Another One Bites the Crust (A Bakeshop Mystery)

by Ellie Alexander

  Detective Kerry held up a gun and shouted, “Stay right there, or I will shoot.”

  Lance sat up and whispered, “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  My eyes tried to adjust to the light and my mind tried to make sense of what was happening. Thomas popped up behind us. I let out a small scream and threw my hand over my mouth.

  “It’s just me, Jules,” he said in a reassuring tone as he pushed down one of the seat backs and stepped over it to join us.

  “Now?” Lance asked.

  Thomas nodded. “Now.”

  Lance stood and clapped his hands together. “LIGHTS!”

  The entire theater illuminated. Light blinded my eyes. Brock stepped backward and shielded his face from the light. “What is this?”

  “ACTION!” Lance shouted again.

  A screen slowly came down behind Brock. Detective Kerry moved closer to the stage. Once she got about ten feet away from the orchestra pit she motioned with the gun. “Get down from there and come take a seat.”

  Brock followed her command. He appeared to be as confused as I was.

  Lance sat. The lights dimmed in perfect timing. And a hazy video that looked like it had been shot on a phone camera started to play on the screen.

  “Get ready, darling.” Lance wrapped his arm around the back of my chair. “This is about to be theater at its best.”

  The video started with a rally of sorts. A group of people were gathered around a park, holding hand-painted protest signs. They chanted and hollered, and then a young man appeared with a bullhorn. It was Brock.

  He was wearing a sleeveless tank top and ripped cutoff shorts. “Hey Idaho, we’re here to keep our state clean. No illegals. White power!”

  The crowd cheered in response. The camera panned to the crowd. Antony stood among the protesters. I almost didn’t recognize him. Gone was his polished look and debonair style. Brock shouted and pointed him out. “I see my bros in the crowd like John Duncan right there!”

  “What is this?” I asked Lance.

  “This is his past catching up to him.”

  I watched the video in stunned silence. The hate speech got worse with each minute. This must have been the DVD that was missing at the crime scene. Thad had been right. The missing DVD had nothing to do with a dress rehearsal. I felt sick as I watched Brock rile up the crowd and spew violent language. Antony, or actually John, cheered along with everyone else.

  When it was done, the lights came on and the Professor emerged from the side of the stage.

  “Everyone knew? Everyone but me?”

  Lance patted my knee. “Don’t worry, darling. I couldn’t have figured it out without you.”

  Detective Kerry made Brock stand, while Thomas and the Professor surrounded him. They didn’t need extra hands. Brock didn’t put up a fight.

  I watched them escort him from the theater and turned to Lance. “What just happened?”

  Lance reached over and tapped my chin. “Close your mouth. It’s not the least bit becoming to sit there with that expression on your otherwise gorgeous face.”

  I glared at him and folded my arms across my chest.

  “Fine, fine. I jest.” He handed me the file folder he’d been holding. “Here, this will explain it all.”

  I opened the folder to find headshots of Antony aka John Duncan. Of course. I wanted to kick myself. I had wondered about the connection, but dismissed it because Judy had made it sound like Antony—John—was talking about another person.

  John had obviously gone through a major transformation after leaving Idaho. The photos had been professionally shot. His original application for OSF and Lance’s notes on his audition were also included. On the application he had used the name John Duncan. Someone had crossed it out and written “Antony Lethello” in purple pen. If I wasn’t mistaken it looked like Lance’s handwriting.

  “Antony was John,” I said to Lance, leafing through the papers.

  “Yes. It’s obvious, isn’t it? The minute I heard the name John Duncan I knew who the killer had to be.” He pushed my hand away and thumbed to the back of the stack. Then he pulled another application from the pile. “Look.”

  The application was for Brock. It appeared pretty standard to me, but Lance tapped his fingers impatiently. “Right here.” He pointed to a scribbled note on the bottom right corner that read: “Recommended for hire by Antony.”

