Suzy the dog was lazing on the floor enjoying a beam of sunlight that had come in through the window. Along with the new artwork and the pet that had apparently moved in with us, Sue was certainly making the house her own.
“Bit strange to not see Pippa around her for two days,” Sue commented as she stepped down off the sofa.
I sighed.
Sue shot me a look out of the corner of her eye. “So. Have you spoken to her yet?”
I shook my head. “No. But I’m sure her absence is completely innocent. She just needs some time to herself.”
I thought back to the visit we’d made to Dough Planet. Something was troubling me. Something Blake had said about Laura had triggered it.
He’d told me that Laura couldn’t have poisoned the pies because she hadn’t been inside the kitchen. However, as far as I was concerned, that hadn’t closed her off as a suspect, because the pies were in the front, where she would have had access to them.
Pippa and I had also been in the front of the bakery that day. Just a few hours before Valerie had been killed. I remembered the way that Pippa had lunged toward the pies, the way I had to pull her back.
Pippa had been furious that morning. She’d had no sleep.
Had Pippa taken the pies out of the display case?
What if Pippa had been so mad about the apple-stealing that she’d poisoned one of the pies to get back at Blake?
Sue stepped off the sofa and eyed me carefully. “Are you starting to think that Pippa might have a more sinister reason for avoiding you?”
I gulped. “She certainly didn’t want me to take the case,” I said.
Sue’s eyebrows shot up. “So. There is a case, then?”
I shrugged a little and sat down to pet Suzy.
“I’m just trying to remember something,” I said, lost in concentration while Suzy rolled onto her back for a tummy rub.
“What are you trying to remember?” Sue asked, trying to get my attention back. She really wanted to drive a wedge between Pippa and I.
“I’m starting to wonder if Blake isn’t the only person who can’t fully trust his employees.”
Sue shook her head. “People can always surprise you in the worst ways.” She reached over and picked up Suzy. “That’s why I prefer dogs.”
I stood up. “I haven’t given up yet.”
Still not a single text, not a single reply from Pippa. Even if she wasn’t guilty, I started to wonder if this was it. After ten years, was this truly the end of our friendship? If she couldn’t trust me enough to be honest with me, were we really best friends?
I sent her one last text before I headed off. “I’m off now, investigating. Last chance if you want in.”
But my text remained unanswered.
I had the address for Laura’s house, which Blake had reluctantly given to me. Laura didn’t actually live that far from Pippa’s farm, on the outskirts of Belldale, but I purposely took the long route so that I didn’t have to drive past Pippa’s property. I didn’t want her to spot me and think I was stalking her. And to be honest, I wasn’t really in the mood to see her anyway. She had a lot of explaining to do.
I pulled up in front of a modestly sized semi-detached house in a leafy neighborhood and double-checked the address. There were two cars in front so I figured Laura probably lived with a roommate. Very likely considering she lived off a part-time chef’s wage. Blake had told me that Laura was twenty-seven years old and had grown up in Belldale.
But I still had little idea what to expect when I knocked on the door. I turned the engine off and sat for a bit, trying to see if there was any sign of life inside, whether anyone was awake. I was aware that it was 8:30 on a Sunday, but I didn’t want to wait any longer. After five minutes of sitting, I figured I’d given Laura enough time to sleep in and climbed out of the car. There was a black cat dozing in the early morning sun on the side of the driveway as I walked up.
I knocked on the door and waited, wondering if I was making a mistake. I could have waited an hour or two.
I decided not to knock again and took a couple of steps back, but the door pulled back and there was a woman there glowering at me.
Laura was a very tall young woman, and probably larger in width than Alex. No wonder they rarely worked shifts at the same time. There wouldn’t be room.
She groaned and rolled her eyes as she looked me up and down. “I am sorry, but I am just not interested. Are you even allowed to be knocking on doors on a Sunday morning, harassing people like this? Tell me the company you work for so I can make a complaint. I’ll call them up and see how they like being disturbed on a Sunday.”
“No, I’m not selling anything,” I said, trying to catch the door before she slammed it shut on me.
“Who are you then?” she demanded to know
“My name is Rachael. Rachael Robinson. I run Rachael’s Boutique Bakery.”
“Oh. I am not looking for a job,” she said, about to slam the door shut again. Then she thought better of it and looked more considerate. “Actually, I’m not getting that many shifts at Dough Planet.” She held the bottom of her chin and mused the matter over. “How much per hour can you offer me?”
This was as good an in as anything. I offered her my best grin. “Why don’t I come inside and we can talk about it?”
“So, what kind of conditions can you offer me?” Laura asked as she took a seat on her sofa. She sunk right into it, like she spent a lot of time there. She was still in her pajamas and her hair was unbrushed. She put her slippered feet up on the coffee table and crossed her arms, staring at this person who had disturbed her before nine o’clock on a Sunday. She looked at me expectantly, like I was there to impress her.
“I—well, um. We’ve got a very friendly work environment,” I said. “Sundays off. Five-day rotating schedule. A very large kitchen, with plenty of room for several bakers and cooks at one time.”
