Did any criminals like police officers, especially ex-convicts? "He thinks cops drive Mini Coopers?"
"He doesn't talk much."
Was that supposed to be an explanation? More like an odd excuse for bad behavior. He couldn't possibly believe she was really a police officer, could he? Then again, maybe he'd had the brain tattooed on his skull in a comic book-style attempt to increase his mental prowess. Amy just looked at Shantelle. What was she supposed to say?
Shantelle continued stuffing food offered by Rori into the backpack. Without being prompted she continued the rambling, mostly one-sided conversation. "I told him you were the woman from that fancy, expensive brownie place, but he didn't believe me. I'm pissed that he threw my Coke at you. I'd barely had two drinks of it. I bet you were behind us because you live in one of the houses in that classy neighborhood, right?"
Did living five miles away from the area where she had engaged in the terrifying game of vehicular chicken count as the same neighborhood? Was Shantelle trying to rationalize to herself why Amy was following her and her boyfriend? She opened her mouth to answer, but Shantelle beat her to the verbal punch by saying, "That's it. You look like the kind of person that would live in one of those fancy houses."
After loading up on enough food to make many vegetarian meals for one, Shantelle left, struggling with the heavy backpack and shopping bags as she scuttled over the uneven sidewalk. Was Harlan parked out of sight or had she walked to the giveaway location? The faded, baggy sweater she was wearing wasn't heavy enough to serve as a winter coat and protect her against the fiercely frigid wind.
Amy sprinted into a nearby cube van that had helped transport the food from the pantry's warehouse to the library. There was a rack of coats inside that volunteers could give to anybody who they thought needed one. She pawed through the lineup until she found a women's size small. Amy ran out of the van. Shantelle was a block away.
"Wait, Shantelle, I have something for you!" she called as she broke into a jog.
Shantelle spun around then took a few steps backward as she raised the shopping bags up, as though they were shields. Her real eyes got big as Amy held up the black quilted coat and said, "I brought this for you. I thought maybe you could use it."
She dropped her arms. "I don't understand. I thought this was just a food giveaway."
"We have a few other things, if people need them." Amy offered the coat again. "Would you like a coat? It's been getting colder every day lately."
Shantelle set the bags at her feet. She took the coat and shrugged it on while glaring at Amy. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
She shrugged. "Because I thought you might need some help."
Her angry gaze stayed locked on Amy as she squatted down to pick up the grocery bags. When she gathered them all in her grasp again, she stood. "Thank you."
* * *
Amy rubbed her hands together. Even after two extra-hot pumpkin pie lattes she hadn't warmed up from spending the morning outside at the food pantry giveaway. Now she was walking through the equivalent of the North Pole of Clement Street Market—the loading dock. She hadn't been scheduled to work, but JoJo called to ask if Amy could fill in for a few hours while she ran home to meet a furnace repair person. There was no way Amy wouldn't help out so that very important errand could be accomplished. JoJo was not an abominable snowwoman who would find it enjoyable to live in a two-bedroom bungalow refrigerator.
The most important thing that needed to be done while the booth's manager tackled her malfunctioning furnace was taking care of a delivery. The frigid weather had increased the demand for coffee, which then depleted the booth's supplies. Sophie was scheduled to stop by with more milk, both dairy and nondairy, along with cases of to-go coffee cups. Making the delivery at the market's loading dock was the simplest way to get the supplies into the market.
While the sales area inside the former warehouse was bright and cheerful, the back room was dark and dingy, a reminder of the original purpose of the expansive building. The area was also teeth-chattering cold thanks to the bank of metal garage doors that led to the loading dock ramps. It was not an area she wanted to hang out in for long.
Amy pulled the smaller entrance door leading from the main market shut behind her. She stood for a moment, blinking, to let her eyes adjust to the dimness. There were toe-crushing carts and crates scattered all over the space. The murmur of a conversation blended with the creaking of the cargo doors that were being buffeted by the wind.