  “Antony recommended him for the company?” I asked.

  “Now the lightbulbs are starting to go off.” Lance stared at me.

  “But how did you figure it out?” To be honest I felt a bit jealous that Lance had put the clues together before me. I thought back to Brock’s mention of putting up with Antony for years. I should have picked up on that. Not to mention all the times that someone brought up the fact that Antony wasn’t his real name. I had missed so much.

  “Your jelly doughnuts.”

  “Seriously?” I handed him the folder.

  He rested it on his lap. “Yes, what a brilliant and deceptive plan to butter up the unsmiling lady cop with your siren sweets.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Lance threw his hand on his forehead and tilted it toward the ceiling. “Your pastries make grown men cry. Detective Kerry was no match for your culinary delights.”

  “Okay, so Detective Kerry ate one of my jelly doughnuts. What does that have to do with Antony’s murder?”

  “The art of eavesdropping, darling. While I offered to share one of my prized doughnuts with her she happened to get a call. I overheard her conversation. She mentioned the name John Duncan.” He paused and snapped his fingers. “I knew immediately that she was talking about Antony.”

  “You never mentioned John Duncan in our jail cell visits,” Lance noted with a hint of a glare.

  I thought back to my trips to the police station. He was right. John Duncan had never come up. “It wasn’t intentional. I had so much to fill you in on that I guess I forgot.”

  “Don’t worry, darling.” Lance patted my back. “It happens to the best of us.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Lance ignored my response. “What Brock didn’t realize is that I knew all about John’s past. He confessed everything to me. You should have seen his first audition. I can count on my hands the number of times that I’ve seen the level of raw emotion that came through. After the audition when I asked him what he had tapped into, it came spilling out. He told me that he had been trapped by his upbringing. Stuck in a world he didn’t want to be part of. He left for theater school and left John Duncan behind. I think that’s something we can understand, isn’t it?” Lance dabbed the corner of his eye. “John’s story rang true for me. I’ve been trying to outrun my past for years.”

  “You have?”

  Lance waved me off. “That is a story for another day.”

  I wanted to press him, but his demeanor shifted. “Back to John Duncan; I made a mistake. I had a soft spot for him and then he turned into a monster. The attention went to his head. It felt like a slap in the face after I gave him a shot, knowing what he’d come from. Our company is diverse and diversity has to include all, right? Even someone like John who had made a mistake in his past.”

  I nodded. “Why was Brock sitting alone on the stage? I don’t get it.”

  “For dramatics, of course. If I had to be locked up in a stuffy broom closet I figured Brock owed me. Why not add a touch of flair to the big reveal?” Lance let out a small chuckle. “I told him to meet me on the stage with nothing more than a flashlight. Then I tempted him with the promise of a huge payout. Detective Kerry and I crafted our plot carefully. And I’ll have you know it was all my idea—I lured him to the stage under the guise of a cash reward for info on his old pal. Little did he know that he was the payout.”

  Classic Lance. “How did you find the DVD and how did you convince Detective Kerry, Thomas, and the Professor to meet you here?”

  “That was e
asy. The Professor found the DVD in the park. Apparently, thanks to you. Word is you had a late-night escape that led him to the search area. Once he found it, he deduced that Brock had planned to destroy it, but must have gotten spooked. Probably by a white-tailed deer.” He laughed. “That would be justice, wouldn’t it?”

  “The Professor wasn’t allowed to be part of the investigation, though.”

  “I know. That didn’t stop him from sleuthing. It’s in his blood. It’s like pastry for you.”

  “Where did he find it?” Thomas must have called him that night. I wondered if they had gone back to the duck pond later.

  Lance shrugged. “No idea.”

  I thought about the Professor saying he was working “underground.” Had one of his sources come through? “So I’m still not entirely clear why Brock killed Antony. He didn’t want anyone to see what was on the DVD?”

  “Apparently, and he might have had a fair point.”

  “What?” I looked at him in shock.

