Another One Bites the Crust (A Bakeshop Mystery)

by Ellie Alexander

  “I’ve only worked with her for a day, but like I said earlier, she’s all business. She likes doughnuts, though.”

  “Well, she can’t be that bad, then.” I laughed.

  “Just wait.” Between the light from the nearly full moon and the glow from the antique street lamps lining the sidewalk I could see his eyes roll.

  I stopped on the corner and took a quick peek at the basement property. A piece of plywood had been put up as a temporary door and the stairs had been blocked off with two plastic sawhorses. Good. At least I didn’t have to worry about vandals—or more likely Richard Lord—sneaking into the space while renovations were going on.

  “Hey, before we head into the station, I wanted to ask a favor earlier but got so caught up in the case that I forgot.”

  Thomas waited at the crosswalk. “Shoot.”

  “Mom is thinking of surprising the Professor with a Midsummer Night’s Eve wedding. Do you think you could feel him out? Subtly ask his thoughts on being involved in all the wedding details. Mom and I are both pretty confident that he’s game for anything, but she would hate to leave him out if he’s really excited about the planning.”

  “Aw, that’s a cool idea. I think as long as the plans end with him marrying your mom, he’ll be fine, but yeah, I’ll see what I can get out of him.”

  “Thanks.” We crossed to the police station, which looked dark. “Are you sure Detective Kerry is here?”

  “Yeah, she wanted to take the graveyard shift. Someone has to be here,” Thomas said. “Lance can’t be left alone. State and federal regulations.”

  “It looks dark, though.” I peered through the front window.

  Thomas knocked on the door. “I know. I have my keys, but let’s see if she answers first.”

  Light immediately flooded through the window. A woman, much younger than I anticipated, opened the door. She was dressed in a tight navy pencil skirt with a crisp white blouse and stylish navy heels. She was quite pretty with long auburn hair and bright green eyes.

  “Officer Adams,” she addressed Thomas. I had to suppress a giggle. I’d never heard anyone call Thomas “officer.”

  “Hey.” Thomas gave her a nod. “This is Juliet Capshaw; she owns the bakeshop across the street and has some information about the investigation for you.”

  Detective Kerry studied me for a minute, taking careful note of Thomas’s jacket that was still around my shoulders. “All right, come on back.”

  I felt my cheeks start to warm. It’s not like I had anything to be embarrassed about, but the way Detective Kerry stared at me made me feel like a teenager who had just been caught trying to sneak in after curfew. I took off the jacket and handed it back to Thomas. “Thanks for this.”

  “I’m going to catch up on some paperwork.” Thomas took his jacket and left us.

  “This way.” Detective Kerry pointed to the Professor’s office. Unlike police stations I had seen on television, the Professor’s office paid homage to his love of Shakespeare. Playbills, posters from past performances, and photos of him on the stage dotted his walls. His desk housed a coffee mug designed to look like the bard’s bust. A tweed jacket hung on a wooden coat rack near the window. I wondered if he kept a backup jacket on hand or if he had simply forgotten it here.

  Detective Kerry sat in the Professor’s chair and crossed her legs. “What do you have for me?” She clicked a ballpoint pen and waited for me to speak.

  I felt strangely protective of the Professor’s space, and wanted to ask her not to touch anything. Instead, I explained in full detail everything the four of us had discussed at dinner, from Tracy’s secret pregnancy and Judy’s blackmail.

  She gave no indication of interest while I spoke. Every once in a while, she asked for brief clarification, but otherwise she jotted down notes and said “uh-huh” a lot.

  “Got anything else for me?” she asked when I finished.

  “Can I see Lance?” I asked, noticing an empty doughnut box in the trash can.

  “Lance? Why?”

  “He’s my friend, and I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

  She sat up and gave me a severe look. “He’s in custody.”

  “I understand. That’s why I was hoping to have a minute with him.”

  “You’re a pastry chef? Did I misunderstand what Officer Adams said?”

  “Yes, I’m a pastry chef.”

