by Patti Larsen
She snapped the lid of her laptop shut, crossing her arms over her chest, scowling at me. “Why do you think I’m here? It seems his tastes are leaning toward the more provincial,” one carefully shaped eyebrow rose as she looked me up and down, “but if you have his ear, you can pass this along.”
“And be the one to get in trouble for snooping,” I said. “Thanks a lot.”
She hesitated, dropped her hands to her sides, staring at her closed laptop. “Gloria died in obscurity,” she said. “When she should have been a star. But she didn’t want that for herself. Wouldn’t want it for her granddaughter, either. I can’t believe she doesn’t know what Ron did to her grandmother’s family recipes.”
Wait, what? Who were we talking about exactly? I must have said that out loud because Vivian exhaled with an irritation that was much more like her than the woman I’d been talking to the last few minutes.
“Gloria Kingsley,” she said. “Molly Abbott is her granddaughter.”
***
Chapter Twenty Seven
Wow, that was a bombshell to drop. While I sorted out the implications—and Molly’s return to susptecthood—Daisy spoke up.
“Isn’t there anything she can do? To shut down the book?” She seemed more upset about it than Vivian. It did answer the copyright question. All ownership should have passed to Molly, at least as far as I knew.
The cold blonde shrugged, her coat sighing around her. “There are copyright laws,” she said. “But if Gloria never registered them, Ron could have dragged out a court case until the family couldn’t afford to fight any longer.”
“Actually,” I said, “he was in financial trouble himself.”
She met my eyes, crystal blue surprised. “Really. How interesting.”
I felt myself still in that moment as I realized just how alike the two of us were. And that, if circumstances were different, Vivian and I might—might, in an alternate universe I never wanted to visit—have been friends.
Shudder.
“Regardless,” she said, gathering her computer and sliding it into the designer bag draped over her arm, depositing a thumb drive on the counter with careful precision, “if someone did kill him over the stolen recipes, I wanted to share what I knew.”
“Thank you.” I meant it. And Daisy was right, it had to have taken a lot for Vivian to come here like this.
She pursed her lips, jaw working before her gaze snapped to mine again. “I had nothing to do with your mother’s sabotage.”
“I know,” I said. “Pretty sure it was Janet.”
She blew a soft raspberry, tension releasing, though her arrogant carriage of confident poise never left her. “That one. Surely this whole disaster will expose her for the fraud she is.” Vivian actually sounded offended. “She’s a terrible representation for our business.” She half turned to go then stopped and faced me again. “Please tell Lucy how sorry I am for what happened.” There was real regret in her face, in her voice. “I should have realized she would never present such a terrible finished product. She’s too professional for that.”
Wow, that was high praise. “I’ll tell her,” I said. “But it would mean more coming from you.”
Vivian blinked. “She won’t want to talk to me.”
The last thing I needed was to find empathy for her, but it woke up anyway and I relented.
“Try her, Vivian,” I said. “I think you’ll be surprised. And rather than offering her a job, maybe you’d consider some kind of cooperative effort. Mom’s not just a fantastic baker. She’s brilliant.”
Vivian didn’t say anything to that, but she did look like her mind was spinning. She left without another word, side-stepping Petunia who panted at her feet, grinning up at her in her happy pug way. The blonde actually stumbled before hurrying out, Daisy leaning against the counter and watching her go with a low, sharp whistle.
“I never thought I’d see the day Fiona Fleming and Vivian French had civil words for each other.” She winked at me. “That was surreal. We should buy a lottery ticket.”
Made me snort. And release some of the animosity I’d held toward Vivian all these years. Honestly, I had to give her kudos. She’d taken a small town business and built it into a bit of an empire for herself. If I was going to be honest, too, I had to ask myself how much of her arrogance was pomposity and how much was loneliness?
Then again, it would burn her butt to know I thought she might be lonely. Yeah, still a little bitter.
“Weird being a grownup, Daisy,” I said.
