Amy smiled at the chef's enthusiasm. "I'm glad I could help."
Bridget took over the conversation, asking about Mariah's intentions for the business, what she would like the space to look like, and how many employees the cake-only bakery would employ. The tiny bakery would be a crumb in the towering layer cake that made up all of Mahoney Incorporated's real estate empire. Within five minutes, the savvy businesswoman had determined that Exquisite Cakes would be a worthy tenant. It took forever for Amy to decide on something as simple as what to cook for dinner. Bridget's decision-making speed was impressive.
After a round of goodbyes, Amy followed Bridget out the door. They paused on the sidewalk and Mrs. Mahoney asked, "Would you like to meet me downtown now?"
Amy squinted at Bridget, who had a bright white aura from the still-rising sun positioned in the sky behind her head. Not saying what was going on at the cookbook store was unsettling. Bridget wasn't the kind of person who hedged or danced around a topic. "I have some spare time, so I can do that."
"Good. I would like your take on the situation."
Amy lost sight of the black Mercedes a few minutes after she followed it out of the strip mall parking lot. The luxury car slipped through traffic like a nimble rabbit. Amy stepped on the brake pedal of her Mini Cooper when the traffic light turned yellow. Risking an accident to keep up with Lead Foot Mahoney wasn't worth it. Knowing how crowded downtown was at midday, she'd probably have to park at Alex's business and hike a few blocks to The Cookbook Nook anyway.
Going back to the business district for a mysterious visit filled her with a double-shot of anxiousness. What was happening at the bookstore? And would Sophie ever forgive her for calling in Shepler about the money-grubbing hacker? Amy usually worked at the café until after lunch, but Sophie had sent her away at 9:00 a.m. with instructions to work on wedding stuff. An odd dismissal since Amy hadn't mentioned needing to do anything for the wedding, and the café was busy. Early that morning, as usual, they began preparing the cookie doughs and bread batters. Sophie curtly informed Amy that she had bought a multi-pack of pepper spray…so she would be fine, even though she thought she would be better off if the police hadn't become involved and instructed her not to pay the extortionist.
Amy wasn't convinced that Sophie would follow Shepler's instructions and might still hand over the money in an attempt to end the psychological torture. Her friend was scared and stressed, but that didn't mean the barely veiled anger toward Amy didn't sting. She wanted to help Sophie. Unfortunately, help meant disobeying the hacker's demands. A terrifying act of rebelliousness that would turn even a person with nerves of steel into a twisted mental wreck.
The Mini rolled past Riverbend Café. Amy broadcast positive thoughts toward the building. Sophie just needed some time to calm down. Shepler was on the case. Amy was poking around, possibly digging up some new clues in a few minutes. Everything would be okay.
But first, she needed to find a parking space. The sleek, black Mercedes was parked directly in front of The Cookbook Nook. Even parking spaces opened up for the queen of Kellerton. Amy drove past the luxury car, scanning the side of the street ahead for a break in the solid line of angled back bumpers. Two blocks away, she finally found a parking spot.
A warm breeze played with her sunshine yellow, tiered skirt as she hurried along the sidewalk. Considering Amy had been delayed by at least three stoplights in her journey across town, Bridget could've been waiting for several minutes before she even arrived downtown. Even though they were on friendly terms, Amy didn't want to push her luck by keeping the busy woman waiting any longer than necessary.
When Amy stopped in front of the Mercedes she could see Bridget through the windshield, talking on the phone. A smiling golden retriever strolled by while its owner and her friend window-shopped. Both women were dressed in pastel T-shirts and black leggings. Rolled yoga mats housed in net bags were slung over their shoulders. The happy pup probably got to visit friends at the doggy daycare, next door to the yoga studio, while its owner stretched through sun salutations and downward dog variations.
"Sorry to keep you waiting while I searched for a parking spot," Amy said as Bridget exited the car.
Bridget deposited the phone in her simple, black handbag. "And I apologize for making you wait here on the hot sidewalk. Some calls just can't be put off. The downside of running a successful business."