  “No, I don’t mean in killing him, but he had fair reason to be concerned. We have a strict policy on discrimination at OSF. It’s one of the guiding principles of the theater. Everyone is welcome onstage, backstage, in the cheap seats, and the box seats. I pride myself and this company on our ability to be inclusive. While I wouldn’t have fired Tracy for getting pregnant, I would most certainly have fired Brock for that hateful language.”

  I shuddered to think about the terrible language we heard on the video and that Brock had felt the need to take the most drastic measure to silence it. I almost felt sorry for him. Had he realized his mistake, too? I have always chosen to believe the best about people. Perhaps they were simply a product of their environment.

  That had been one of the most amazing gifts of my time at sea. My horizons had literally and figuratively expanded. Connecting with my colleagues from every corner of the globe had made our spinning planet feel smaller.

  “Would you have fired him for sure?” I asked. “What if he changed?”

  “People don’t change, Juliet.”

  “That’s not fair. Of course they do. Everyone changes. We all learn and grow.”

  Lance huffed. “Oh, to be so naïve.”

  I socked him in the shoulder.

  He rubbed his arm in mock pain. “Darling, let’s not fight. Maybe you’re right. Maybe people can change, but trust me, Brock’s intention to murder John had nothing to do with OSF. He came here intentionally, I think to blackmail John, but John must have turned the tables on him. John came clean with me, but Brock didn’t know that. So John used that against him. He blackmailed Brock, and Brock must have had enough. Ah, the irony.”

  I had to admit that made more sense than Brock being worried about getting fired.

  Lance stood. “What’s done is done.” He reached for my hand and pulled me up. “And the most important news of the day is that yours truly is back and all is right with the world again.”

  We left the theater. Lance returned to his office and I went in search of Thomas and the Professor. I was glad that Antony’s killer had been caught and happy that Lance was free, but I felt unsettled about how things had ended. Antony had been killed over words. There had to be another way, and unlike Lance, I refused to believe that people couldn’t change.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  We reconvened later at Torte. Twinkle lights and antique street lamps glowed in the otherwise dark plaza. Mom brought a platter of sandwiches and pot of coffee to the dining room. We pushed two tables together and gathered around for a late-evening snack and to hash out everything that had happened.

  The Professor and Thomas looked relieved.

  Mom poured cups of coffee and passed around cream and sugar. “Don’t be shy. I made too many sandwiches because I wasn’t sure how hungry you would be and whether Detective Kerry or Lance might join us.”

  Thomas reached for a salami and provolone sandwich with thinly sliced pickles and marinated peppers. “I’m starving.”

  “Exactly,” Mom said with a smile. “I figured you might eat the entire tray.”

  “Leave it to me, Mrs. Capshaw. I’m at your service.”

  The Professor took a roasted turkey with dill Havarti. “I don’t know if Detective Kerry will join us, but I did extend the offer.”

  “Are you back on the case?” Mom asked.

  “Yes. Well, technically, no. She’ll close the investigation, but thankfully with Antony’s killer apprehended, she’s able to share information freely.”

  “I can’t believe Brock killed him over an old video.”

  “That was pretty inflammatory language, Jules.” Thomas chomped his sandwich. “And, don’t forget money. Money makes people do crazy things.”

  “I know. I agree. Absolutely, but it makes me sad, all the same.”

  “Ah, yes.” The Professor removed his glasses and tucked them in the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. “But you, Juliet, see the world in color and varying shades of gray. I’ve learned through my years of observing people and behaviors that those who see in black-and-white—like Brock—are much less likely to understand that their choices are infinite.”

  “Yeah.” I nodded and helped myself to a turkey sandwich. “What’s going to happen to him?”

  “We’ll know more as the case unfolds,” the Professor said. “He’ll get a fair trial.”

  “Do you think he planned to kill Antony—sorry—John?”

