse to take Garrett in. And the way he kept looking at Morgan—as if he’d missed out on winning the grand prize. Garrett didn’t like it one bit.

  Morgan spoke up. “You're not implicating Garrett in this, are you? I was right here. He didn’t stick a knife in the tire. Someone else did.”

  “How do I know he didn’t hire someone to do it?”

  “Well, I guess you don’t, but isn’t it your job to figure it out?”

  Jesse relented with a quick nod then leaned toward them and sniffed. “You smell like vinegar. Is that normal?

  Garrett covered his eyes and groaned. “No, I spilled some dressing.”

  And here the day was going so perfectly, not counting the salad catastrophe, the knife in the tire, the threatening note, and a cop who had the hots for Morgan.

  “Mm-hmm.” Jesse scribbled something down in his notebook.

  How he could possibly correlate a vinegar mishap with vandalizing a Jeep, Garrett had no idea.

  “You got any security cameras?”

  “Yes, of course.” Crap, he'd totally forgotten to check the footage.

 
“Let's have a look, then.” He closed his notebook and slid it back into his shirt pocket.

  Garrett and Morgan headed for the door with Jesse behind them. He held the door, eyes lingering on Morgan for a second too long. He gave Garrett the stink eye.

  "The office is back here," Garrett said, leading them through the kitchen to the small room opposite their private bathroom. He flipped on the lights and sat at the desk, then fired up the computer.

  Jesse stood straight and tall to one side of him, his arms crossed. Morgan stood at his other side, her hand gently rubbing his shoulder. He could feel Jesse's eyes boring into him.

  Ignoring the deputy as best he could, Garrett pulled up the security software. The cameras were working, thankfully, showing a live view of the sidewalk and entrance to the shop, but only the front bumpers of the Jeep and Jesse's cop car were visible.

  "Damn it." He rarely cursed, though it had been the common tongue of most Airmen, but this situation called for it. "The screws holding the ball mount must have loosened, causing it to dip."

  "Mm-hmm." Jesse had his notebook out again, scribbling something.

  "I installed it myself, so I know it was done right. But it's been windy, and it's normal to have to retighten a new installation, especially in those conditions."

  Morgan gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. If he had been by himself, he'd have probably just called Tanner and let him handle the deputy. But having Morgan at his side made him want to step up and be more wolf than sheep. Garrett avoided looking up at Jesse, though he still felt his laser-focused stare. Of course, he had to carefully avoid the interior feed—Jesse would probably tackle him. But the corner of his mouth lifted in a one-sided smile. Garrett wasn't a lanky weakling anymore. He could easily subdue the deputy if he had to. Best to let him think he still had the upper hand for now.

  Garrett rewound the exterior footage until the time stamp read 1:30 p.m., about the time he and Morgan had finished lunch and were caught up in their second “dessert.” He hit play and watched. For a couple of minutes, nothing much happened except for some leaves and a loose paper chip bag blowing by. The preacher's wife, Mrs. Donner, walked her part Chinese Crested, part French Bulldog. Talk about a weird mix—all hunch-backed and mostly bald, like a four-legged Quasimodo. She looked all around her as if making sure no one was watching. Surely she didn't have anything against the guys? She'd bought loads of cakes from them. Instead of sticking a knife in the tire, though, she let her freaky mutt take a dump on the storm drain in front of the Jeep. Then she hurried on down the sidewalk.

  Morgan laughed. “Oh, that woman! She’s such a hypocrite. Did you know she lobbied to make it mandatory for all dog owners who fail to pick up the poo to be fined a thousand dollars, even in their own yards?”

  "We ought to pee in her next order," Garrett said, to which Jesse cleared his throat. "Sorry."

  He let the feed play until Jesse's car pulled up. His frustration came out in a long exhale.

  "Looks like you don't have any video evidence. Of course, someone could have tampered with the cameras."

  The way he emphasized “someone” made Garrett shoot to his feet. "For the last time, I didn't tamper with anything. It could be anyone, even you. Jealousy makes people do crazy things."

  Jesse huffed a laugh and closed his notebook. "Me jealous of you?" He sidled up nose to nose with Garrett then glanced at Morgan. "She's way too good for you."

  She put a hand on both of their arms. "Knock it off. This is ridiculous. Garrett, close up in here, and I'll show him out."

  "I don't think so," Garrett said.

  She gave him that narrow-eyed, arched brow look, the one that said she'd had enough of his crap.

  He lifted his hands and shrugged. "Fine."

  When Jesse and Morgan left the office, he sank into the computer chair, turning it back and forth with one lazy foot while the rest of him draped over it like a limp rag. Not only had he missed the chance to lose himself in Morgan's body for a few hours, but Tanner was going to kill him when he saw a knife in his Jeep's tire.

  Garrett had just closed the office door when Morgan came back in the shop. She was biting her lip, her eyebrows knitted together.

  He came over to her and rubbed her cheek, trying to smile despite feeling like he'd failed in not catching whoever had done this. "What's the matter?"

