Vangie Vale and the Murdered Macaron (The Matchbaker Mysteries Book 1)

by R. L. Syme

  I tried to stay silent while Nikki finished up her deposit, even though I wanted to sneak a few questions about Henry Savage in Tessa’s direction. I pulled my own smartphone out of my purse and set it on the counter so the bulk would hide my secret internet research.

  I opened the browser and went straight to Wikipedia. Sure enough, a search for Henry’s name pulled up a picture of a familiar sandy-haired stud. It looked like it had been taken at an awards ceremony—the white canvas drop cloth behind him was covered in gold words and a gold statue imprint, repeated every foot or so.

  His acting credits weren’t extensive, and it looked like he hadn’t been on the scene for very long. Until recently, he’d played mostly supporting roles. His current show, which had to be the fur trader show Tessa was so hot and bothered about, was called Bronson and he played a character called Tom Bronson.

  But a couple of familiar words along the right hand side of the screen caught my attention and I stopped breathing for real as I read his vital statistics.

  Hometown: Saint Agnes, Montana.

  Chapter Three

  When I returned to the bakery, there were a few cars in the parking lot. All the kind of second-hand, beat-up models that smart parents let their teenagers drive. Safe enough to protect the people inside, old enough not to be worth repairing if someone backed into them at the Wal-Mart.

  Austin did homework in the corner, trying to avoid eye contact with the pile of girls at the next table. Leo was huddled behind the bake case, packaging something for a blonde about his age who bit her lip and rocked back and forth on one foot. She was probably hoping he’d notice her. He didn’t. As a rule, Leo Van Andel was oblivious, which was likely why he had such an extensive fan club.

  He handed the paper box to the teenager and then walked back to the cash register to make the appropriate change. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and he came around the case, leaving the little blonde with her cash and her box of pastries.

  “That guy who was in here, the one who got in your car,” Leo said in a low voice. “Do you know who he is?”

  I set my purse behind the white wood case and took the apron he offered. “I do now. I didn’t when he was in here before.”

  “Turns out he’s some kind of big movie star.” Leo’s voice was low, reverent, like he was impressed. It was a bit surprising. Up until now, he hadn’t seemed to care about much of anything except baking and school. He hadn’t even mentioned a girl in the four months he’d been in my employment, and frankly, I wasn’t sure he watched any television, certainly not a show about fur traders.

  “Yeah, I guess he is.” I tied the apron around my waist, trying not to let it show how much I’d been thinking about that some-kind-of-movie-star since I’d agreed to meet with him to talk. I did not add the fact that we’d just gotten off the phone, fixing the time, as I pulled into the parking lot.

  It was starting to feel like a dinner date.

  “Lisa’s mom came in, talking about how they all saw him at the bank this afternoon, and she described him, like to a T.” Leo shook his head. “I guess he’s a big deal. He went to school here.”

  I grabbed a cleaning cloth and the vinegar spray and swiped at the counter, trying to add this information to the picture I was forming of Henry. It was strange to be out-of-the-know in Saint Agnes. A big perk of being a pastor in a small town was being privy to everyone’s everything. Yet I hadn’t heard a peep about the movie star who’d grown up here, let alone that he was flirty. Okay, and gorgeous.

  It unnerved me.

  I didn’t like not knowing things.

  “Did your mom go to school here, too?” I asked, as Leo trailed me around the counters like a little, dark-haired puppy dog.

  “She went to Four Buttes, before the co-op.” Leo leaned against the back counter, looking out over the dining area. “I had no idea about him, Miss Vee, or I would have warned you.”

  “Well, now we know.” My hand stilled and the scent of vinegar pooled around us. The smell took some getting used to. I still hadn’t managed it, even after months of being open.

  “It kinda seemed like he was hitting on you.” Leo’s tone took a sudden turn. More the protective, dangerous edge he’d had when he was staring at us through the mural earlier.