"I can only imagine the issues you have to deal with." Amy fell in step beside Bridget as they strode toward the cookbook shop. At the café, late produce deliveries and the occasional sick employee were the usual business hassles. What kind of problems did a property management mogul have?
"Property damage is just the beginning of the issues."
Amy glanced up at the typically straight-shooting socialite as she pulled open the door to The Cookbook Nook. Another odd statement. She'd need a spreadsheet to keep up with the conversation if Bridget's comments didn't start adding up to an obvious conclusion soon. A bell on the door handle jingled merrily to announce their arrival. They walked into the cozy store. Everything looked normal to Amy. All of the cookbooks about every subject from raw vegan desserts to home-curing bacon were neatly lined up on the shelves that took up every ounce of available wall space. Maybe Bridget's phone call was about damage somewhere else.
"Amy. What a pleasant surprise to see you this morning…along with Mrs. Mahoney," Kendra Hale, the owner of the food centric bookstore, said as she emerged from the back room and took her place behind the checkout counter. The diminutive woman's dark hair was twisted back into a messy knot. Sweat-dampened curls stuck to her cheeks, which were speckled with red blotches. She nodded at Bridget. "Hello, Mrs. Mahoney."
During the drive to the store Amy had thought about buying a cookbook as a wedding present for Carla. Her best friend did a lot of things expertly, like administering life-saving first aid, but cooking wasn't one of her specialties. Now that she was going to have a hungry husband to feed every day, a good understanding of how to roast a chicken and make pot roast was in order. There was no way a mountain of a man like Shepler built his muscles feasting on the foods that were Carla's standard bachelorette fare—ramen noodles, instant oatmeal, and pre-packaged salads. But after seeing the bookstore's owner, Amy didn't feel like shopping. Worry overrode the urge to peruse the shelves. "Are you okay?"
Kendra plucked a tissue from a box on the checkout counter. "I'll be fine. Thank you for asking. So when am I going to stock a cookbook that you have written on my shelves?"
Amy blinked at the unexpected diversion tactic. Something was obviously wrong, but Kendra didn't want to talk about it. So she decided to play along. "Oh, I have no idea how to find a publisher or anything like that. I don't think a small town cook's recipes would appeal to a lot of people."
"You've won many contests. I'm sure people would love to get their hands on your recipes." Kendra brushed the stray curls off of her cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and rimmed with red. Maybe tears, instead of sweat, were the cause of the wet hair. "Start a food blog. A lot of bloggers end up with cookbook contracts."
Writing a cookbook was a dream that had been floating through Amy's thoughts for years. She developed recipes continually. She had never thought much about publishing them on a blog instead of entering them in contests. If a blog really could be the ticket to publishing a cookbook, she could focus some of her recipe inventing attention on one. It just seemed like such a big project, and she had no idea where to start. "Thank you for your advice. A blog is a great idea. I would love to do a cookbook."
Bridget cleared her throat. "Can you show me the damage, Kendra? According to Amy, you aren't the only person who is having problems."
Kendra's hazel brown eyes widened. She nodded and led the way to the back room. Books were scattered everywhere on the floor. In the kitchenette on the left side of the room, red sauce-covered spaghetti noodles were stuck to the walls and cabinets. There was barely any space to step without standing on books or spi
lled food. The shop owner hung her head. "I found this when I came in this morning."
"What kind of idiot does something like this?" Bridget nudged a vegetarian soup cookbook with the toe of her nude-colored pump. "Why would someone do this to your store?"
Had Amy and Sophie stopped the intruder before he could do this sort of damage at Riverbend? A chaotic mess wasn't as ominous as a noose, but it could be sending the same message. "To prove that there are consequences if demands aren't met," Amy guessed.
Kendra inhaled loudly. "How did you know?"
"Like Bridget said, your business isn't the only one being hit by the extortionist. Did you get a message on your computer, demanding money, before this happened?"
