But now, as he was preparing to leave, she knew she couldn’t let him go without talking to him about his visitors from the day before.
“Dexter,” she began, hoping she sounded more like a friend and less like a demeaning boss, “two men stopped by here yesterday looking for you.”
His back was to her but she noticed how his movements slowed before regaining their pace.
“Oh? Did they say what they wanted?”
“Only that they wanted to talk with you. They said they were concerned friends. Does that ring any bells?”
“Nah. I mean, it could have been anyone.” He turned around and flashed an impish smile at her. “I make friends easily.”
Somehow she didn't think that was the reason for these men or their gruff appearance. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
His eyebrows rose. “No. Did they say that I was?” He looked genuinely concerned.
“No, but I guess…” She shrugged. “They looked…governmental.”
He laughed at this. “I don't think I know what that means.”
“Suits. Sunglasses. That type of thing. My husband was a detective for many years—I know law enforcement of some kind when I see it.”
“But they didn’t say they were, did they?”
“No.”
“Well, sorry to say it, but I don’t know who these guys were.”
She noted the way he didn’t say he didn’t know what they wanted, only that he didn’t know them. Was that a calculation on his part or was she reading into it?
“Right.”
“Look…” He picked up his satchel, the one he was never without, and tossed it over his shoulder. “Anyone can find anyone on the internet these days. Maybe they’d met me at one of the other bakeries I worked at. Maybe they are fans of my incredible baking skills.” He grinned rakishly, but she thought it looked forced.
Though his answers still didn’t satisfy her, something he said caught her attention. “Just how easy is it to find someone?”
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She tugged at the lapel of her sweater, debating. “I mean, I know you can Google someone—even yourself—but what if you needed to find someone and it wasn’t easy to find them? Are there ways around that?”
“There are. Why do you ask?” he said, looking genuinely interested.
“Bentley talked about a friend of his from the past. I…I was wondering if I could find out more about her and her brother. I’m not really sure where to begin, though—how to narrow it down—but I think it might help him to find these people. Maybe…” She trailed off, unsure if she was doing this for Bentley or for more information regarding the deaths. Or was it a combination of both?
“Yeah?”
“He seemed to really like this woman…” Not to mention the fact that men from that time in Bentley’s life were dying off like fruit flies and she had a feeling they hadn’t heard the last of that. “I don’t know,” she finished lamely.
Dexter shrugged. “If I could get their names and some other relevant info—maybe where he knew them from and stuff like that—I could see what I could find.”
“You think so?”
A look Margot couldn’t place passed behind his eyes. “Yeah. I’m pretty good with stuff like that.”
Here she was, at a crossroads between helping and meddling, then again, it was ultimately to help Bentley. “I’ll see what info I can get you.”
“Great.” He stepped toward the door. “And, Margot? Don’t worry about those guys. I’m sure you’ve seen the last of them.”
She watched him go, thinking that may be true, but wondering if he had seen the last of them too.
Chapter 4
Margot turned off her alarm, the blaring noise loud and jarring in the stillness of the early morning. It was still dark, but she was used to that. It was always dark when she woke up for work.
After showering, eating a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, orange juice, and a banana, she pulled all of her things together and headed out the door. She had to run back in to grab her Krav Maga bag since her class would happen after work and she wouldn’t have time to come home to change, and then she was off to the bakery.
At this hour of day, no one was out. She was used to the quiet nature of the streets at this time and relished the warm breeze coming through the car window she’d put partially down. It wasn’t quite summer, the hotter temperatures threatening to come soon, but it was still warm enough to enjoy.
She breathed in deeply and thought about Bentley. She hoped that she was wrong, but something kept poking her in the back of her mind. Something about how his friends from that one, albeit fateful, summer were passing away. It was only two people, and she couldn’t jump to conclusions, but she was afraid they would soon hear that Harrison had succumbed to the same fate.
Then again, who would be responsible for something like this? It seemed the four men were targets, but she had nothing to base that on. Was wealth a motivator? She chided herself for jumping to conclusions again. There was nothing to say the two deaths were linked, though she had asked Adam to look into them to see. She hadn’t heard back on if he’d been able to find out anything, though.
Then she thought about Dexter and his offer to help her find Melinda and her brother Sean. Could she go through with finding out more about them without Bentley knowing? Or should she just tell him honestly that she was having someone look into finding them? Part of her wanted it to be a surprise—should the news be good, of course. But what if it wasn't? Wouldn’t it be better that he never knew she’d looked for his lost love?
But she had other motivations for following up on them. As the only other players in this summer of fun, she wondered if they were still alive or if—no, there she went again, jumping to conclusions.
She turned onto Main Street and pulled into her parking space, mind still lost on what she should do. Maneuvering to grab her bags from the backseat, her hand stilled on the straps. Behind her, three car lengths away, an unmarked black sedan sat alone. She hadn’t noticed it when she pulled up, but now she saw that, though the windows were tinted, someone sat in the front seat. Or were there two people? It was hard to tell.