  She stood. “Not a lawyer?”

  “No.”

  Straightening her narrow skirt, she moved toward the door. I could guess what she was about to say, but Thomas opened the door at the same moment and knocked her off balance. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” He offered his hand to help. Was it my imagination or had the faintest of smiles passed her lips?

  She brushed off her spotless blouse. “I’m fine. I was about to see your friend out.”

  “I assume that means I can’t see Lance?” I asked, picking up a framed photo of Mom and the Professor from the cruise. The photo was from the night they got engaged. It reminded me of a photo of Carlos and me with our arms entwined smiling under an apricot sunset. Only the difference was that Carlos was my past and the Professor was Mom’s future.

  “It’s fine,” Thomas said to Detective Kerry. “The Professor—uh—Detective Curtis is going to be her stepfather. He would want Jules to have a minute with Lance.”

  She scowled and stared at the picture I was holding. “This is highly unusual. Like I told you and Detective Curtis earlier, keeping a murder suspect in a glorified office is extremely irregular and goes against all protocol.”

  “This is how we do things in Ashland,” Thomas countered. “We’re family here. The Professor knows every resident by name. So do I, because this is a small town. I went to school with a lot of the people here, and sure, maybe we don’t have motor pools or divisions for fraud. Our property room is a locked closet with old shelving from my parents’ flower shop.” He nodded toward the hallway. “Sometimes if the garage is busy, I’ll change the oil in our squad car. If we’re short staffed then our ‘dispatch department’ turns into two sweet little old ladies who knit while they answer the phones. But you know what the best difference about working in a small town is? The Professor stops by Mrs. Jenkins’s house every day with a loaf of bread and cup of soup because he knows that otherwise she might forget to eat. He told me on my first day wearing the badge that I only needed to know one thing to be successful in this job. And that is that police work is always personal.”

  His impassioned plea impressed me. I wasn’t so sure about Detective Kerry. She listened to Thomas with her arms tightly wrapped around her chest and watched him through the narrowed slits of her eyes. I thought she was going to refuse, but she tapped her wrist. “Fine. Two minutes.”

  “Thanks,” Thomas said with sincerity and then turned to me. “I’ll take you back, Jules.”

  I didn’t hesitate, afraid that Detective Kerry might change her mind. “Wow, that was quite the speech,” I said as he led me to the locked office where they were keeping Lance.

  “It’s true. You know, big-city cops have this impression that us small-town guys are a bunch of bumbling idiots. Murder is murder. We treat it with the same respect.”

  “I think what you said made an impression.”

  He shrugged as we arrived at the holding room. “Did you know that the New York City police department has a staff of fifty thousand? That’s more than double Ashland’s entire population. But I wouldn’t change working here for anything. I’ve learned from the best, and just because the Professor is off the case doesn’t mean we suddenly have to change the way we do things.”

  “You’re right.” I put my arm on his shoulder. “Honestly, I loved what you said to Detective Kerry. I guess I’ve never thought about how hard you and the Professor have worked to earn and maintain everyone’s trust.”

  Thomas smiled and then found the right key. “Two minutes, Jules.” He winked and unlocked the door.

  I took in a breath at th
e sight of Lance as I stepped inside. He was slumped on a temporary cot under a window. His hair was disheveled and he wore the same sweatpant outfit I’d seen him in earlier. Unlike the Professor’s office, this room was obviously used for storage. The walls had been painted a stark white and housed a calendar and bulletin board with flyers for community events and safety procedures. There was a desk, a portable safe, and black industrial shelving with stacks of orange construction cones, boxes of plastic gloves, trash bags, cleaning supplies, and a megaphone. The top shelf was lined with kids’ bike helmets in bright colors. I knew that Thomas and the Professor handed out free helmets on school visits or to anyone who couldn’t afford one.

  Lance looked up at me and gave me a feeble smile. They must not have considered him a danger or flight risk, I thought as I moved closer to him. He could easily use the mop and bucket propped near the shelves to break through the window or attack his captors. “How are you holding up?” I sat next to him on the squeaky cot.