"Yes," Kendra said. Her voice was barely audible above the drone of the miniature refrigerator. A bowling ball-sized dent dimpled its side wall. It sounded as if the appliance's fan had been damaged in the assault, judging from the metallic clanking sound rattling from it. "But it's gone. I didn't erase the email, but I can't find it now. I thought it was some kind of weird spam, like those emails you get from dying people who want to give you their inheritance. So I didn't think anything of it…until now."
The torment wasn't consistent, but the contact method was. What other similarities were there? "Do you have security cameras that could've filmed the person who did this?"
Bridget raised one eyebrow. "After the trouble at Cornerstone restaurant I had cameras installed at all of my properties. I checked the footage when Kendra called this morning. Somehow the cameras were shut off during the time the vandalism was being committed. I have my security specialist looking into it, but right now we have no idea what happened."
Chances were the security systems Bridget installed were even more high-tech than the ones at the menswear shop and café, since both of those businesses were in buildings not owned by her corporation. Maybe the specialist could figure out what was happening. Amy placed her hand on Kendra's shoulder.
"It looks like you've already started cleaning up. Have the police been here? Won't you need a breaking and entering report to claim the damage on your insurance?"
The ruddy redness faded from Kendra's cheeks. Her gaze bounced back and forth between Amy and Bridget. "I don't think many of the books are damaged. They just need to be put back on the shelves. So I don't need to go to my insurance agent. Plus, I can't call the police." She tugged at the bottom of her white cotton blouse. "I found another message on my computer when I turned it on. It says not to involve the police, or I'll end up like Luke Crowe. I have no idea who did this or what I did to provoke the person."
Bridget and Amy stayed for another fifteen minutes, trying to convince Kendra to call the police and helping pick up some of the mess. By the end of the stay, Bridget could no longer mask her frustration with the situation. Her lips were pressed into a thin, straight line interrupted by random twitches. It appeared that the outspoken landlady was making a great effort to keep her mouth shut.
When they emerged from the store Bridget asked Amy to sit in the Mercedes with her so they could talk privately. Thanks to the remote starter on Bridget's key chain, the vehicle rumbled to life before they even reached it. After settling into the passenger seat, Amy was amazed that the accumulated heat from the black car sitting in the sun was already mostly dissipated courtesy of the pleasantly cool breeze pouring out of the air-conditioning vents. The chilled sanctuary of the vehicle felt wonderful after working up a sweat hefting stacks of thick, hardcover cookbooks from the floor.
"Do you have any idea who could be doing this?" Amy asked as she tucked her honey-blonde hair behind her ear.
"Somebody who knows their way around computer systems, that's for sure. I pay a lot of money to monitor my properties. It isn't easy to shut the surveillance cameras down, since they are tied into my corporation's main computer system." Bridget's head slowly turned as she watched a man walk by. He appeared to be in his late twenties, wore a Superman T-shirt, and had a large, red backpack hanging by one strap from his shoulder. "I know this is profiling, but I'd bet that guy could take apart a computer with a blindfold on."
Amy twisted in the leather seat to watch as he crossed the street then disappeared into The Inkwell. She squinted at the smaller print on the sign over the store's window—Comics and Graphic Novels. Bridget said, "That store just moved in a month or two ago. They aren't my tenants, but I would imagine the place attracts some unique customers, not the standard bookstore crowd. I realize I could be wrong, but I tend to think that an adult who reads comic books might also be a whiz with computers."
"A stereotypical nerd." Amy had to admit she had the same impression, grouping comic fans in with tech nerds. Since she had no interest in either hobby, she had no idea if the association was valid or not. "You just don't know what people do behind closed doors."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amy sprinkled quinoa over the chunks of sweet peppers. The Mason jar salads were like a food version of sand paintings. Jagged stripes of black olives, green onions, yellow corn, orange peppers, and beige quinoa topped off with a thick layer of vibrant green shredded romaine lettuce. The jars of super healthy whole grains mixed with rainbow-colored veggies were another one of Amy's contributions to the wedding. Carla was surrounded by sick people at the hospital. The added anxiety of planning the nuptials put her at even more of a risk of becoming sick herself. Loading Carla up with nutrient-dense salads would hopefully fend off any nasty, honeymoon-ruining viruses.