She hugged me, let me go with a beaming smile. “Silly,” she said, “you know the rules.”
“Never grow up,” we said together.
I grabbed my laptop and the thumb drive and headed for the door while my bestie laughed when I paused, wincing.
“Just go,” she said. “Let me know if you need bail money.”
Crap, I forgot to fill her in on the kiss. Seemed like terrible timing. “Remind me to tell you something when I get home,” I said. “And thanks, Day. I won’t be long.”
Crew was in his office when I arrived at the station. Robert was conspicuously absent. On guard duty at the Lodge? Jill grinned at me when I entered, Toby standing to hug me. I embraced the receptionist with a squeeze of my own, the soft fleece of her vest a constant.
“I’ll see if he’s able to talk,” Toby said, a determined look on her face. Before she could cross the hardwood floor to the swinging gate that separated the bull pen from the reception area, Crew’s voice called out from his open door.
“I know it’s you, Fiona. Just come in.”
He didn’t sound mad, so I took that as a good sign, along with the thumbs up from Toby and the headshake from Jill. Crew looked up as I passed the threshold of his doorway, gesturing for me to take a seat with his pen before looking down at the pile of paperwork in front of him. I closed the door behind me, sank into the creaking wooden chair that was far too familiar for someone who really shouldn’t be visiting a sheriff’s office as often as I did.
“I’ll be right with you,” he said. Looked up again, met my eyes, his friendly but guarded. “I take it you’re not here for a beer.”
I almost let out my inner smart ass. So close to quipping about wanting another kiss I had to clench my abdomen against the need to giggle. “Not a beer.” Oh dear. That smoldering tone was almost bad enough.
Crew’s lips quirked in a grin and he looked down. Was that a flush on his cheeks? I know mine were pretty hot. I shed my coat while he signed the bottom of the paper in front of him and filed it in a drawer in his desk before sliding it shut and leaning back in his chair, tossing his pen to the surface.
“Okay, Fiona Fleming,” he said. “Kiss me.”
It took me about four seconds to realize he actually said, “Hit me,” not “Kiss me,” and in that time I gaped at him while his smile faded and he cocked his head to one side, crease forming between his eyebrows.
“You okay?” He sat forward while I remembered to inhale.
“All good,” I squeaked. “Sorry, brain fart, never mind. Here.” I slammed my laptop down on his desk. “I snooped.” At least he seemed amused. “With help.”
“Nice to know you’re now recruiting other townsfolk to dig into police business.” Crew’s sarcasm was cut with humor. “What have you got?”
I ended up scooting around to his side of the desk, tucking my chair in close and walked him through what Vivian showed me, Daisy’s investigation into the review process and everything I’d learned today about Molly, Clara and Joyce.
“I can’t help but come back around to Molly,” I said, watching the images of Gloria Kingsley as she presented her food to the judges.
Crew nodded, eyes glued to the screen. He was so close to me his shoulder brushed mine, the scent of his aftershave not overpowering, but enough to tickle my nose. When he turned his head to meet my eyes, his lips were uncomfortably accessible.
“Malcolm Murray’s bookie friend is out of state,” he said.
“I’m waiting on cooperation from Boston PD and the FBI. But I highly doubt he’d kill Ron over a debt he was collecting for someone else.”
“Bonnie and Joyce both seem to have solid alibis,” I said. “Wait, the side stairs.” I told him about Bill’s reveal and Crew frowned, rubbing the faint stubble on his chin with one big hand while he stared at nothing. “I asked Alicia to review any footage from the area, so she might be sending you more security tapes.”
“Good catch, Fee.” He actually sounded like he meant it. Something warm and soft burst in my chest while I did my best not to wriggle like a puppy told she was a good girl. Because I was not that woman, thank you. “Clara’s still a person of interest. It’s her show and she’s been running it since the beginning. She had to have known about Ron’s recipe theft. That the cookbook is plagiarized.”