  “No. I would say with certainty that wasn’t his plan. My guess is that he felt threatened. We know that John was blackmailing him, and have the bank statements to prove it. I believe that Brock tired of it and refused to keep paying him, but John wouldn’t let it go.”

  “Wouldn’t the video have damaged John’s career, too?” Mom asked.

  The Professor stirred cream into his coffee. “Yes, but John’s stock had risen so high within OSF that he decided it was worth the risk. And our friend Lance already knew about his blemished past.”

  “Lance was right all along,” Mom interjected.

  “Indeed. This might be a case of John’s ego inflating to the point that he believed himself infallible. You know what the Bard says: ‘What’s past is prologue.’”

  “I wonder whether Lance’s frustrations and challenges at OSF are really due to John?” Mom said aloud.

  “That remains a mystery,” the Professor replied, pausing to take a bite of sandwich. “It could be that John thought that even though the video was unflattering, he could smooth-talk his way out of it should any of the board members have ever found out.”

  That made sense. “Do you think that John was responsible for the board turning on Lance?” I asked.

  “I find it more than coincidental that John’s ascent paralleled Lance’s decline.”

  Thomas grabbed another sandwich. “You know, for a while there I wasn’t sure if Lance was telling the truth or was completely off his rocker.”

  I held my coffee up to him in a toast. “You and me both.”

  The Professor topped off his coffee.

  “How do you think Brock did it?” I asked.

  “Do you mean how he killed John?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the Professor’s theory and yet I needed closure.

  “This is speculation, of course, but I think that John tracked down Brock on the night of the party in hopes of upping his payment or maybe requesting a new favor. Maybe Brock brought the DVD with him as collateral. I suspect that they fought and Brock stabbed him.”

  “With the dagger?” I interrupted.

  “Ah, no.” The Professor pressed his hands together. “Thank you for reminding me. As a matter of fact, the dagger found in his abdomen was nothing more than a prop.”

  I thought about Brock’s costume and the fake dagger strapped on his gold belt.

  “John was killed with a much smaller blade. A hunting knife.”

  “Lance always talks about keeping the drama on the stage, but I don’t think he was successful th
is time. John was blackmailing Brock, Judy was using her knowledge about the fight she overheard to gain favors from John, and then there was a secret pregnancy and marriage.” I rubbed my temples.

  “The Bard would be envious,” the Professor joked.

  Mom encouraged us to finish off the sandwiches. “I made chocolate cream pie with my special crunchy cookie crust. Eat up.”

  “Hey, what’s the scoop with wedding plans?” Thomas asked, changing the subject.

  I was glad for the shift in tone.

  The Professor and Mom shared a look. “Who knows,” they said in unison and then laughed.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” Thomas caught my eye.

  “No, no. It’s nothing between us. We’re happier than we’ve ever been, aren’t we, Doug?” Mom’s eyes lit up as she reached across the table for his hand.

  “Yes, my dear Helen. I now understand why Shakespeare wrote so many sonnets.”

  “What’s the problem then?” Thomas took the last sandwich on the platter.

  “The problem is finding a venue big enough for the entire town.” Mom stood and picked up the empty platter. “I think it’s going to have to be Lithia Park.”

  A small shiver ran up my spine. As much as I loved the park I couldn’t erase the memory of watching Thomas, the Professor, and the search team sweep the area for John’s body. I wondered if they were thinking the same thing from the way Thomas focused on his sandwich and the Professor’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.

  “Let me grab the pie,” Mom said, and turned toward the kitchen.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked softly, although I doubted she could hear me.

  The Professor gave me a quick nod. “The park feels, how shall I put it? Tainted? However, I do not want to ruin your mother’s wishes and dreams. Therefore, should we be unable to secure another venue, let’s all make a pact that we shall never speak of this again.”

  We each put our hands in the middle of the table and shook.

  “Right,” Thomas added. “The park is already back to normal. It’s not like John’s spirit is going to hang around and haunt it or anything.”