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

by R. L. Syme

  The newest of the three sat in the middle, a picture of a young man in a pea coat with gold buttons down both sides of his chest, set against a blue background. To his right and left, similar formal pictures, only the men were in fatigues, sitting in front of flags. One was obviously older, practically in sepia tones.

  “My uncle was in the Army,” I said. “He went to West Point.”

  Frances seemed to take in the entirety of the shrine and then let out a long breath. “I’d hoped that Austin would choose to apply there, instead of going to Annapolis,” she said, giving me a little smile. “But he’s got his heart set on playing football for the Naval Academy, just like his Daddy. That boy has such a need for family connections. I should have known he’d pick the Navy.”

  I took my life into my hands, shifting subjects when she gave me the opening. “That’s probably why he was so devastated about Claire.”

  Every muscle in her body tightened, and the smile faded. “How do you know about Claire?”

  “Just what I’ve heard from Nikki and Austin.”

  “Nothing, then.” She sighed and sat back in the tall, soft chair. In a different century, a different country, she could have been a queen. The way she held herself so straight, her look so pensive. She and Nikki both shared a fine-boned, almost bird-like gentility.

  “I wanted to check in on you. Often, when these tragedies take place, those who survive can be left with confusing, difficult emotions. Given how often I see Austin and the fact that I’m a pastor, I would like to help if I can.”

  “This wasn’t a tragedy, Reverend Vale,” she said with a bite to her tone. “It was the inevitable consequence of Claire’s life choices.”

  I tried to keep the shock off my face, but I couldn’t avoid feeling some amazement. She seemed more torn up about the pictures on the mantel, the loss of those men who had volunteered their lives in service, than she did by the murder of her own daughter.

  “What life choices?” I asked, tentatively.

  She crossed her hands in her lap. “Ever since she took up with that Savage boy, she’s been on a bad path. For almost twenty years, I’ve been unmaking her bad choices for her, and now she’s gone.”

  The way she said the words, putting such little emotion behind them, caught me off-guard. I was used to people being numb in the wake of death. Or stricken. Or angry. But resigned? That was one I hadn’t experienced before.

  “What happened with Henry Savage?” I asked.

  She glared at me. “That boy ruined her life, that’s what.” Frances Barnett caught herself, like she thought she’d shown too much emotion, and went back to looking at the shrine. “If my Daniel had been alive, he would have exercised better discipline. But after that boy…after they…broke up, she was different. I didn’t know what to do with her.”

  “Different, how?”

  “Sullen. Disobedient. Angry.” She shook her head, a long sigh escaping her lips. “I had to send her to a special school, off in Minnesota, where my sister could look after her.”

  Something shifted in her features. There was a tightness just under her slightly wrinkled skin, like she was holding something back. I sat very still, hoping she would keep talking without any prompting.

  Her eyes seemed to glaze over, and she moved her hands up, crossing them over her abdomen. “Auggie died not long after that, and Nikki had to come home from overseas. She wasn’t even here when all that happened.”

  “Yes,” I noted, remembering my conversations with Austin. “I’ve heard Nikki’s husband was a great man.”

  “Of course he was,” she said, with a little snap, pulling her hands up even more, until they practically cupped her abdomen. “They were married in Africa, you know. None of the family was there, but it was a beautiful ceremony.”

  “Why Africa?”

  “That’s where August was stationed. Nairobi.”

  Something tickled the back of my mind, like a familiar itch I wanted to scratch. But before I could ask any more questions, she’d risen from the chair and crossed to the shrine.

  “They gave him the Purple Heart for being killed in action.” Frances picked up one of the boxes of medals. “My Daniel received one, as well, and so did my father.”

  I came to stand beside her, and she handed it to me. With a glass front and a velvet inset, I could clearly see the black leather case inside that read Purple Heart in gold filigree letters. Beside the case was a gold medal in the shape of a heart with a bust inside, hanging from a V-shaped purple ribbon. Above it was a pin and a purple rectangle.