  “I guess you could call it that, although I have a feeling he flirts with everyone, so I wouldn’t worry about me, kid.” I glanced at the clock over our heads. “It’s about time to close up. You have homework?”

  “Just Advanced Chem,” he said, waving a hand. “It can wait.”

  “Can you box up the rest of those macarons I made this morning? I want to make a couple of stops on my way home.”

  Leo got to work constructing the little treat boxes. I kept working on the counters, but the repetitive activity didn’t do much to keep me from thinking about Henry.

  I knew I should call and cancel. But it felt like he was hiding something, and I wanted to give him the opportunity to unburden himself. There was a sacred bond between minister and the ministered-to. I often felt people’s need to confess before they even said a word. It was a little like the Matchbaker instinct, that helped me to run this business. I could even sense their need to debrief theologically, before they knew themselves.

  The bell dinged over the door, a little louder than usual from an unnecessarily forceful push. In walked the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-bearded sheriff of Twin Valley County, Malcolm Dean. Probably the last person I wanted to see that day, or any day.

  My hand clamped around the cloth, and I took in a deep, soothing breath. Dean was my neighbor in the back hills, up against the mountain. He seemed to have taken an instant dislike to me, and mostly avoided me since I came to town. This was the first time he’d ever set foot in my place of business. And the last couple of days, he had taken to getting on me about using my cell phone out in front of my house.

  Okay, so maybe I was a little bit on his property when I was doing it. But just barely on the corner.

  Sheriff Dean stalked up to the counter, his brow furrowed. He nodded at Austin, then at Leo, and his dark eyes finally settled on me. I dropped my shoulders and stood straight, facing him.

  “Evangeline,” he said with a nod, his tone hard-edged. “I need to speak with you.”

  Leo was at my side in half a second. “Hi, Sheriff. What can we do for you? You here for the Matchbaker treatment?”

  Malcolm removed his wide-brimmed white hat, a look of disdain crossing his rugged features. “I’m here to see Miss Vale.”

  I held up a hand, calling Leo off, but he didn’t seem to relax one bit. I pointed back to the bake case. “Can you finish those boxes? I’ll just be in the kitchen with the sheriff.”

  The tension the man had brought with him was palpable, and I was glad there were no donut jokes floating around in my head. Malcolm Dean was not one to laugh at himself. He took life way too seriously for that.

  We walked far enough out of sight to have privacy, but no farther. I didn’t like the idea of being alone with a man who seemed to hate my very existence.

  Malcolm set his hat on my stainless steel counter and reached into his pocket. “I’m going to show you a picture of a woman, and you’re going to tell me everything you can about her. Okay?”

  I nodded and crossed my arms, preparing myself for mug shots. But when he flipped on his phone, my breath expelled fast.

  A woman’s hand clutched the edge of a white box with a clear plastic top and a blue Matchbakery logo. There was one pink macaron visible, still nestled in the tissue paper, with an ovular cracked impression, like a fingerprint, in its perfect, rounded top.

  The next picture was from a little farther away. The Matchbakery box sat on the torso of a woman, just where her belly button might have been. A few inches above the edge of the box was a long, jagged rip in her shirt showing a wound in her skin. Above that, another. And another. I counted five, all together.

  My intake of breath was sharp, and I had to grab Malcolm’s arm t
o steady myself. I hadn’t been prepared for gore.

  He flipped to the next picture, keeping his arm tensed while I leaned on him. His other hand went to my shoulder. “What can you tell me about her?”

  I swallowed hard, looking at the unfamiliar planes of the woman’s face. She had dark, wavy hair with frayed ends and large, soft lips. Her eyes were closed, but from her slackened features, there was no doubt she was dead.

  “Do you know this woman?” he asked, gripping my shoulder just a bit.

  I realized I’d been pitching forward, and righted myself. I didn’t want to faint in Sheriff Dean’s arms. It was just a picture of a dead body, and it wasn’t my first.

  “I…I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard, releasing his bicep and covering my mouth with one hand. “I’m not sure who that is.”