  “Ruined.” His bloodshot eyes looked like something from a horror flick. “I’ve been crying for hours.”

  “I’m sure.” I meant my words to be comforting but he recoiled and let out a howl.

  “I’m hideous, aren’t I?” He didn’t comment on my outfit or ask about opening night. That was a bad sign.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that.” I scooted closer so that our knees touched. “Look at me, Lance.”

  He sniffled. “What?”

  “You’re going to be okay. We’re all working on this—Thomas, Mom, the Professor.”

  “I thought he had been removed from his duties?” Thomas wiped his nose on the back of his baggy sleeve.

  “No. He took himself off the case to protect you.” I looked at the shut door, wondering if Detective Kerry had been serious about two minutes. “I don’t have much time, let me fill you in on what I’ve learned.”

  Lance mopped his face on his snot-stained sweatshirt and continued to fight for control over his emotions. I didn’t get far. I told him that Antony’s body had been found in the duck pond, how the Professor was checking with some of his contacts, and my suspicions that the killer had used the authorized-personnel stairs to make his or her escape.

  “Wait, stop there.” Lance sounded more stable. “You said the stairwell was locked?”

  “Uh, I think so. I couldn’t exactly see, but it looked like there was a chain around the fence. I wasn’t close enough to tell if it was locked.” I thought back to my conversation with Thomas by the duck pond. “I’m pretty sure that Thomas said it was.”

  Lance sat up. “No. It’s never been locked. The sign has been enough to deter people. We keep it unlocked because some of my actors and crew like to sneak out between rehearsals to get a bit of fresh air in the park. It’s an easy way to duck out without running the risk of bumping into an adoring fan on the bricks.”

  “Really? Do the stairs get used for anything else, like deliveries? The steps looked pretty mossy.”

  “No. In fact, I asked the grounds crew not to pressure-wash the steps. I don’t want them to get more use.” Lance drummed his long fingers on his sweatpants. “Juliet, you may have discovered a critical clue. You have to go investigate. If there’s a lock and chain on the gate Antony’s murderer must have put it there.”

  I started to reply, but Thomas opened the door. Detective Kerry stood behind him with a scowl that made her otherwise attractive face look long and misshapen.

  “Sorry, Lance, but I’ve got to send Jules home,” Thomas said.

  Lance normally would have protested, but his dejected sigh was the only response he could muster. I hugged him and whispered, “Don’t worry.”

  “Get up to the park,” he hissed in response.

  There was so much more I wanted to tell him. We had barely scratched the surface, but I knew from the slow burn emanating from Detective Kerry’s green eyes that I had to get moving. “See you soon.” I kissed Lance’s cheek and left the room.

  Thomas walked me to the front with Detective Kerry at our heels. “You want me to walk you home?”

  I wanted to tell him about my conversation with Lance, but I could almost feel Detective Kerry’s breath. She stood two inches away from Thomas wearing the same look of displeasure on her face. “No, I’m good. It’s only a block,” I replied, and then smiled at Detective Kerry. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for letting me see Lance.”

  She offered a curt nod.

  A blast of cool air hit my face as I exited the police station. Tiny droplets of dew gleamed in the moonlight. Soon they would turn to frost and blanket the plaza like a thin layer of buttercream. I rubbed my cashmere sweater and hurried across the street. The cold wasn’t going to deter me. I had a singular mission. I would stop by my apartment and put on warmer clothes and then I was heading straight for Lithia Park.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I quickly changed out of my skirt and into a pair of jeans, a fleece sweatshirt, and tennis shoes. Then I found the flashlight that Mom had left at my apartment in case the power ever went out. Before I had returned to Ashland, Mom had stocked my kitchen with baking supplies and my medicine cabinet with toothpaste and Tylenol. It was a thoughtful and practical gesture, especially since I had left the ship in such a hurry that things like food and toiletries never crossed my mind.

