Pop Goes the Murder

by Kristi Abbott

  “She’s in Cleveland?” I made sure I could read his handwriting and then folded the paper and tucked it into my jeans pocket.

  “Yeah, but she’ll make the drive for a case like this. Trust me.” He hesitated. “You do realize the press is going to be all over this, right? Famous chef arrested for homicide? It makes good copy.”

  I hadn’t considered that. “How long do you think I have before they get wind of it?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Given that they’ll all have to fly into Cleveland or Toledo, rent cars, drive here . . . I’d say you have until about seven tonight.”

  * * *

  I ran back into the shop. “Everything going okay?” I called to Susanna and Dario as I hurried past them.

  I got thumbs-up from both of them. It took me a second to realize what was different, but then it hit me that someone had turned some music on. It was some kind of oldies station. Dario and Susanna spun back and forth behind the counter, boxing fudge, ringing up customers, keeping the line moving as if they were doing a dance they’d choreographed for weeks. Half the people in the shop were bopping their heads. The other half was tapping toes.

  Everyone was smiling.

  For a second I wanted to cry. I wanted to be bopping behind the counter with smiling people. I wanted to be handing out sweet fudge. I did not want to be rushing around town trying to find someone to get my ex-husband out of jail. What’s more, it’s where I was supposed to be. I’d put in the hours. I’d sweated, scrimped, saved and swallowed my pride. Enough with the adulting! I deserved a break.

  I wasn’t getting one, though. I pulled myself together and went into the office to call the lawyer Garrett recommended. The sooner I got a lawyer for Antoine, the sooner I could get back to my real life: the one I’d made for myself here in Grand Lake, the one where I got to dance around behind the counter while selling popcorn and fudge, the one I deserved. “May I speak to Cynthia Harlen?”

  “Ms. Harlen is not available at the moment. May I take a message?” the very smooth voice told me.

  Figured. If she was as good as Garrett said, she probably wasn’t sitting around waiting for clients to call. “My name is Rebecca Anderson. I’m calling on behalf of someone who has been accused of a serious crime. Garrett Mills suggested I call.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath, then a choking noise. “Garrett sent you?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, of course.” She coughed again. “Just a moment.”

  Vivaldi suddenly blasted into my ear. I set the cell phone down and put it on speaker, figuring I’d be waiting a while. I wasn’t. In less than a minute, a smooth contralto voice said, “This is Cynthia Harlen. How may I help you?”

  I laid the basics out for her as succinctly as I could. “Would you consider representing Antoine? He didn’t do this, but I know it looks bad for him. Garrett says you’re the best in the area.”

  Cynthia chuckled. It was an earthy sound, like it came right up from her belly. I already liked her. I’d bet she was a good eater. I loved a good eater. “Garrett would know,” she said. “I’d like to meet with Mr. Belanger before I commit, but I’m very interested. Tell me again, you’re Mr. Belanger’s ex-wife?”

  I knew this would be hard to explain. “Yes. Ex-wife. That doesn’t mean I want him to go to jail for something he didn’t do, though.”

  “Of course not.” There was that chuckle again. “And Garrett Mills recommended me. Is there a reason that Mr. Mills doesn’t want to take the case himself?”

  I felt heat rise to my face. “Uh, conflict of interest is the best way to put it, I suppose.” I could explain more later if she actually took the case, not that it probably mattered in the least.

  “Okay, then. I need to cancel some appointments here, but I should be able to be in Grand Lake by . . .” There was a pause as she did some quick calculations. “Four thirty. Would you check with the sheriff to make sure I can see Mr. Belanger as soon as I get there?”

  “Of course.” We hung up. I dialed Dan. “I’ve found a lawyer for Antoine.”

  “Probably a smart choice. He needs one. That’s who he should have contacted with his one phone call. Seriously, who calls their ex-wife when they’ve been arrested? Who’d you get? Phillip Meyer? Russ?” Dan sounded relieved.