  Frances picked up another box, containing rectangles of ribbon with different stripe patterns and a couple of medals I didn’t recognize. “Auggie’s parents have his Purple Heart, but I have Daniel’s.”

  “These are beautiful,” I said, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation back to Claire and Henry, but any pivot would seem like prying, at this point. The natural flow of the conversation had moved directly into military service awards, which neither Claire nor Henry possessed.

  “Nikki lets me keep Auggie’s picture here, and Austin has a little one at home.” She replaced the boxes, reverently. “I like to keep all our military men together.”

  The way she said the word our gave me a little chill, like anyone else’s claim was superfluous, and she owned them. I handed her the Purple Heart like it was a bomb. If I could have wiped my fingerprints from the case, I would have.

  I pointed to the knife collection. “Those are beautiful, too.”

  “My Daniel hated guns. Unfair in a fight.” Her lips settled into a strange smile. “He made his own knives, you know.” She turned to the kitchen, leaning back just a touch. “Aussie, can you come in here for a moment?”

  The young man bounded through the doors, eyes wide like something was wrong. When he saw us standing in front of the shrine, he paused, his face going dark. “Yes, Gran?”

  “Do you still have Papa’s knife? I wanted to show it to Reverend Vale.”

  “Why?” His voice took a rough turn. “You gave it to me.”

  “Aussie,” she scolded. “Don’t be rude in front of guests.”

  “It’s okay, Mrs. Barnett. Really,” I said.

  “No. You simply must see it. Daniel was an expert craftsman and Austin carries it with him everywhere, don’t you, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t have it on me now.” He shoved his hands in his back pockets. “I’ll show her sometime at the bakery.”

  Frances looked decidedly nonplussed. She fussed us both away and into the kitchen, where the soup pot sat unattended. From her jerky motions, it was obvious that she was unhappy with her grandson, but I thought it best to let the subject drop.

  “I really just stopped by to make sure you were all right,” I said, putting a hand on Austin’s shoulder.

  Frances moved to the stove, pulling the apron back over her head. “We’re fine, Reverend, but I appreciate the visit.”

  “Have you decided where to do the funeral, yet?” I ventured, cautiously.

  “Oh, we’re not in charge of that.” Frances stirred the soup, acting as though I’d been asking about the parade arrangements for Homecoming, or some other silly thing. Not her daughter’s funeral.

  “But I assumed—”

  “Really, Reverend, we haven’t known Claire for nearly twenty years now. She’s been part of someone else’s family for much longer than she was part of mine. Nikki and I don’t speak of her anymore. I’m not even sure we’ll go to the funeral. Derek will be handling all that, I’m sure.”

  Her back was turned, so she didn’t see the look on Austin’s face—or the muscle spasming furiously in his jaw. I tapped his shoulder and he released the tension, looking up at me.

  I was about to ask if he was okay, but the strange difference in his appearance made me keep my mouth closed. I didn’t want to alert his Gran if he didn’t. I couldn’t help being on Austin’s side. He was the one getting hurt by all this silence Nikki and Frances had been keepi
ng for years. Missing out on knowing his aunt and uncle.

  And the idolizing of Auggie Krantz bothered me in a way I couldn’t quite verbalize. I needed time to think. To sort this all through.

  Frances insisted on having Austin show me to the door. Her words were sweet-tipped and quick, but it was obvious I’d tripped a nerve by bringing Claire up again. Something was off about this entire family.

  Austin walked me through the dark hall and held the door open. When we were almost out onto the stoop, I put a hand on his shoulder.

  “I’m here if you ever need to talk. You can always find me at the bakery.”

  “Thanks, Miss Vee.”

  I stepped off the stoop and toward the Tank, but something made me turn back. Austin was still standing in the open door, staring at me. It was an odd, calm stare, like he had something to hide from me, too.

  But I’d seen signs of anger and hurt in him. I paused and asked, “Will you be going to the funeral?”