  “Can you tell me when she was in here?” He flipped to the next photo, which was more focused on her face. Her features were sharper in this one, her beauty in starker relief, but it also showed there was dirt smeared on one side of her face and she had a gash on her lip. Light, yellow bruising mottled the skin around one eye and around her neck.

  I shook my head. “I don’t recognize her.”

  “But she was clearly in the bakery.” Malcolm flipped back to the first picture again. “This is your box.”

  “It is my box, yes. But she didn’t get it here.”

  “Look at her face again.” He slid his thumb across the screen until the frontal shot of her face came up. “You’re telling me you’ve never seen her in this bakery? Not today or yesterday, or ever?”

  I took a step back, suddenly feeling crowded by his big body. “I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I’m lying to you.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Vale,” he said through grinding teeth, “but surely you can understand why I would be surprised that you don’t seem to know the girl who died with your product in her hands.” He clicked the phone off and stuffed it in his pocket, grabbing for his hat.

  “That’s Pastor Vale to you, Sheriff Dean.” I crossed my arms again, feeling suddenly protective.

  “You’re not a pastor right now,” he said with a grunt. “Not that I’d trust you any more if you were. I’m speaking to you because a box of cookies from your bakery was found at the scene of a homicide.”

  “So I clearly must be involved.” I stepped back again, feeling the hard edge of the countertop press into my lower back. “I suppose you’re going to go after her clothing designers, too, and the people who made her shoes? Just in case they’re involved in her death?”

  He gave a curt shake of his head. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. I’m not here to accuse you of anything. I’m just trying to establish the timeline of the murder.”

  “It sure feels like you’re accusing me of something.”

  “I have to ask these questions, Evangeline.”

  I cringed at his use of my full name. Ever since we’d started our little neighborly dispute, he’d refused to call me anything except Miss Vale or Evangeline, and it drove me insane…which, come to think of it, was probably why he did it.

  “Well, I told you, I don’t know who she is. Question answered.”

  “Do you know how she got her hands on a box from this bakery if you haven’t seen her before?”

  “No.”

  “And how often do you make the cookies in this box?”

  “I made a batch this morning. I won’t make them again until this weekend. But I’ve never made them before, here in Saint Agnes.”

  He scratched something in his notebook. “Does anyone else ever wait on your customers?”

  I opened my mouth to deny him again, but this time I let it hang open. I’d left Leo in charge just this afternoon. I snapped my lips closed.

  “Who would wait on them besides you?” the sheriff kept pressing.

  “What’s going on back here?” Leo hissed, coming around the corner, eyes blazing, arms out wide, like he planned on a fight.

  “It’s okay, Leo,” I said, waving a hand at him. “The sheriff is asking me questions about a customer.”

  “Which customer?” He came around the steel-topped table and stood between me and the sheriff.

  Malcolm pulled out his phone again and went through the same series of pictures. Leo didn’t flinch until I put my hand on his arm and pulled him back. He gave me a frustrated I’m handling it glare, the cute kid.

  “I don’t recognize her,” he said.

  “Do you know how she could have gotten that box?” the sheriff asked, stuffing his phone back into his pocket with an angry puff of air. “I find it strange that neither of you seem to know who she is, when she’s clearly been in here.”

  “You don’t know that she’s been in here.” Leo stepped forward, tensing against my hand. “Anyone could have given her that box.”

  “How many of these boxes do you give out a day?” Malcolm asked, retreating just enough that some of the tension in the room seemed to ease.

  “Not many, these days,” I said. “We get a steady stream of people on and off, but most of them eat in-house. On a typical weekday, I’d say we give out maybe ten of them.”

  “Are there any other staff besides the two of you?”

  “I hire a cleaning crew out of Madison Falls once a month, and when I’m in a pinch, Emma Brent from the agate store next door comes over to help me out.”

  Malcolm’s brow went up. “Does she have a key to the place?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have one, too.” Leo finally un-tensed, allowing me to pull him back like a leashed pit bull.