  “No. I went with someone from Cleveland that Garrett recommended. Cynthia Harlen. She said she’ll be here by about four thirty and wanted to make sure she’d be able to see Antoine then.” I could literally feel my heart rate start to slow down as I said the words. A good lawyer. She would clear this up in no time. Then Antoine could shoot the segment on my shop and get out of Grand Lake before the door hit him in the ass on his way out of town.

  There was a choking noise on the other end of the phone. “Cynthia? Harlen? Garrett recommended her?”

  “Are you okay? And yes, Garrett recommended her.” My heart rate started to pick back up. The receptionist at Harlen’s office had sounded like she was choking, too. What was up with that?

  “Okeydokey, then. No problems at all. I’ll make sure the guards know to let her in. And I’m fine. Something . . . uh . . . went down the wrong pipe.”

  There seemed to be a lot of that going around.

  * * *

  I heard a car door slam. Then another. Then two more. I looked out the window of the shop. A crowd was gathering on the sidewalk in front. I walked out onto the porch to see what was going on.

  Big mistake.

  I heard someone yell, “Is that her?”

  Then about a thousand flashes went off in my eyes. Okay. That might be a slight exaggeration, but it definitely felt like a thousand flashes. I flung my arm up to shield my eyes and staggered backward. Before I could register much more, I felt a hard hand on my upper arm and I was being dragged back into the shop. “Are you okay?” Dario asked.

  I felt a little dazed. “I think so.”

  He was pulling down blinds as I tried to get the spots to clear from my eyes. “Your lawyer buddy was wrong. The press got here a little faster than he anticipated.”

  I peered around one of the mini-blinds to see a van with a big antenna on top parked at the curb. A woman in a suit stopped people on the sidewalk and shoved a ginormous microphone in their faces.

  Two more vans were across the street. Thin people with enormous heads were standing in front of cameras with microphones, gesturing to my shop.

  I called Dan again.

  “There are a bunch of people with cameras and microphones in front of my store,” I reported.

  “Excellent powers of observation, Rebecca. Is the sky also blue?” he asked.

  “Bluish. Can you make them go away? They’re blocking the way into my shop. Plus they almost blinded me with their flashes. Isn’t that illegal somehow?” I could still see spots when I closed my eyes.

  “Are they physically keeping people from walking into your store, Rebecca?” He sounded tired.

  “No.” I had to say no because Janet Barry had picked that moment to walk into the shop and Dan could probably hear the tinkle of the little bells that announced a customer.

  “Call me when they do. I have enough on my hands trying to deal with the ones here,” he said.

  “There are more reporters at the jail?” How many of them had shown up in Grand Lake?

  “Yes, Rebecca, there are. You’re not the center of this show. Antoine is. You’re just B roll for them.”

  That stung a bit. Both the parts about being B roll and the part where he implied I always thought I was the center of the show. I knew I wasn’t. I never was when Antoine was around. That, in fact, might have been one of the things I liked about having been married to him. It’s a little easier to operate on the sidelines than it is in the center of the field with everyone watching. “Okay. I get it. I’ll call if they’re more than a nuisance.”


  “See you tonight?” he asked, sounding relieved.

  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

  Dario walked back in from the kitchen. “Doesn’t look like they figured out that there’s a back alley yet. It’s probably only a matter of time, though.”

  My cell phone and the store phone started ringing simultaneously. I didn’t recognize the number of the caller ID. “Hello?”

  “May I speak to Rebecca Anderson?”

  “This is she.”

  “Hello, Ms. Anderson, this is Anna Day with CNN. Do you have any comment on your ex-husband’s arrest?”

  “Nope. No comment at all.” I hung up.

  Dario had answered the store phone. “No comment,” he said, hanging it up, too.

  They both started ringing again. “Let the voice mail get it,” I said, gesturing with my chin to the store phone. I turned the ringer off on my cell.

  Dario smiled at me and said, “Well, at least it’s not dull.”