  The response was immediate. But it wasn’t the flash of anger; a slide of sadness washed over his features like a slow stream.

  “My mom won’t go. Gran just said she’s probably not going. I guess that means I shouldn’t go either. Mom will kill me if I bring it up again.”

  “Then I’ll take you. Or Leo can. But you’re eighteen, aren’t you?”

  Austin shook his head, finally looking up to meet my eyes. “Not until the end of May.”

  “Well, you’re almost eighteen. I think that constitutes adulthood.”

  He nodded, still hesitant, and swung the door like he might close it, but when he looked up and saw me still waiting on the stoop, he paused. “Miss Vee, can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “You said last night that all lying was wrong, even if it’s for someone’s own good, because all lies have consequences.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly what I said, but that’s about the gist of it, yeah. Why?”

  He pushed at the door, all nerves. “If you lie to someone, and then they never find out, who pays those consequences?”

  The question stopped me short. It was such a poignant, deep, honest inquiry, and the answer was so complicated—emotionally, not to mention theologically—that I wasn’t sure exactly what to say.

  “That depends. Am I sorry that I lied?” I asked, taking his you seriously.

  He thought about that for a long minute, staring up at the place where the door met the jamb in a way that made me wonder if he would tear up…and if I would move to comfort him. “What if you’re not sorry?”

  “Then I’ll bear that burden. Or my conscience will.”

  Austin nodded, as though that was what he’d expected, and turned back into the house. I wanted to tell him to unburden himself. To tell me what the lies were. But I had a feeling they had been buried under the weight of yet another death.

  By the time I drove past the B&B, the black sports car was gone. I made a stop at the hospital, where I visited the members of our parish who were in the nursing home and in hospital rooms. I had plates of cookies for everyone, and they were very well received.

  When I finally returned to the Matchbakery, there were only two vehicles in the parking lot. One was Leo’s old Datsun. The other was a truck I didn’t recognize. Through the bell-laden door, I could see Leo at the corner table with his mother and father huddled around him. The Van Andels were in the middle of an important conversation, everyone leaning in, frustrated creases on their brows.

  Leo’s dad slapped the table so hard, I could hear it through the door. He pointed aggressively in Jenna’s direction. His wife grabbed his finger, about to speak, when she saw me.

  I nodded and came through the door, wincing as the bell jingled in the silence. I made my way over to the bake case and the corner table. Jenna Van Andel latched onto her husband’s hand like they’d been in the middle of a romantic gesture.

  “Miss Vee,” Leo said with a big smile. “You’re back early.”

  “I wanted to close up before I did any more errands.” I walked around the table to stand between him and his dad. “I figured you would have better things to do than hang around here, babysitting freshmen.”

  “Nyah, I don’t mind.” He settled his hand down on top of his parents’ clasped ones. “My parents stopped by to carb-load before they went to the gym. They were just leaving.”

  I wanted to laugh, but I held it back. The quote-unquote-gym in Saint Agnes was the high school training room. The football coach opened it up after the team’s open lift hours were over.

  “Actually, we came here to see you, Miss Vee.” Jenna’s words were just a little too saccharine for my taste.

  “You really can call me Vangie.” I smiled at her, trying to relieve whatever pressure she felt.

  “Leo needs to stop working here,” Mike said, turning his head up so he could look me directly in the eyes. But the glance didn’t last long. He felt bad about this.

  “He…what?”

  “Dad, I told you, I’m not going to quit.” Leo’s tone was firm, very adult-like.

  “I don’t care what you say, son. You’re neglecting your studies. That was our agreement. Your grades suffer, you’re done.”

  Leo bounced up, chest out like a caveman. “I’m eighteen. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “I’m your father, I’ll do whatever I want.”

  “Hold on, here. There’s a simple way to fix this,” I said, putting my hands out to calm everyone down. I wasn’t about to cause any more problems in this town. “Leo, you’re fired.”