A woman said, "I can't believe it's turning out like this. I never expected this to happen."
"You just never know what life will bring," was a man's response. "Enjoy it while you can. I'm here if you need me…any time, day or night."
She should make her presence known, but Amy was cemented in place. The voices sounded very familiar, but the conversation was out of character if she was right about whom the couple was. A rhythmic electronic beep echoed through the room. The signal that a delivery vehicle was backing up to the loading dock. Since only she and the secretive couple, who were apparently hiding in a dark corner behind a wall of milk crates, were in the loading area, most likely the vehicle outside was the Riverbend Café catering van.
While she would love to eavesdrop more on the clandestine discussion, duty called. Amy grasped the handle of a nearby cart and gave it a shove. The rumble of the wheels over the uneven cement floor silenced the man and woman, who had apparently been too engrossed in their conversation to notice she had joined them in the back room. She peeked out the window of the small door leading to the docks. The chocolate-brown mini catering truck that Amy was there to meet was lining up to back down the ramp. She smacked the button on the garage door opener. Snowflakes pelted her face as the paneled door rose. A shiver vibrated through her, not because of the cold, but because it felt as though she was being watched.
Amy used hand signals to direct Sophie into position. When the van was settled in place, the driver's door swung open. The baker emerged with a warm smile on her face. She opened the back doors of the vehicle and asked, "How's it going? Did you hear if JoJo got her furnace fixed?"
She shook her head as she took the first box of insulated foam cups from Sophie. "Haven't heard anything from JoJo. I hope the problem was something simple and inexpensive to fix." Amy turned to place the box on the cart she had commandeered. Buck Bates was creeping through the shadows along the back wall of the receiving area.
"I hope so too," Sophie said as she began unloading gallons of milk from a cooler and setting them near Amy's feet. "It's not a good time to be without heat. I can't believe how cold it's gotten. I'm not mentally prepared for winter yet!"
"Me neither. I hate being cold."
LeighAnne was making a break for it when Amy turned to arrange the milk jugs on the bottom shelf of the cart. She'd been right about whom the voices belonged to. Now she needed to figure out what they were talking about. The snippet of conversation had sounded friendly, bordering on intimate. An odd tone, considering LeighAnne had been supposedly disgusted with Buck and his skirt-chasing tendencies only a day earlier. Maybe the strange aura disturbances that Geri witnessed were because LeighAnne was trying to feign indignation to cover up an inappropriate affair. Something like that would have to stir up an aura storm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I've gotten lucky the last few days. Carla takes a nap every afternoon now, so I've been able to get her phone easily. I've called all of her friends and coworkers. The shower's on for Tuesday night at the town house. I hope we can pull it off," Geri said as she refolded the super-soft gray fleece blanket and slipped it back into a shopping bag. She twisted in her seat to place the present on top of all of the other packages on the back seat of the Mini. "We won't be able to decorate anywhere except the nursery, but I've found a couple games I can set up without her knowing. I just want to make sure you can handle the food for about a dozen people. If I cook anything more than my own lunch, she'll know something is up. Bruce ha
d a heart-to-heart conversation with me. He doesn't even want me to cook any Meatless Monday meals from now on. I didn't think I was that bad of a cook."
"You aren't." Amy shook her head as she steered Mimi onto the frozen dirt road. "He's just a meat-and-potatoes instead of lentils-and-chickpeas kind of guy. Don't take it personally."
Geri flapped her hand. "I don't offend easily. Everybody can do their own thing. Except for my daughter. She cannot go without a baby shower."
The collection of rattles, wooden blocks, and learning toys sounded like a preschool percussion section as the car bounced over the cement hard ruts in the rural road. Amy said, "Momma, not momma-to-be, knows best."
"Absolutely! You are such a sweetheart to help put this crazy, last minute shower together. I'm so glad my daughter has you for a friend."
"This is nothing compared to planning the entire wedding in three weeks. I would do anything for Carla. She's like the sister I never had."