Her heart began to thud in her chest. If her eyes hadn’t tricked her, then they were there but still in the car. Her mind immediately conjured a picture of the two men. It was possible the man behind the steering wheel had looked like Shades. Or was her mind just playing tricks on her? And why would government officials follow her? Granted, she didn’t know if they were with the government. Some other type of organization then?
She shook her head and her hand clasped the handles of her bags, pulling them over to the front. Her gaze flew to the rearview mirror, but she couldn’t see anything in the darkness. The streetlights illuminated the space just behind her, which made it all the more difficult to see into the other car.
Closing her eyes briefly, she took in a breath and opened the car door. She wouldn’t look back and give away the fact that she’d seen anything—if in fact she had or hadn’t already given that fact away—but she would be aware. Her key was positioned just so, as a self-defense instructor had showed her, and her bags were ready to drop at a moment’s notice.
Without seeming to rush, she made her way quickly to the bakery’s front door and unlocked it, ready to punch the panic button on the alarm should it be necessary, but nothing happened. No one came out of the car and no one came up to her.
She breathed a sigh of relief, re-locked the door, and then alarmed the doors again with her STAY feature that would allow her to walk around inside but still keep the doors and windows alarmed. She immediately felt better—after—but now she was beginning to wonder if she’d made it all up. Had she really seen someone in the car? Or…
She bit her lip, unhappy that there hadn’t been a license plate on the front of the car. She wanted to look out the window but from the angle of where the car had parked, no window in the shop would show it. Had
they known that when parking there?
“Calm down, Margot,” she said to herself. She shouldn’t assume anything. This whole notion about Bentley and his past coming back to haunt him had her on edge. It was of her own doing, though, and she needed to calm down.
Making sure her window shades were still drawn, she entered the kitchen and began her morning routine—ovens turned on, butter out to warm up to room temperature, and classical music filling the air. She began to relax—mostly.
When it was time to open the shop, she had accomplished more than she’d set out to, blaming it on her lack of time in the kitchen the last few mornings, and she went to open the front door.
She licked dry lips, happy to see a few people out and about on the sidewalks. Even Phyllis Henderson, owner of the pet shop a few doors down, was out with one of the dogs and Margot smiled to herself thinking that, should anything remotely strange happen, Phyllis would be keen on reporting it to anyone—and everyone—who asked her. Margot and her friend Tamera had found that out the hard way when Tamera’s husband was accused of murder and Phyllis had claimed to be a witness.
But that was in the past and Margot needed to focus on the present and the realty that she was going to peek around the corner to look after the car. She knew she would easily be spotted, but she had to see.
Turning off the alarm, she unlocked the door, turned the closed sign to open, and then quickly stepped out into the rich morning air. One glance up the street and she saw that it was empty. The car was gone.
Part of her was relieved; the other wondered what she’d really observed. Had someone been watching her? Or perhaps her shop? Had they thought that, like the other mornings, Dexter was coming in? Or had she made the whole thing up?
“Morning,” Phyllis said, the pug sniffing at Margot’s tennis shoes.
“Morning, Phyllis.”
The woman kept walking and Margot stepped back into the shop, wondering just what she’d seen and if she’d made it all up.
“Where’s Bentley?” Rosie’s deep, rich voice held a note of concern that made Margot look up from where she was picking out special cartons from an ordering sheet for her Mother’s Day sale.
“What?”
“Bentley. It’s half past eleven.”
Margot stood up, stretching her back. “Already? Where has the morning gone?” Her stomach grumbled in response and she stifled a grin. “Maybe he wasn’t feeling up to it.”
“Told me yesterday he’d be here. I even offered to give him a ride back if you’d let me.”
Margot’s brow creased with concern. “Of course I would. But…he didn’t show up?”
Rosie shook her head.
Concern nipped at the back of Margot’s mind, but she quieted it. He was a grown man; he could change his mind. Still…
“I’ll give him a call.”
“Already did about an hour ago, and again just now. Nothing.”
Now that did have Margot worried. But still, sometimes his phone’s ringer got turned off and he didn’t realize it. Before she went into full panic mode, she formed a plan.
“How about this—I’ll go grab lunch for him and I and stop by his place. Mind watching the shop?”
“Not at all. Will you text me when you get there—just so I know he’s all right?”
Margot smiled back at the woman. “Of course. But I’m sure there’s no need to worry.”
She nodded, not looking convinced, and Margot went into her office to get her purse.
After stopping by the local deli to grab sandwiches, she headed over to Bentley’s. She’d thought about sending Adam a text earlier to tell him about the strange car, but she’d decided against it. He’d think she was looking for trouble and, without any proof, she could agree with him.
Now, arriving at Bentley’s apartment building, she pulled out the bag with the sandwiches, chips, and two bottles of diet soda and made her way to his door.
A little out of breath from racing up the stairs, she raised a fist to knock. Her body tensed—had she heard a muffled groan? No, that couldn’t have been it. She knocked again, calling out, “Bentley? It’s Margot.”