  Along with the flashlight and my phone, I also stuck a pink canister of pepper spray into my pocket. Thomas had insisted I keep the self-defense product on hand after a recent altercation at the Chocolate Festival. He had stopped by my apartment with a three-inch pink canister that could be attached to a purse or key chain, or tucked into a pocket. “This will impair any attacker for forty-five minutes,” he had explained, showing me how to use the flip-top safety feature that prevented the pepper spray from accidentally misfiring and demonstrating how to use the finger grip to spray any would-be assailant directly in the eyes.

  At the time, I had assured him that I was fine, but tonight I appreciated having a defensive weapon secured in my pocket, just in case. I pulled a ski cap over my braid and put on my winter coat before heading to the park. Nervous excitement pulsed through me as I descended the stairs past Elevation. The after-theater crowds were still going strong at the restaurants along the plaza. The sound of live music and jovial chatter made my nerves calm a bit. There were people wandering about the plaza and packed into the pubs. It was after eleven but Ashland was wide awake with the thrill of a new season.

  I would hurry over to the duck pond on my mission for Lance and be back in a flash. Should I happen upon anyone who appeared dangerous I had my Mace and a healthy set of lungs. One loud scream should send people running.

  “Right, or you’re simply trying to justify being reckless,” I told myself as I passed the Green Goblin and crossed East Main Street. My breath formed pockets of fog with each exhalation. Every hair on my neck and forearms tingled. I zipped my parka all the way to my chin and followed the spotlight from my flashlight along the pressed pebble path that wound from the Shakespeare stairs along the tree line toward the pond.

  A symphony of croaking frogs reverberated, welcoming me to their forest and making me feel less alone.

  Was this a bad idea? I shivered from the cold and my returning nerves. Maybe I should turn around and come back in the morning.

  I stopped at the base of an ancient redwood tree. The duck pond was only another two or three hundred feet down the path. It wouldn’t take more than a couple minutes to check out the gate and take a few pictures of the lock.

  You can do this, Jules. I gave myself a little pep talk. If I waited until morning that would give the killer time to return. If the lock had been put on the gate by the killer, it could still have their fingerprints—hard evidence to clear Lance.

  I inhaled a deep breath of frosty air and pushed on. Aside from the frogs, the park was eerily quiet. My every step seemed to echo, and I was acutely aware of the sound of my heartbeat pulsing in my head. I quickened my pace to a steady jog.
The sooner I got this done, the sooner I could be home and safely tucked in my bed.

  The duck pond came into view as I passed through a break in the trees. There was no sign of policy activity, but the area remained off limits with caution tape.

  Okay. I sighed with relief, pressing my fingers together to try and steady my breathing.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of movement. A wave of adrenaline pulsed through my body. I whipped my flashlight in the direction of the movement and reached for my Mace. A duck let out a warning quack, flapping its wings and levitating over the pond.

  It’s just a duck, Jules.

  I exhaled again and bent under the police tape. Suddenly, I was overcome by thoughts of the police dragging Antony’s body from the pond and Lance finding him dead. Thomas was right, this was personal. Someone had disturbed our idyllic lifestyle and if there was even the slightest chance that I could help bring them to justice, I had to push through my fear.

  “Go back to sleep, ducks,” I said aloud, for my own benefit. Then I walked around the benches to the secret set of stairs. The lock was still there. Thank goodness.

  I removed my phone from my pocket and took a dozen photos of the chain and black combination lock. Why had the killer locked the gate? I tried to put myself in their head.

  Lance had found Antony’s body about four or five hundred feet away at the base of the heavily used Shakespeare stairs. He had panicked and fled the scene of the crime. Perhaps he interrupted the killer. Maybe the killer had hidden behind one of the nearby trees and waited for Lance to leave. Then they came back for Antony’s body. It would have been late and dark, much like now.

  The killer probably realized they didn’t have much time. They assumed that Lance had gone for help and the police would soon follow. They must have had to act quickly. If I were in that position I would have taken the path of least resistance and dragged the body to the closest place I could find to dump it—the duck pond. Hence the drag marks in the grass.