This seemed to grab Laura’s attention. “Good. Because I’m sick of trying to squeeze into that little mousetrap that Blake calls a kitchen.” She readjusted her pajamas and looked at me with interest. “I’m sick of a lot of things that go on at that place actually,” she added under her breath.
“How long have you been working at Dough Planet?” I asked her, trying to conduct it like it was an actual job interview. I sat up and tried to be professional, even though I felt overdressed in my jeans and t-shirt, with Laura there in her pajamas.
Laura shrugged. “Well, we’ve only been open for about six months. I started pretty soon after opening. So, about that long.” She still sounded dismissive, as though she was the one who held all the cards. Maybe she really was a great cook. Maybe I would be lucky to have her. I did get the impression that Blake undervalued his staff.
“And do you get along with your co-workers?” I asked, hoping that she would dish a little dirt about Blake.
Laura shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose so. I try not to make friends with the people I work with. Try to keep my work life and my private life separate.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I actually run the bakery with my best friend, Pippa,” I said. “So I manage to combine my work life and my professional life.” I spoke far too smugly.
Laura eyed me like she didn’t believe me. “Oh yeah? And how’s that working out for you?”
I gulped. Well. She had me there. I wasn’t even sure Pippa was going to turn up to work the following day. Or ever again, for that matter.
I returned sheepishly to my questions. “But do you find your co-workers trustworthy?” I asked her.
“What are you asking that for?” Laura demanded, squinting now. I supposed it was a little bit of a strange question to ask in a job interview.
“I just think it’s important to know,” I said. “The way you feel about your current co-workers may reflect how you feel about future co-workers.” I smiled at her. “I just want to see how we might all get along. If we work together.” I’d almost forgotten it wasn’t a real interview.
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She shrugged. “To be completely honest with you, that’s one of the reasons that I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery. I think there’s some cutting of corners happening at Dough Planet…” She shot me a meaningful look. “And to be honest, there is far more drama down there than I care to deal with.” She shook her head.
I leaned forward. “What do you mean?” I whispered, sounding more excited than I had intended to.
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I don’t like to gossip. Like I said, I prefer to keep work and personal life separate. It’s the guys at work that get into all the drama.”
I wanted to push it further. “What does that mean?” I asked.
“Hey,” Laura said suspiciously. “How did you even find out about me? Or get my address?”
“I-I, um…” I scrambled to think of a good excuse. “I heard about you through a friend in the industry.”
“Which friend?”
I didn’t answer. “So. If you have a resume for me to take a look at, I could…”
But she had completely shut down.
She stood up and showed me the door.
The outside tables had been set up outside Dough Planet in expectation for a busy morning, and both were full. One with a young couple with a baby out for breakfast and the other with a group of friends out for a Sunday brunch. Had they heard about what happened? Did they even care?
I tried to read the looks on their faces as I passed them—were they worried about eating here at all? Even slightly hesitant?—but they were all lost in conversation, heads back, laughing.
I didn’t get it.
I tried to get Blake’s attention but he had a long line of customers. Unbelievable, I thought as I took my sunglasses off. This guy can kill someone and still have a line going out the door.
He clearly hadn’t been home the night before. His usually slicked back hair was messy and crunchy from gel that had been in there for a couple of days. And he definitely hadn’t shaved.
When there was a bit of a lull, he pulled me aside. He looked a little wired. It could have been from the lack of sleep, but he sounded excited when he spoke. “It’s all clear to me now, Rachael!”
“What is?”
“I’ve decided. If it was the apple pie that was to blame, then it must have been an accidental poisoning.”
Oh, come on. This was clutching at straws now.
“You mean that some poison just accidentally fell into the apple pie filling?” I asked skeptically.
“Hello?” a woman in her thirties wearing a long sundress called out. “Can I get some service here?”
“Sorry, Rach, gotta go.”
I shook my head. Even with a scandal hanging over the business, Dough Planet still did better business than my bakery. Combining our stores would make sense, money-wise at least.
I took a seat on one of the stools. “So, how do you do it, Blake?”
Blake shrugged. “We do the best coffee in Belldale.” He passed me a cup and I took a sip.
“And I suppose people are willing to risk their lives to drink it.”
Blake glared at me. “Rachael, would you mind keeping your voice down?” he hissed at me, before throwing a forced, large smile to the waiting customers.
“I’m just saying. You take your life into your own hands when you decide to eat or drink here.”
Blake moved away from the espresso machine and pulled me toward the back of the shop again. Not that there was very far to go.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Asking for your help.” He glanced at the waiting customers. “You’ve got a conflict of interest.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You’re the one who begged for my help,” I said, feeling outrage. “I didn’t just drive to a stranger’s house at eight a.m. on a Sunday for fun, you know.”
“You went to Laura’s?”
I nodded.
Blake rolled his eyes a little. “I’ve already told you, Laura had nothing to do with it. If you wasted your time, that was your own fault.”
“Oh yeah? Funny you’re defending her, because she didn’t have any nice things to say about you,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee.