Another noise that sounded like a footstep, but no one opened the door.
“Bentley? Are you all right? We’ve been calling you. If you don’t answer, I'm going to go get Missus Welker and she’ll open this door—you know she will.” Margot felt foolish, like she was acting like a parent, but she had a bad feeling.
She raised her fist to knock again when the door opened a crack. The face that came into view wasn’t Bentley’s and she took a step back, ready to drop the bag of food and use her Krav Maga skills if she had to.
“I am Bentley’s son. He’s ill. You must leave.”
Her eyebrows narrowed at the man and his accented speech. “Bentley doesn't have a son.” And you’re not American, she mentally added.
The man frowned, looking stumped. Then she heard someone else behind him and he disappeared from view. The door opened wider to reveal an elderly gentleman wearing an expensive suit and holding an unlit cigar in one hand.
“I’ve been told you won’t leave.”
“Not until I see Bentley,” she said. “Where is he?”
“I’m fine,” he said, coming up behind the man and leaning heavily on his cane. “Had a relapse of the back injury this morning is all. Come on in, Margot.”
“Bentley, I must insist—”
“Margot is my dearest friend, you can trust her, Harry.”
“I can’t trust anyone.” Bentley looked at him for a long time before he tossed the hand holding the cigar in a dismissive motion. “Fine.”
Bentley winked at her and held the door open further. “Glad you brought lunch. I’m starved.”
Margot narrowed her eyes in the dim light of the room. All of the shades were drawn and only a side table lamp was lit. Placing the bag on the table, she watched as Bentley sat in a chair and then turned her gaze first to the large man leaning against the wall in the corner. He had burly arms that were crossed as if to accentuate his muscles, and his eyes were deep and filled with an emotion Margot couldn’t quite place. Anger? Boredom? Ignorance?
Then she turned her attention to the older man who had greeted her at the door. “You must be Harrison Douglas.”
The man who had just sat down at the table as well jolted to his feet. “What is this, Ben? You tell her about me? You tell someone else too so that they can take us both in one shot?”
Her eyebrows rose as the other man pushed off the wall, as if he needed to intervene.
“He didn’t say a word—aside from telling part of your story to me the other day.”
“She’s observant,” Bentley said. “Sometimes too much for her own good,” he added as an afterthought.
“Who are you?” Harrison demanded.
“I’m a baker.”
He let out a laugh that sounded more like a bark. “Who are you really?”
“A French pastry chef, to be specific. And a friend of Bentley’s. As I’ve already surmised, you’re Harrison Douglas. And you are?” she asked of the man who had taken up his position against the wall again.
“That’s Nils. He’s my bodyguard.”
It fit, but Margot had so many other questions. As she opened her mouth to ask, Bentley interrupted.
“Sit down. Let’s eat and I’ll explain.”
Bentley described how his morning had started off, giving way too much detail but in a fashion she was used to with him. Then, as if unable to stand the slow pace of the conversation, Harrison burst in.
“Good grief, Ben, get to the point.”
Bentley’s eyebrows rose. “By all means, be my guest.”
“I'm running for my life, Missus Durand,” he said, leveling his gaze on her. “I’d heard about Tony’s passing and, while I found it interesting, I wasn’t alarmed. But then…” He shook his head. “I found out about Russ. It was too much. I know it has something to do with our days back on the Majesty.”
“The what?” she asked.
“Her Majesty’s Glory—or just Majesty for short—was the ship we were all on. We worked for King’s Scuba and he named the few boats he had with some royal connection.”
Margot filed this information away to later convey to Dexter, thankful she wouldn’t have to try and pry details from Bentley without his knowing.
“Are you sure it's not just some coincidence?”
Harrison shook his head. “No. I’ve got a feeling.” He thumped his chest. “That’s why I hired him.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Nils and then popped the unlit cigar back in the corner of his mouth.
“That’s why I’m going to let them stay.”
“What?” Margot turned toward Bentley, who had just finished off his sandwich and was reaching for one of the pastries she’d brought from the bakery.
“I’ve offered Harrison my guest room and Nils the couch while we figure this out. Is there any chance you can get that fella of yours over here to talk about our options?”
It took Margot a moment to realize whom Bentley was speaking of, but she nodded. “I’ll call Adam and—”
“Who’s that?” Harrison said around the cigar.
“Never you mind,” Bentley protested. “He’s a good guy. He can help. Now you,” he said, turning back to Margot, “head back to that shop of yours. You’ve got a business to run. Come by later tonight with Adam and we’ll chat.”
She had the distinct feeling that Bentley was subtly—and yet not so subtly—avoiding telling Harrison who Adam was. She wondered at the reason, but nodded and stood.
“I’ll come back with dinner.” She looked to the two men. “Any requests?”
Nils perked up but Harrison waved at her. “Whatever is fine.”
Margot gave Bentley a peck on the cheek and then slipped out the door. She had to get back to the shop, but would waste no time sending Adam a text. They had a lot to discuss.
Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6 Page 3
