Case of the Muffin Murders

by Jeffrey M. Poole

  “Nuts,” I grumbled. “This was a waste of time. I was really hoping we could see the video of Megan Landers and Lucy Malone in your store, Taylor. I’m sorry we wasted your time.”

  “Megan Landers?” Taylor repeated. Her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “She was in here five days ago.”

  “Do you remember everyone who walks through your door?” I asked, impressed.

  Taylor shook her head, “No, not really. However, I will remember anyone who stands out like that.”

  Jillian and I shared a look.

  “Stands out? How did Ms. Landers stand out?”

  “She claimed a specialty cake I made for her wasn’t made correctly. She demanded I give her the cake for free since I screwed up her friend’s birthday cake.”

  Jillian groaned, “Tell me you didn’t agree to give it away for free.”

  Taylor shrugged helplessly, “What was I supposed to do? She was causing a scene and I just wanted her out of the store.”

  “And this was five days ago?” I asked, just to make sure there wasn’t any room for confusion. I knew Vance would ask me if I was certain, and I wanted to be able to say that I asked twice.

  “Yes. I’m still sore about what happened with that woman. I know I didn’t mess up her cake, since I took the order myself. I know full well what she asked for.”

  “Was she always that cranky?” I asked, frowning. “She definitely sounds like someone I wouldn’t want to be around.”

  Taylor shrugged, “She’s been in here a few times before. Nothing remarkable has ever happened that I can remember.”

  “What about you?” I asked, looking over at Jillian. “You say you know everyone in town. Did you know her?”

  “Not well,” Jillian admitted. “I knew her only in passing.”

  “Did you think she was a grouch?”

  Jillian looked at me and shook her head, “No. She was probably just having a bad day, Zachary. It can happen, you know.”

  “I guess. And I don’t suppose you know anything about Lucy Malone, do you?” I hopefully asked as I returned my attention to Taylor.

  Jillian’s friend gave a short, pronounced laugh.

  “Lucy Malone. One doesn’t readily forget her, that’s for sure. Let’s see. It was the day I received my shipment of supplies. I was unloading sacks of flour and cake flour, when the commotion began. Lucy was laying into Sean, one of my employees, fairly heavily, and I put a stop to it. I told her to act her age and to not make unwelcome advances on anyone, let alone a minor child.”

  “Yep, that’s Legs Malone all right,” I said.

  I suppressed a shudder. A seventy year-old woman hitting on a high schooler? Seek professional help, Legs. Oh, that’s right. You won’t be bothering any more people with your unwelcome advances, will you?

  “When did this happen?” Jillian wanted to know.

  “Four days ago, on Monday.”

  “Megan was in here five days ago, and four days later, she’s dead,” I mumbled to myself. “Legs, er, Lucy, was in here four days ago, and now, four days later, she’s dead.”

  “Coincidence?” Jillian softly asked.

  I shrugged, “I’m not sure. I’ll let Vance know. He’s the detective here, not me. I think this is what the dogs were trying to tell me. They wanted me to focus on those wrapper, er, cup things and find the common denominator here.”

  I pulled out my cell, intent on calling Vance. Instead, at that exact moment, my phone rang. Well, speak of the devil.

  “Hey, Vance. I’ve got something I think you’ll be interested in. It’s about the case. Listen, those wrapper things that we… what? Oh, man. Hold on.” I switched the phone to speaker and held a finger to my lips as I looked at the girls. “Would you say that again?”

  “We’ve got another one, Zack. We’ve got a third 10-55.”

  NINE

  “Well, do we know what the Cause of Death is yet?” I asked, as soon as I answered Vance’s call. No doubt, he was wondering where I was.

  I should backtrack just a bit. Twenty minutes ago I had picked up the dogs with the intent to head towards the third crime scene to befall PV in as many days. Jillian elected to stay with Taylor, which I thought was a good idea, and I had taken off not long after to pick up the Dynamic Duo. Now, in case you’re wondering, no, I won’t be able to investigate the crime scene until the team of crime techs has finished processing the scene. However, since this makes the third murder in less than 72 hours, Captain Nelson had called in every single officer that had any type of crime scene experience whatsoever. The captain tasked them with processing the evidence just as fast as humanly possible.