  Five

  Friday-night dinner at my sister’s had become something of a ritual. I was usually exhausted when I got home. Friday afternoons are my busiest time. There are the special orders for events and people planning movie nights. Then there are the drop-ins who realized that the weekend was here and wanted something to bring to whatever dinner or party they’d been invited to. Plus, of course, my regulars who needed their mid-afternoon coffee and fudge break. Even with the reporters outside, we had a steady stream of customers coming into POPS all afternoon.

  I set aside some fudge and some popcorn balls to take as my contribution for dinner. Haley knows how busy I get on Fridays and doesn’t expect anything more. I finally finished up and shut everything down. “Ready, Sprocket?”

  He stood up from where he’d been napping on his dog bed in the corner and shook himself out. I took it as a yes. I snapped the leash on him, shut off the lights. A quick peek out the front windows revealed the news vans still on my sidewalk. That was not a gauntlet I wanted to face. We went to the back door. No news vans. No people with microphones. Just Jasper.

  Jasper was the person who I almost managed to get charged with Coco’s murder, but then managed to clear. Since then, he’d taken to showering, shaving and wearing clean clothes on a daily basis. It was a definite improvement. He still did not have a job, however.

  “Hey, Rebecca,” he said. “Any leftover popcorn?”

  “Just a little bit of the chili cheese,” I said. “Want me to get it?”

  He shook his head. “Not my favorite. Too spicy.” He made a face.

  I considered saying something about beggars and choosers, but decided against it. “Sorry.” I stepped outside, shut the door and locked it.

  “Quite a zoo out front,” he said, falling into step beside me as I walked down the alley.

  “That’s one way to describe it.” It felt more like a wolf pack waiting to tear into sweet soft caribou news meat to me.

  When we got to the end of the alley, he said, “Want me to run a little interference for you? Walk out front while you go the other way?”

  “Thank you, Jasper. That would be really nice.”

  He shrugged. “I kind of owe you one.”

  We split up. I could hear the people yelling questions at him from a block away.

  Sunset was coming earlier and earlier. It was going to be my first winter back in Ohio after years of California sunshine. I wasn’t looking one hundred percent forward to it, but I was enjoying fall. Sprocket and I were running a tiny bit late so we didn’t linger on the shore of Lake Erie. A stiff wind blew off the lake and it stung my nose and eyelids. Sprocket sneezed. Still, it was worth it to watch the last rays of the sun dance over the waves, sparkling and winking against the gray of the sky.

  We turned around and headed back to the house. It was cold enough that no one was sitting out on front porches anymore. I have to admit it was kind of a relief. One of the things I hadn’t considered when I decided to open POPS was the unrelenting amount of small talk I would have to make.

  I am, by nature, a friendly person. I like people. Not everyone, but in general, I think people are okay. That didn’t mean I wanted to discuss the weather with every single blessed one on the planet Earth, though. It was one more reason I’d needed to hire someone to help out. If one more person asked me if I thought it was going to rain, it was entirely possible that I was going to leap over the counter, grab that person by the throat and shake him or her silly while screaming at them to check the weather app on their phone.

  I suspected that wouldn’t be good for business.

  I got home in time to help Evan with his bath—another Friday night ritual—and read him a story. I came downstairs with him on my hip, already molding into my body as sleep started to take over. “Something smells delicious.”

  Haley smiled from over by the stove. “Thanks. It’s chili. I made a double batch so I could freeze some to have after the baby comes.”

  I wasn’t surprised. She’d made a double batch of pretty much everything she’d cooked for the last two weeks. I was beginning to wonder if she had a magic freezer with no bottom that she could continue to stock endlessly and never run out of room. “Excellent. You guys won’t have to worry about meals for weeks.”

  “But you’ll still be here to help, right?” Her voice rose a little on the last word into something that sounded almost like a squeak.

  “Of course I will.” I wasn’t sure exactly how many times I would have to reassure Haley of that, but I would do whatever it took.

  “This thing with Antoine won’t stop you from being here?” Now her chin wobbled a little bit.

  “Absolutely not.” He’d been my priority when Evan was born. Not this time.