  "Well, Jesse took a bunch of pictures of the Jeep, but beyond that, there wasn’t much he could do. The windows were down in his patrol car, so while he was snapping pics, I happened to look inside. He had a jacket in the front passenger seat. A navy blue one. One of the sleeves had been ripped."

  "Did he inspect the alleyway?"

  "I don't think so."

  His heart rate quickened while anger flared through his veins. He yanked the piece of cloth from his pocket. "Did it look like this? Does the color match?"

  "Maybe. It's hard to tell without having the jacket here to compare."

  "We saw him arrive, and he didn't inspect the alley then either. But maybe he did before that."

  "Garrett..." She closed her eyes and rubbed the space between her brows.

  "What if he sneaked from behind the shop, knowing he had to stay out of view of the cameras, and put the knife in the tire? He may have gotten wind that you and I were here together, or maybe he followed us or something. Then, the alarm went off, it spooked him, and he took off down the alley, tearing his jacket on the way."

  "That's crazy."

  He took her shoulders. "Did he try to hurt you?"

  She shook her head, worry turning to disbelief. "No, why would he?"

  "Did he say anything? Make any threats?"

  "No." She lifted her arms and pushed his hands away. "You can't just jump to conclusions because Jesse used to bully you in school. He's not like that anymore. He runs charity drives for clothes and winter coats for goodness sakes. Even plays guitar for the nursing home residents on Sundays."

  "A real saint, I'm sure."

  "Garrett. Even if he did put a knife in the tire, why would he come out to investigate?"

  "It's the perfect cover. Play the upstanding police officer, and while no one's looking, he destroys his rivals. The question is, how far would he take it?"

  "Surely you don't think he set your other store on fire. What reason would he have to drive all the way to Louisville just to do that?"

  She did make good points. But he had to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant upsetting Morgan. "I don't know, but the rip in the jacket seems like more than coincidence." He pulled out his cell phone and typed a text, sighing before finally hitting send. “He never liked me and Tanner in high school, and it's obvious he's not happy about me being with you. I don’t trust him.”

  Chapter Twelve

  We have a situation. Tanner blinked at the text message from Garrett and huffed a laugh before replying with:

  Yeah, so do we. What’s up?

  He put the phone back on the counter and finished toweling off from taking a shower at Paige’s place. He could barely turn around in the little bathroom and almost tripped on one of those squirty submarine things kids liked to play with in the tub. He could have gone back home to shower and change, but Paige was so shaken up, he didn’t want to leave her alone. Linda had gone back to get him a fresh change of clothes. All he had at the moment was a pair of muddied jeans and a filthy T-shirt. Good thing Linda had some seat covers and an old blanket in her van so they hadn’t dirtied up the upholstery.

  His phone dinged again with another text from Garrett:

  Someone put a knife in your tire.

  Tanner had to read that a few times before it sank in. He texted back:

  Where are you?

  A few seconds later, Garrett replied with:

  At the shop. Morgan and I are here. There’s something else.

  Shit, what now?

  There’s a note. It said 'You're next.'

  Tanner couldn’t believe what he was reading—he wished it were some sort
of disgusting April Fool’s joke on Garrett’s part. But it was April 12, not the first, and Garrett would know better. Tanner would beat his ass into the ground if he pulled such a dick joke.

  He replied with the only sane thing he could think of. Check the security cameras.

  We did. Couldn't see anything. The camera angle was too low.

  Some fucker had messed with his Jeep, left a threatening note, and they couldn't even get it on video, despite the thousand bucks they'd spent on equipment? What happened with their first shop and now this—it had to be connected. The room felt like it was closing in, cutting off Tanner’s air. His skin heated as sweat erupted from every pore. There wasn’t a window in this excuse for a bathroom, just an exhaust fan/light combo overhead that whined pitifully and only stirred the steam around. He couldn’t wait for Linda to get back. He had to get out of there. He wrapped a towel around his waist and yanked open the door, breathing in the less-humid air until his skin, and his temper, cooled down. Paige had gone through hell today. He didn’t need to add to her stress, even though he had a serious bone to pick with her about a lot of things.

  He peeked around the corner, into Paige’s tiny bedroom. It looked as though it had been a supply closet before being converted. She had bathed Tyler before Tanner got in the shower. Now she had him tucked him into her bed, and sat on the edge beside him. Tanner leaned against the doorframe, watching as she stroked her son’s hair and his cheek and quietly sang to him in a soft, soothing voice. Most women in her situation would have moved back home, but she had always been independent. He admired that about her, but wished to God things could be different. She deserved better. So did the kid, who could also be his kid.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, that unlikelihood grew into a very real possibility. The timing fit. They'd had sex the spring and summer before they broke up. Several times. Though he couldn’t say he wanted to be a dad, he’d never have abandoned his kid. Or Paige. He didn’t care if he was autistic or blind or missing both legs. He’d love the kid no matter what, even if he didn't have a relationship with Paige.