  I personally think Captain Nelson was anxious for the dogs to get inside the house to see if anything worthwhile could be found. I knew Vance had filled him in on what we had found thus far. It wasn’t much, mind you, but we were making progress. We had a new lead, one that the Pomme Valley PD hadn’t explored yet, only that lead led straight to Taylor. I was convinced she had nothing to do with any of the murders, and that it was a freak coincidence. However, that didn’t explain the dogs’ behavior. Both Sherlock and Watson had zeroed in on the trash can almost immediately. Yes, coffee cups from Wired Coffee & Café had been found at the first two, but so had those muffin wrappers. Baking cups. Whatever. Anyway, that had to account for something. However, I still hadn’t told Vance yet, and it was really starting to trouble me.

  “The CoD has not been identified yet,” Vance told me. “We won’t have the official word until the ME has conducted an autopsy.”

  “Any guesses?” I warily asked.

  “Yeah. Theories are running rampant at the moment. But for the time being, they’re saying that our VIC died as a result from anaphylactic reactions.”

  “English, please.”

  “Umm, severe allergic reactions.”

  “Allergic reactions? Really? To what?”

  “We won’t know until the autopsy has been completed.”

  “Ah. Okay, so how soon before we’ll be able to get in the house? I’m assuming it’ll be quick, ‘cause you already asked me to grab the dogs and head over.”

  “It’ll be within the hour, Zack. Captain Nelson is pulling out all the stops and is dedicating every available officer into processing this crime scene. He seems to think you and the dogs are on to something, and he’s anxious to see what they can find.”

  “Roger that. We’ll be on scene in about ten minutes, if I can find the friggin’ place.”

  “For the love of God, use your damn cell phone! Ask the vocal assistant to give you directions. You’ll probably save a thousand barrels of oil a year if you cut down all your useless wandering in that gas guzzler of yours.”

  “Bite me, dude.”

  Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to yet another house decorated with the familiar yellow crime scene tape stretching from one end of the house to the other. Police cars were pretty much parked everywhere. Even fire trucks and ambulances were present.

  It would appear that when Captain Nelson got pissed, everyone felt his wrath. I can only assume the good captain got his ass reamed by the mayor. Three deaths in a single week didn’t look good, no matter how low your crime rates were. I wouldn’t be surprised if the governor himself had reached out to the captain to inquire just what the hell was going on. It might explain why Captain Nelson was acting like he now had a fire under his ass.

  When we were finally allowed in, which was actually an hour and a half later, we were told that the home owner, one Mr. Paul Timmons, was actually something of a celebrity. Well, that may have been a stretch. Apparently Mr. Timmons was a freelance sports columnist. He was responsible for several columns in the Portland Tribune.

  Paul Timmons – according to his biography on the Tribune’s staff page – was a health and fitness nut. He ate only organic food (why would anyone put that in their biography???), exercised five days a week (seriously, why put yourself through that?), and enjoyed hiking. He was a nature buff, and had hiked
all over the state. It even said he had competed in at least a dozen marathons over the past five years.

  “Nut job,” I crossly muttered to myself.

  “What was that?” Vance asked, as he walked through the open front door.

  He spotted Sherlock and Watson and immediately dug into his pockets, looking for biscuits.

  “This guy was a fitness freak. He walked, ran, jogged, competed in marathons, ate only organic food, and so on. Why in the hell would anyone do that to themselves?”

  “What if it was medically necessary?” Vance asked.

  My mouth closed with a snap, “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that angle. You’re right. What if he had some sort of medical scare, and now wanted to do what was best for his body?”

  “The autopsy should tell us if anything was out of the ordinary. If he did die from an allergic reaction, then I want to know from what.”