  “What?” His brows came together so hard, there was almost a snapping sound. “Vangie, you can’t do that.”

  “That’s Miss Vee to you, and I just did.” I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. “Look, your parents have your best interests at heart. If they think you shouldn’t be working here, then I think you need to listen to them.”

  “But I want to be a baker. This is the only bakery in town.” He lowered his voice, leaning in. “You know I need the hours to be ready for Escoffier.”

  That sent a little pang through me. Leo’s dream was to get accepted at a great pastry school. I knew that firing him would put a damper on his ability to be ready for the application process.

  I glanced from Mike to Jenna and back.

  “Leo’s classwork is suffering,” Mike said, but his nervous body language said there was something else going on.

  “That’s so not true,” his son shot back. “One A-minus, Dad. One. All I do is homework and school. This is the only time I have to work on what’s really important to me.”

  Both parents seemed a little skewered by that comment, and they squirmed in their seats. I walked back to flip the open sign to closed. I wanted Leo to stay, but I needed his parents to approve of the decision. I wasn’t going to allow my shop to come between him and his parents. I made my way back toward the table of awkward body language.

  “Look,” I said, crossing my arms. “I can tell there’s something else going on here. Leo has good grades, he wants to keep his job, and I’d like him to stay, but there’s obviously a reason the two of you don’t want him to work here. I’d like to know what it is, so all our cards are on the table.”

  The two parents exchanged tense glances. They had one of those silent conversations people can only have after years of being together, and it ended when Jenna’s shoulders drooped and she gave him a short nod.

  “We don’t want Leo being involved with the kind of person who would stand up for Henry Savage,” Mike said, releasing Jenna and leaning back again, crossing his arms.

  My vision narrowed and my palms itched. I could feel frustration rising up inside me. They thought I was some sort of bad influence on their son? This was ridiculous. I wanted to lash out, defend my actions, put Mike Van Andel in his place.

  But if I allowed my response to be influenced by the adrenaline rush currently flooding my body, I would say something I really regretted. I
slowed my breathing, trying to focus on what I really wanted out of this situation. I wanted to protect myself, of course. Who wouldn’t, when they felt attacked? But I also wanted to know why they thought it was wrong of me to protect Henry.

  I finally opened my mouth, dry tongue sticking to the roof for a second. “What is wrong with Henry Savage?” I asked, tripping over the words a bit.

  “He’s a murderer.” Jenna said the words a little too quickly, looking at Mike instead of me. “Malcolm arrested him for murder.”

  “But he didn’t do it,” I argued. And he still hadn’t actually arrested him, but arguing that was moot.

  “If the sheriff thinks he did it, then he did it.” Mike’s tone was hard, but something else crawled beneath it, like fish under the cap of ice on Hebgen Lake.

  There was no convincing them. They wouldn’t trust my intuition. They trusted Malcolm’s. New tactics.

  “What would it take for you to let Leo continue to work here?” I asked, resigning myself to the situation.

  “You need to stop asking questions about this murder, like you think Malcolm isn’t doing his job,” Mike said. “Leave Austin alone. He’s had enough death in his life. The less he thinks about Claire Barnett, the better.”

  The request made me pause. It seemed so much like none of their business.

  Could I really leave an innocent man to suffer the consequences of someone else’s misappropriations? Of course, it was possible I was wrong about Henry. I just didn’t buy that the stalking would have been motivation enough for murder. Especially not in broad daylight. And if he had killed her, why on Earth had he stayed in town?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  Part of me wanted to share these thoughts with Malcolm, just to see what he had to say about them. Maybe, if I could be assured the sheriff had considered all of that, I would be able to leave it alone.

  That didn’t really count as continuing the investigation.

  So I nodded at Mike and Jenna Van Andel. I agreed to stop asking questions about Claire’s murder. I agreed to stop defending Henry Savage.

  Okay, okay. I lied.

  Chapter Sixteen