It was almost 10:00 p.m., but Amy was nowhere close to settling down for bed. Instead she was using the repetitious tasks of chopping vegetables and assembling salads to try to settle her mind. She knew for certain that three downtown businesses were being targeted by the ruthless extortionist. None of them had any idea why. Or who was sending the threats. It didn't seem to be some hacker on the other side of the world playing stupid computer tricks for fun. Someone local was apparently behind the cyber-attacks since the businesses were being physically broken into. And that person wasn't afraid to kill to get their point across.
Amy finished packing the Mason jars and screwed on the lids. She cradled four of the glass containers in her arms to ferry them to the refrigerator. Her cell phone, sitting on the charger dock on the small desk in the corner of the kitchen, began playing "Crazy" by Patsy Cline. The jars clanked together as Amy struggled to set them back down on the counter without casualties. Her heartbeat whooshed in her ears. It was Carla's ring tone. She never called that late unless something was wrong.
A few minutes later, Amy hung up the phone. Something was totally wrong, but not with Carla. Shepler was heading to Sophie's duplex, and he wanted Amy's help. Someone had broken into her home. He was on his way to do detective duties by himself, in plain clothes, because Sophie was too scared of the consequences of having uniformed officers show up. Amy had been enlisted to help calm down Sophie.
"Alex!" Amy called as she raced through the house looking for her husband. He wasn't in his office, so she widened her search to the den. She found him sleeping in his leather recliner, a movie with slime-spewing aliens playing on the big-screen TV. "Alex! I need to go to Sophie's house."
His arms and legs jerked as if he was being zapped with one of the alien's ray guns. "What? What's going on?"
"Sophie's apartment was broken into. Shepler's going there, but he had Carla call me so I could meet him to take care of Sophie while he looks around for clues."
He ground his fists into his eyes. "Why is Shepler investigating a break-in?"
Amy looked at the Roman numerals on the giant, round clock on the wall. The over-sized timepiece was the only item she had been allowed to pick out for the den, Alex's domain. She didn't have much time to explain. Sophie needed her. "Because it is most likely connected to Luke Crowe's murder."
Alex flipped down the footrest of the chair and stood up. He knew that she was trying to help Shepler out, as she had during several of his other murder investigations. "That's not good. Let m
e drive you there. I don't like that you're so closely involved with another homicide."
She shook her head. "You were just sound asleep while the TV was blaring. Obviously you're tired. Besides, Sophie doesn't know you very well. It might make her more upset having a stranger hanging around when the whole point of me going is to try to comfort her. Shepler is probably there already. I promise I'll be careful."
He sighed then kissed her cheek. "Go take care of Sophie. Don't get out of your car unless you know Bruce is there, okay?"
"I'll call you when I arrive and then when I'm in the car coming home." She turned to leave but stopped. "Can you make sure the guest room is ready…new towels, mugs by the coffeemaker, stuff like that? Sophie will probably need someplace to stay tonight."
Twenty minutes later, Amy squeezed Mimi the Mini beside Shepler's pickup truck in Sophie's narrow driveway. All of the lights in her side of the duplex were on. A For Rent sign was stuck in the lawn in front of the other unit. That considerably cut down on the chance of witnesses to the break-in. A porch light at the back of the house glowed like a miniature moon in the darkness. Amy checked in with Alex, as she had promised, then grabbed her purse and the sea salt caramel-filled chocolate bar she had snatched from her candy stash as she ran out of the house. The treat wouldn't fix anything, but it could soothe a jangled nerve or two.
She pulled her fleece jacket tighter around her torso as she walked across the driveway. Amy stared at the dark shadows hanging out in corners of Sophie's backyard. What if one of the bushes was concealing the person who had broken in? She shivered as she rang the doorbell. There were muffled voices and then the thumps of oddly paced footsteps on the other side of the door. She blinked when Shepler swung open the wooden door. Amy stepped into the destroyed kitchen. Tears welled in her eyes.
Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) Page 9