  “You and me both.”

  Once the dogs had finished crunching through their treats, Vance stood and beckoned to me, indicating I should follow him. The dogs and I fell into step behind him as he led us through the three bedroom, three bathroom ranch house. The dogs didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything in that house. I was beginning to think that maybe we might be in the wrong house when we started to walk by the kitchen to check the dining room. Sherlock almost immediately applied the brakes. His nose swung back to my left and he instantly tugged on the leash. Yep, you guessed it. He wanted to check out the kitchen.

  “Twenty bucks says he goes straight to the trash can first,” I said, giving Vance a friendly nudge on the shoulder.

  “Nuh uh. No bet unless you’d like to wager Sherlock won’t go to the trash can first.”

  “No bet,” I laughed.

  “Where is the trash can?” Vance wanted to know. He approached the kitchen sink, checked the cabinets underneath, and when he didn’t find the garbage receptacle, dubiously looked back at me.

  I pointed at the end of the counter, “Its right there.”

  “It’s right where?” Vance demanded. “I don’t see any trash cans here.”

  “How about the big cabinet that says, ‘Trash’?”

  “Why would people want to put their trash inside a cabinet?” Vance asked, in a bewildered tone. “It’s messy, smells bad, and is hard to clean.”

  “Hey, you just described my trash can. I have one of these things, too.”

  Vance grunted once and pointed in the opposite direction.

  “You check things out in here. I’m going that way to look around the rest of the house. Remember, if you or the dogs spot anything, let me know. I don’t have to remind you that the eyes of everyone in Oregon happen to be on us right now. No one likes to hear of a murder spree, especially in a small town like this. No, the only thing the general public wants to hear is that the bad guy has been caught.”

  “Roger that. Sherlock? Watson? It’s time to do your thing. Come on. Do you two want to check out the trash can or not?”

  Sherlock practically yanked my arm out of its socket as he pulled me over to the garbage receptacle. He reared up on his hind legs and scratched at the door. Almost immediately, Vance poked his head back into the room. He took one look at Sherlock pawing at the trash can and grinned.

  “Damn. You called it. So, what’s in the trash can?”

  “Nothing the crime scene techs haven’t already seen,” I assured my detective friend.

  “Be that as it may, they purposely left it behind to see if either of those two take any notice of it.”

  I pointed at Sherlock, who was still standing upright on his comically short hind legs, “Well, I’d say that definitely qualifies as catching his interest. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.”

  I waited for Vance to snap on a pair of latex gloves and pull out the plastic bin full of trash. He began to gently poke around the insides of the can. “Coffee grounds. That’s nasty. One empty package of pizza rolls. Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought our fitness nut would willingly eat those.”

  “A secret obsession?” I guessed. “You have to admit, those little boogers are tasty as hell.”

  “But seriously bad for you,” Vance returned. “I don’t see any coffee cups. I guess that means Daryl would appear to be off the hook. Damn it! There’s gotta be something in here that’ll tie Daryl Benson to this scene. Do you see anything?”

  I wrinkled my nose at the smell of days-old garbage. I didn’t see anything from Wired Coffee & Café, but unfortunately, I did see something worth mentioning. There, next to the empty pizza rolls wrapper, was what looked like another crumpled muffin cup, complete with a wadded up brown paper bag with Farmhouse Bakery emblazoned on the side.

  “I don’t see anything about coffee in there,” I slowly began.

  “Shit,” Vance swore. “I was really hoping we were on to something. Well, so much for that theory. We’ve got squat.”

  “No, not exactly.”

  Vance turned to give me a sidelong glance, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Our original theory was that Daryl Benson is somehow involved,” I recalled.

  Vance nodded, “Right. What about it?”

  “There’s another theory, and it, er, is still holding strong.”

  “What? Are you working another angle to this case? Damn it, Zack! What the hell are you doing that for? Have I not made it clear that you report to me on these cases?”