That got his attention.
“What did Laura say?” he demanded.
“She told me that it can be tough working here at times.”
Blake’s face turned crimson.
“I’m sorry,” Blake said, turning back toward the front of the shop. The line was growing longer. “I’m sorry that I ever asked for your help.”
“You think I am purposely trying to sabotage you?” I asked, following him back to the coffee machine. “Why would I do that? If anything, I want you guys to all be in the clear.”
“Oh yeah? And why is that?” He was almost drowned out by the sound of the coffee grinder as he emptied a new bag of beans into it.
I shrugged. “I dunno, Blake. Is our deal entirely off?” The line of customers was not only growing longer, they were growing more disgruntled at the slow service. Still. They waited. And they came. Maybe I was completely out of my mind, but I had to admit—I still kind of wanted to work with Blake.
But in order for that to work, I’d have to clear his name.
He turned off the grinder and lowered his voice, sounding contrite all of a sudden. “Oh. I just… I assumed that you wouldn’t want to work with me after everything that has happened.”
I smiled at him, in spite of everything. “Well, I do,” I said, and I was surprised to find myself meaning it. “But until you’ve actually still got a business to save at the end of all this, this discussion doesn’t mean anything.”
Blake nodded, a grateful look flooding his face. “We’ll talk about all this when it gets a bit quieter. Here, take a seat. I’ll make you another coffee.”
While I waited, I sent another text to Pippa. “Please. I could really use your help. At least let me know that you are okay…”
I waited. No response.
Blake was running back and forth from the milk fridge to the cake fridge to the coffee machine to the tables outside and back again. His brow had broken out in a sweat.
“Hey, Rachael, I hate to ask, but would you mind giving me a hand?”
I just stared at him blankly. “A hand doing what?”
“Running coffees to customers outside waiting, for starters,” he said, nodding at the dozen full paper cups that were cluttering the counter. He added another one and before I could object, he told me, “Thanks!”
When I came back, I assumed that would be it, but Blake asked—well, demanded really—that I cut open another bag of coffee beans and empty them into the grinder. “After that, can you grab me some milk from the fridge. Soy. And lactose-free!”
I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off while customers shouted at me demanding to know where the coffees they’d ordered three minutes ago were. “There is a bit of a backlog!” I tried to explain, wondering how they could be so unreasonable.
A customer shouted at me that their coffee was too hot. Another that theirs wasn’t hot enough. “I’m sorry, I don’t actually work here!” They didn’t care. I received the brunt of their complaints anyway.
I pulled on an apron—one with the Dough Planet logo on the front—and got to work properly. “Okay,” I said to Blake. “Tell me what to do.”
So much for my weekend off. Farmer’s market on Saturday, a shift at Dough Planet on Sunday. Not to mention the fact that I was still moonlighting as a detective.
But I had to admit—when the shift was over, there was a rush of satisfaction, as well as relief. We’d actually worked together pretty well.
I shook my head. “I still can’t believe that you’re as busy as this, even with a murder charge hanging over your head.” I shot him a look of begrudging admiration. “You’re really going to have to teach me how you do it.”
Blake laughed and took his apron off. “I’ll do my best. It’s all about high quality, organic produce,
though. That’s where it starts. You have to earn people’s trust, and you can’t break it.”
I nodded and leaned in a little closer to him, willing to hear more nuggets of wisdom that I could use, when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. There was someone waiting outside. A late customer? We were already closed.
“No way…” I froze. It was Pippa. She was standing in front of Dough Planet, staring at me through the glass. Her mouth was agape and her face was full of betrayal.
I guess she’d finally looked at my text message.
She was staring at my chest, shaking her head.
I looked down to see what she was staring at. Great. I was still wearing the Dough Planet apron and I was covered in spilled coffee and icing sugar.
“Oh my goodness… Wait, no, come back!” I tried to chase after her, but Pippa was already back inside her truck by the time I got outside. She barely even glanced behind her to make sure there were no pedestrians on the road before she sped off.
“I take it you didn’t catch her then,” Blake said as I stumbled back through the door. He seemed happy about this for some reason.
“Great. Now she thinks I’ve taken a job here behind her back,” I said, taking off the apron and throwing it on the counter.
He offered me a slice of blueberry pie after a long shift, saying I needed the sustenance. I glanced at it, wondering where the blueberries had come from. “No, it’s okay. I don’t want to cut into your profits.”
Blake shook his head. “You won’t be. We promise our customers that everything is baked fresh. We don’t leave anything on the shelves longer than twenty-four hours. So otherwise, it will be going into the trash.”
That seemed a little wasteful to me. Some items—bread, for instance—needed to be sold the day it was baked or they went stale, but the heavily sugary items like blueberry pies could be stored for almost a week without losing quality, and they would certainly still be safe to eat.
Still, I was starving, so I accepted a slice by holding out my hand, but Blake saw the reluctance on my face before I stuck my fork in. “You want me to take the first bite?” Blake asked. “Prove that it hasn’t been poisoned?”
Apple Assassination Page 5