Was that why she acted uncomfortably when I asked her about it? “Or she found out and knew he was about to ruin her once and for all.” She’d been eager to pitch a new show to the network that dropped Cake or Break. I could only imagine scandal of any kind would ruin her chances.
“I’ll have another talk with her.” He sat back then, and I missed the nearness of him immediately.
“I find it so hard to imagine he could get away with stealing Gloria’s recipes like that.” My sense of fair play stirred a self-righteousness that startled me.
“Bringing us back to Molly.” Crew tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair, rocking backward in a slow rhythm I found hypnotic. “And the suspicious timing of her departure from the set.” He gestured at the screen in front of us. “Vivian’s copies are all scans, so there’s proof of their existence. So Molly would have had a case against Ron. Still, she’s probably right about the lawyer thing.”
Just sucked someone could steal her grandmother’s work like that. And triggered that further question I thought I had an answer to already.
“Why would Ron risk being caught for plagiarism anyway?” Had to be money, didn’t it? “He must have been paid some kind of advance on the sales. But Malcolm was still looking. So where’s the money?”
“Ah, that I have an answer for.” Crew leaned forward, fishing out a few pages from the file in front of him. “Ron Williams was being investigated by the IRS for tax evasion.”
And I’d forgotten to mention I knew that already. When I didn’t react the way he expected to his supposed scoop of information, Crew sighed with rueful understanding. “So he paid them off rather than a bookie?” Not so smart. The IRS might take his house, but Malcolm’s bullies would have eventually broken his kneecaps. At least, I imagined so. Still, it was good to know I was right, that the sales of the cookbook weren’t his aim. He’d chosen to publish in an effort to raise capital to cover part of his debt, though his lack of planning for what might happen after his fraud was discovered lowered my estimation of the man further.
As for Malcolm’s plan to extract what was owed, the next time I talked to him, I’d ask him what his standard operating procedure was. Snort.
“I also found out Ron tried to launch a show of his own.” Crew grinned when my surprised showed. I knew he’d been talking about one, thanks to Clara, but launching it? That was news. “Ah, so you don’t know everything I know. That’s gratifying.”
Smartass sheriff. Good thing he was hot.
“So, the question remains, why did he die?” I ticked off reasons on my fingertips. “Infidelity?”
Crew shrugged. “I’m sure he had affairs with more than Joyce and Janet. The show was on for a long time.”
Way to add more suspects to the pool. “Stolen recipes?”
“Molly.” Crew nodded while my mind expanded cookbook suspicions to Bonnie and Clara. Bonnie because, as his wife, she’d be sucked into legal proceedings when and if Ron was sued and Clara because he was launching the book on her show.
“And financial problems?” The least likely, in my opinion, but still on the list. “Anything else?”
“How about being a reprehensible human being?” Crew sighed, toying with his pen. “Sorry. The more I dig into this guy, the less I like him. Not that liking him is a requirement to solving his murder. But.”
Yeah. But.
He met my eyes then, blue sparkling. “That all you got?”
I shrugged, closing my computer. “Best I could do on short notice.”
Crew leaned forward, nice and close again, only this time he seemed to do it on purpose, with purpose. A slow smile, kind of a smirk, truth be told, spread over his wide mouth as he came almost nose-to-nose with me.
“Anything else I can do for you, detective?” Was it just me or was that a suggestion in his voice? An invitation to something rather personal and altogether naughty that had me quivering inside.
Who knows what I might have said or done next? I have a feeling it would have ended in an embarrassing make out session neither of us would live down. Except, of course, fate had a funny way of having my back when I really wished it would leave me alone and just live with the consequences of finding out what might happen if Crew kissed me again.
The soft knock was all the warning we got, followed almost immediately by Toby poking her head in. I whipped away from Crew, felt the heat on my cheeks burning while he backed away from me just as fast. The pair of us must have looked like we were up to something, but Toby had the good grace not to comment. She grinned, though.