"I'd be proud to call you my honorary daughter."
The sentiment settled in Amy's heart, filling up a tiny bit of the void her alcoholic mess of a mother had hollowed out. They drove in silence for a few minutes as Amy concentrated on steering around the frozen puddles that were bigger than the Mini. No wonder Buck had a pickup. Once the road to his house was covered in snow, it would be impassable for anything other than a four-wheel drive.
Amy went from a snail's pace to a complete stop when she spotted a patch of red in the grayness of the hibernating forest to her left. She glanced at the GPS app on her phone that she had silenced so she could talk to Geri. The driveway to Buck and Esther Mae's house was right around a sharp hairpin curve. She could see the barn he used as a shop through the trees. As Amy lifted her foot off the brake pedal, another splotch of color caught her attention. Black. In the shape of a big lifted pickup truck near the side door of the house.
She stomped on the brake pedal, slammed the gear shift into reverse, and sped backward until the car was beside a dense clump of pine trees. "What's going on?" Geri asked as she whipped her head from side to side.
"Harlan's truck is parked by the back door of the house."
Geri shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've never been good with remembering names. I don't know whom you're talking about."
"The guy who threw the Coke bomb at us."
"Ooooh…what do you think is going on?"
Amy punched the release button on her seat belt buckle. "I'm not sure, but I'm going to see if I can find out. Can you come around and sit in the driver's seat, in case we need to make a quick getaway? Anybody in the house won't be able to see the car behind these trees. I'm going to sneak through the woods to get a better look at the situation."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
She pointed at her gray coat then at the lime-green one Geri was wearing. "I'm wearing better winter forest camouflage. I'll be okay. I've done this kind of thing before."
Geri's eyebrows shot up. "Ooookay, but be careful. Carla needs you to help with the birth."
That reminder almost kept Amy in the warm, safe escape vehicle. But whatever was happening at Buck's house could be a huge clue for Shepler. If the murder was solved, that would help even more than Amy telling Carla to breathe like she is blowing out a candle during a contraction.
A thick layer of dead leaves coated the ground under the trees that formed a natural barrier around Buck's property. Amy gently put her foot down with each step to test for hidden sticks that could snap and announce her presence to anybody who might be lurking around outside the house. Just a few feet into the journey, her boot broke through a thin layer of ice on top of a puddle hidden by leaves. Cold water seeped through the seams of her cute, but not waterproof, mid-calf lace-up boots. She moved from tree to tree, silently thanking her lucky stars that it was a mature forest with lots of wide, massive trunks to hide behind. Nobody was in sight around the house. The only sounds she could hear were her own heartbeat thumping in her ears and the rustle of dead leaves disintegrating under her boots.
She zeroed in on a burly tree that was close enough that there was an unobstructed view of the house and big enough to keep her out of sight. Hopefully. The side door of the house, near Harlan's truck, began to swing open when she was halfway to the target tree. Forget being quiet. She sprinted to the tree, balancing on her tippy-toes to try to minimize leaf and stick crunching. You are in control of your body. Rori's mantra of encouragement for her yoga students forced itself into Amy's consciousness when her shoulder slammed into the rock-hard trunk. She straightened her back and then her shoulders to stay in line with the tree. The cold, rough bark scraped over her cheek as she slowly peeked around the maple…or maybe it was an oak. There weren't any leaves on it for easy identification.
Her mind snapped back from the horticultural puzzle. Harlan stood by the back bumper of his truck. A revolver was in his hand. A bang cracked through the freezing air. Amy slapped her hand over her mouth to stop the internal scream that was racing through her brain and heading for her mouth then ducked back behind the tree. Did he shoot at someone?
She inched her head around the side of the tree trunk again. Harlan had the gun raised, pointing it at Buck who was standing in the middle of the yard in only plaid boxer shorts. Apparently he liked to hang around his house wearing only his undies. Amy focused on the half-naked woodworker. He didn't appear to be injured. In fact, he was pointing a shotgun at Harlan. It looked like the same weapon he had used to scare two years off her lifespan when she delivered the meals to him. It was a Wild West standoff. In the middle of the woods in Michigan. With one dueler who was inappropriately dressed for the winter weather.