  “Before you blow a gasket,” I hastily replied, “let me show you something.” I brought up the pictures of the baking cups from the first two crime scenes on my phone and showed them to my friend. “Remember these? From that duplex and then the second crime scene?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t this what Sherlock was playing with the first time?”

  “Right. Turns out that’s a muffin cup.”

  “Ok. What about it?”

  “And this one? See the wrapper next to the energy drink can? It’s another muffin wrapper.”

  Vance frowned as he studied the picture. He switched between the two pictures a few times before he handed my cell back to me. He slowly turned to look down at the trash can. There, right on top in plain view, was a third muffin cup wrapper. He pointed at it.

  “That’s another one of those muffin cup things, isn’t it?”

  I nodded, “It’s one of Taylor Adam’s, from Farmhouse Bakery.”

  “Is it, now?” Vance straightened and began pacing around the confines of the kitchen. “How long have you known about this?”

  “The muffin cups? Since dinner last night.”

  “That was over 12 hours ago, buddy. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Oh, this gets worse, I’m afraid,” I sullenly added. “Jillian and I went to Taylor’s this morning.”

  “What?! Without me?”

  “I was determined to prove Taylor had nothing to do with it. I’m still convinced she’s innocent, but…”

  “But what?” Vance demanded. “Now’s not the time to be holding out on me, Zack.”

  “When we confronted Taylor, I…”

  “We?” Vance interrupted. “Who was with you? Oh. It was Jillian, wasn’t it?”

  I nodded, “Yes. I’m sorry, I should have let you know. It’s just that…”

  “Finish your thought from earlier. You said you’re still convinced Taylor has nothing to do with this, but… but what?”

  “Oh. When Jillian and Taylor were talking – Taylor was very upset – I had a chance to look around the store. I noticed a security system.”

  For the first time since I’ve seen him today, Vance smiled.

  “Good. There’s a piece of good news.”

  “No, that isn’t good news. The security system had been tampered with. Someone reset the configuration settings on it, so it hadn’t been recording anything for over a week.”

  “What? Taylor erased the data?”

  “I watched her closely. She was absolutely shocked by what she found. She admitted to me that she rarely has to open that de
sk up. The recorder saves everything on interchangeable hard drives, which she says she changes out every six weeks or so.”

  “Do you believe her?” Vance suddenly asked.

  “About not knowing anything about her security system being tampered with? Actually, yes, I do.”

  “Only, there’s no proof, is there? It’s her word against ours.”

  I groaned and thought of Jillian’s friend, struggling with mounting financial problems, failing appliances at her bakery, and now this.

  “This doesn’t look good for Taylor, does it?”

  “No, it does not. Zack, I’m sorry. I have to call this in. I’m under strict orders from the captain.”

  While Vance briefed his captain about the discovery in the trash, I walked the dogs through the house a final time, just to see if there was anything we might have missed the first time around. There wasn’t. The corgis only perked up whenever we neared the kitchen.

  By the time we made it back to Vance, he had finished his phone call and had a grim look on his face.

  “What’d the captain have to say?”

  “He wants us down at the bakery, like yesterday. We need to have a little chat with Taylor Adams.”

  “Stay here, guys. I’ll be right back.”

  Sherlock had stepped up onto the armrest and was staring through the windows, at the front of the bakery. Watson decided whatever her packmate was looking at was good enough for her, so a few minutes later, she was also looking through the window.

  It was now closer to 11am and there was a steady line of foot traffic going through the bakery. The lunch crowd had arrived and were eagerly snapping up leftover bagels from the breakfast hours and turning them into sandwiches. Cookies, cupcakes, pound cake, and just about anything else in Taylor’s primary display case was quickly emptied. One of the young employees, a skinny boy with dark curly hair and thicker than usual eyebrows, was kept busy restocking the case.

  I noticed Jillian was still here, and was chatting quietly with Taylor at one of the tables. She saw the two of us enter the bakery and immediately laid a hand on her friend’s arm. Taylor quickly looked over at us and her eyes filled.