“Alicia is calling from the Lodge,” she said. “That woman’s been at her again to strike the set.” Didn’t need two guesses to identify “that woman” as Clara Clark.
Crew sighed, stood, waited a long moment for me to get the point and leap to my feet too.
“Thanks, Fee,” he said. “I’ll see you later?” Was there more than just courtesy in that question? Was it an invitation? I needed to stop asking myself dumb questions and reading things into other people that didn’t exist.
That’s why I found myself walking home, hugging my laptop, wishing Toby had just given us one more second alone.
***
Chapter Twenty Eight
I was surprised to run into Janet Taylor heading up the steps and into the sheriff’s office, almost running her over in my distraction. She caught herself before I could bump her, scowling at me while I blinked into the sunshine.
“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t see you there.” Not sorry, though. Wished she’d fallen. Because I was a terrible person with Mommy protection issues.
Her pinched expression didn’t lighten up. “I’m sure you did,” she snapped. “Excuse me.”
“Wait a second.” I grasped for her arm but didn’t touch her, catching myself at the last second. I did not need a crazy assault charge against me right now. Oddly, just the motion seemed to stop her as she tried to look down her narrow nose at me despite the fact I had a few inches on her.
“If you’re going to accuse me of ruining your mother’s baking, go ahead.” She sniffed, cold air misting out of her lips as she spoke again. “But I’m the one who’s been sabotaged here! Your mother doesn’t have a nationally recognized reputation to uphold, does she?”
Talk about a puffed up piece of work. “That gave you the right to dose Mom’s sugar with salt, did it?” She was lucky I was clinging to my laptop and didn’t have my hands free.
“She should have tasted her batter.” Was she honestly smirking?
“Sounds like you needed to take your own advice,” I shot back.
Janet’s nasty demeanor faded just a bit. “I did,” she snapped. “Whatever was in my mix, and I can guess from how hard my bake turned out…” she exhaled, anger returning. “We’ll see if your sheriff is interested in justice or not.”
I let her go, hoping Crew bounced her butt out into the cold. Like he could do anything about the disaster that was Cake or Break. But it left me with an interesting tidbit of curiosity to look up when I got home.
Daisy and Petunia were gone when I arrived back at the B&B, Joyce and Bonnie both out. I’d hoped to ask Joyce what Jan
et was talking about, and instead resorted to my favorite investigative snoop tool, a search engine.
It wasn’t long before I came up with the answer, or what I guessed was the answer. The only ingredient that I could come up with that was odorless, tasteless and in powder form, that could harden a cake without being detectible with a quick taste test of raw batter was gelatin. But how to prove it? That was another story.
I checked the messages as I went over my bookings for the first of February and was surprised to find one from Alicia.
“Called Crew, but thought you should know.” She sounded hurried, like she was walking somewhere, din of voices in the background. “Good call on the other exit door. Someone else was in the dining room, but I couldn’t make out who. Emailed you the short clip from the camera at the front of the room, but it’s pretty blurry because of the distance. We originally dismissed it because no love on the full set, too much crap in the way. I’ll tell Crew when he gets here. Bye!”
My fingers fumbled on the keyboard of my computer while I quickly scanned my email for the message and opened it. The short video she sent seemed to take forever to load, but when it finally did I understood what she meant. All the lights and the tall walls of the set blocked the actual murder scene from the camera. But there was enough space between the fake side of the set and the real wall I could make out the door to the maintenance stairs. I peered at the grainy, dark image taken all the way across the large space and I felt a shudder run through me before I frowned.
I knew exactly who that was, distance or not. Had privately thought this particular suspect cleared despite reservations about their possible guilt and motive for murder. I checked the time stamp and confirmed the death window. That the wavering figure who slipped through the side door with something cylindrical clutched in hand, hurrying onto the set did so at 5:36PM. I’d seen canisters like that in Mom’s show kitchen, full of baking ingredients. Could this particular one have been cut with gelatin, perhaps?