  “Does anyone else have a key?” said the sheriff.

  “I have some spares in a locked box in the office. But no one else has access to them.” I looked up at the clock. It read 5:04. I pushed on Leo’s back. “Can you go shoo those girls out of here? Let’s lock the doors.”

  “You want me to get rid of Austin, too?” Leo asked, going around the table to avoid the sheriff.

  “No, his mom will probably be by soon to pick him up. I just saw her at the bank and she’s off at five.”

  Like a good staff person, Leo followed my directions, but that left me alone again with Malcolm Dean hulking over me, accusing me of all sorts of things.

  “I’d like to go through your transaction records for the day, Evangeline.” The sheriff slid his wide-brimmed hat back onto his head. “It seemed like there were some other cookies in that box at one time. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were, but there were crumbs in the paper that weren’t from the pink cookie you saw in the first picture.”

  “What color crumbs?” I felt my throat thicken. My mind had sorted through all of today’s customers, and I was positive I’d only sold one box of multi-colored macarons today. Unless Leo had sold a box right after my departure, and the buyer had immediately given the box to the murdered girl, and she had immediately been killed, it was unlikely this was a different box of cookies.

  The sheriff had his little notebook out and was flipping through the pages. “It looked like there were some bright green, some white, and then another, darker color, maybe brown. I couldn’t be sure, because we didn’t want to move the evidence until it had been fully documented. I’ll have more information in a day or two.”

  I hadn’t entered the price of the macarons into the till, because Henry hadn’t wanted change for his hundred dollar bill. Even if Malcolm were to check the register, he wouldn’t see the sale of macarons at eleven-thirty. The only way he would know was if I told him.

  Something made me not want to tell Malcolm about the cookie purchase. Spite, maybe. But I didn’t know Henry, and it wasn’t my job to protect him, let alone go to jail for him. Besides, keeping evidence from the police was a crime.

  Vangie Vale was a lot of things, but not a criminal.

  “I did sell one box like that today.” I swallowed hard as I watched Malcolm scratch something onto his pad. “It had four macarons in it, and I think the transaction happened around eleven-thirt
y.”

  “Do you have a credit card receipt for that sale?”

  “No. They paid in cash.”

  Malcolm raised his dark eyes to mine, holding them hard. “Do you know who the customer was?”

  I took a deep breath and told the truth. “Henry Savage.”

  Once the words were out of my mouth, I felt a rush of relief, like I’d been holding something back.

  “Henry Savage?”

  “Apparently, he’s some movie star who used to go to high school around here.”

  “And he was in here alone?” Malcolm flipped to a new page and continued scratching notes.

  “No. His agent was with him.” My mind went right to Miss Georgia and her pinched-up face. “Scarlet. Her first name is Scarlet. I don’t think I ever heard her last name.”

  “And they were on their way…?”

  “From here…” I licked my lips and took in a breath. “They had an appointment at the bank at noon.”

  “Rocky Mountain Bank?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know what for?”

  “No.”

  “And did you see them again after that?”

  I paused. These questions were ridiculously simple, and telling the truth was a requirement, but I still felt compelled to protect Henry. He felt like one of my flock, now. Not like a stranger. I forced all the air out of my lungs and refilled them. “Henry came back, just after the boys showed up. They have their last period free, so this was before school got out.”

  “Did Henry buy another box of cookies?”

  “He did not.”

  The sheriff’s brows drew together, hard. “Why was he here, then?”

  “They ended up missing their appointment.” I reached my hands backward and grabbed the cold, steel countertop. “He came back to let me know they’d taken a room at the Mockingbird B&B.”

  And to flirt with me…is that what you want to know, Malcolm? Hmm?

  I had to clap my mouth shut to keep from uttering those words. When he kept writing, I tried to ignore the pounding of my heart. Was it possible Henry really had been involved in this murder? Or Scarlet? Otherwise, how had the box ended up on a dead woman’s body?