"Get off my property, and don't come back you sonuvabitch!" Buck yelled as he pumped the shotgun. "If you steal anything else from me, you'll end up in the ground just like Esther Mae!"
The two men froze for a few seconds, weapons pointed at each other in silence. Then Harlan began backing toward the driver's side door of his truck. "You'll be sorry you threatened me, old man," he said before yanking open the door.
Amy ducked back behind the tree as the truck grumbled to life. Gravel pinged on the house's siding as rocks flew from the tire lugs. She flattened herself and her gray, hopefully camouflaged, coat against the tree trunk as the truck roared up the driveway that was only about ten feet away from her hiding spot. Harlan knew what her car looked like. What would he do if he found it, with Geri inside, sitting on the road? Play monster truck and destroy her beloved Mimi as if she was a prop in a car crushing exhibition?
Crashing through the woods would draw Buck's attention. His words had sounded slurred. Maybe he had been running around outside in his Skivvies because he had enough alcohol in his blood to serve as antifreeze. If he had been drinking, would he mistake her for a deer? Was it hunting season? She didn't know. Amy's knees wobbled like a newborn fawn when she saw the black truck turn left, instead of toward Shepler's mother-in-law. He would be pissed if Geri got hurt under her watch, even if it was his mother-in-law's idea to come to Buck's house in the first place. Geri figured if he was in single-and-on-the-prowl mode like LeighAnne had said, maybe she could get some information out of him about the murder if she batted her eyelashes enough while admiring his woodworking tools. While Amy thought it was a bad idea, especially after what she had overheard on the loading dock, she had finally relented to the shopping side trip after Geri pointed out that the visit might help solve the murder.
Amy smacked the back of her head on the rock-hard bark when another bang bounced through the forest. When she stopped seeing the constellation of shooting stars, she peeked back around the trunk. Buck was gone. Of course—the bangs weren't from a gun. It was the front door of the house. Amy counted to ten then slowly made her way back toward where the Mini and Geri were hidden. Several more leaf-hidden puddles were discovered during the journey.
Geri sprang out of the car when Amy dashed around the edge of the cluster of pine trees. "I am so glad to see you! I tho
ught one of them had kidnapped you!"
Amy collapsed into the driver's seat as Geri returned to shotgun position. When the doors were both closed, she explained what she saw while she did a U-turn. There was no way she wanted to follow Harlan's truck again. There might be more than a glass of pop waiting for them if he spotted the blue Mini tailing him.
"Do you still want to cozy up to Buck? I bet he hasn't put any clothes on yet," Amy joked while sincerely hoping Geri wouldn't say yes.
"Um, I'll pass. I'm not afraid to admit that wasn't one of my most brilliant ideas. I guess I'm not the hippie version of Angela Lansbury." Geri pulled her phone out of her coat pocket. "Should I call Bruce or maybe the police department to let them know about a disturbance?"
Amy drummed her fingers on the top of the steering wheel. "Neither. I don't think any crime was committed. Not to mention reporting it would tip off Buck that somebody was watching him since there are no neighbors around to stick their nose in his business. And I'll need some time to figure out how to tell Shepler about what I saw without having him try to kill me for endangering you."
"It was my idea. Don't you think he'll appreciate me being candid about my part in this escapade?"
"He'll be something, but I really doubt it will be appreciative."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Carla slammed the refrigerator door shut with her hip. The cinnamon roll cheesecake brownies were one of Amy's best creations yet. Irresistible. She needed to remember to tell her that she should try entering the recipe in a contest. Carla picked up the plate that her mother made, stacked with two of the brownies that her best friend made, and began lumbering back to the couch.
Fudge Brownies & Murder Page 13