  “Okay, then,” she said, rubbing her belly and wincing.

  “What was that?” I asked. That wasn’t a normal face. Was that the face of my sister going into labor? “Is it go time?”

  She laughed. “No. It’s only Braxton Hicks contractions. It means things are tuning up and getting ready, but it’s not go time yet.”

  “Is that normal?” I didn’t know who Braxton or Hicks were, but I wasn’t crazy about the faces they were causing my sister to make.

  “Absolutely. I had Braxton Hicks for three weeks before I went into labor with Evan.” She winced again.

  I hadn’t known that. I hadn’t been here. I’d been in Italy with Antoine. I hadn’t come back even for Evan’s birth. Something I felt deeply ashamed of now. I could have held him when he was only minutes old. I could have been a part of his entire life instead of skating in with my hair on fire when he was two. I could have—should have—been there to help my sister when she brought her first child home. Instead, I’d sent flowers and arranged for Olive Hicks to come clean the house once a week for three months. I’d thrown money at it when I should have thrown my heart and my arms and my back into it. I couldn’t change that now, but I could be sure to be here when the Peanut was born. Nothing was going to keep me from doing that.

  Haley reached for Evan. “Come on, champ. Let’s go find Daddy so he can tuck you in.”

  “Daddy,” Evan repeated in a snuffly sleepy voice.

  “Right here, my man.” Dan came in off the porch and held out his arms. Haley passed Evan over, but for a second all three of them were part of one big embrace. Four of them, I guessed, since Haley’s tummy was part of the group hug. My heart did a little dance move in my chest. Something between a clutch and a leap.

  I loved my life. I loved the shop. I loved my apartment over the garage. That didn’t mean I didn’t see the value in Haley’s life, though. Oh, I knew it wasn’t all sweet-smelling toddlers and group hugs in a warm kitchen. I knew there were dirty diapers and late nights and teething and tantrums.

  I also knew that sometimes when Sprocket and I walked into my apartment over the garage, it felt very empty.

>   * * *

  Garrett arrived about ten minutes later and we all sat down to eat. Of course, the conversation turned to Antoine’s arrest.

  “Antoine hired Cynthia Harlen to represent him?” Haley squinted her eyes at Garrett. To my immense relief, she didn’t choke. I wasn’t sure how to Heimlich a pregnant woman. “Are you going to be okay seeing her around town all the time?”

  I set my glass of wine down. “Why wouldn’t Garrett be okay with seeing Cynthia Harlen? He’s the one who recommended her.”

  Now Haley’s eyes went wide. “You did?”

  Garrett didn’t meet her gaze. “She’s good. Antoine’s going to need somebody good whether he’s guilty or innocent.”

  “He’s innocent,” I said at the same time that Haley sputtered, “Yes, but . . .”

  “But what?” I demanded. “Did she beat you in court or something? What kind of history do you have with her?”

  “She was my, uh, partner.” Garrett had become extremely engrossed in the embroidery on the tablecloth.

  Haley snorted. “So that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

  I stared at Garrett until he looked up. “Cynthia and I had a small private practice together for a while. We also lived together for a couple of years.” He said the words quickly, like ripping a bandage off, like he was getting it over with, like maybe if he said them fast enough I wouldn’t notice.

  “Like roommates or like . . .” I didn’t really want to say lovers, but that’s what I was thinking.

  “Not like roommates,” he confirmed. Apparently he didn’t want to use that other L word, either. He’d gone all still again.

  “Wait a second. You’re telling me that you referred me to your ex-girlfriend to represent my ex-husband?” I wasn’t sure what, but something sounded terribly wrong with this situation.

  “I knew it was weird. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I’d hoped you wouldn’t find out. Cynthia and I are ancient history.” He sighed. “I sincerely think she’s an amazing lawyer who will do a great job for Antoine. I think a case like this is exactly what she needs to break into the big time, too. Really, it’s a win-win, Rebecca. Now we can gracefully bow out.” He took another sip of his wine.