Sandwich size Ziploc bags were added to the pile.
“Please explain.” I crossed my arms.
“I’m lost on this one, too,” Sam admitted.
“Girls, don’t you know Ziploc bags can be used for almost anything?” She held up a hand and began ticking off a list on her fingers. “Collecting evidence. Carrying emergency cookies. Piping frosting. Microwaving omelets. Avoiding leaving fingerprints.”
Sam snagged four or five bags and added them to her purse, her grin growing by the minute.
My jaw dropped. There wasn’t even time for me to process the things wrong with that list before Gladys began searching the bag a fourth time. Sam and I waited in silence.
The voice of Dory shouting Eh Mr. Grumpy Gills made me jump and Gladys lunged for a can of pepper spray.
“Gladys, it’s my phone,” I held out my hands, motioning for her to stop.
“You have got to change that ringtone,” Sam said. “It’s dangerous.”
I refused to admit it out loud, but she was right; that ringtone had a habit of going off at bad times and was the reason we got caught and held captive last weekend. I answered the phone, managing to swipe the screen before the call went to voicemail.
“Hello?”
“Piper Rivers?” the gravelly voice snapped.
“Yes, sir.”
“This is Officer Campbell. It seems, well, it seems the voicemail you provided has been lost.”
“Lost?”
“Lost. Erased. Stolen. Corrupted. Deleted. I don’t really know; I don’t understand all that technical mumbo-jumbo,” Officer Campbell yelled through the phone. Quieting, he continued. “It’s gone. We need that voicemail introduced during your testimony on Monday. Understood?”
“Yes, I understand.” I nodded though he obviously couldn’t see me. “I’ll bring it. About Monday,” I swallowed, my throat suddenly dryer than a bag of crushed graham crackers. “Monday, do you think the voicemail is enough? Maybe my testimony isn’t really a big deal….”
“You will testify Monday, you have to.” Officer Campbell hung up the phone.
“Well?” Sam tapped her fingers on the table and tilted her head.
“I think I know why someone doesn’t want me to testify.”
“Why?”
“The voicemail is gone. The file is gone or damaged, something that makes it unusable now. My testimony and my phone are the only records of Regina’s confession to the arson and kidnapping.”
“You know what that means,” Gladys spoke up. We turned to look at her across the table. “It means we definitely needed my bag of supplies. Regina’s thugs will keep coming for you.”
“I really hope you’re wrong,” I told her.
“Still,” Sam motioned to the bag. “Let’s see the rest.”
Gladys gleefully resumed her reveal of the supplies.
Next came three tiny plastic squares with a hole punched in them.
Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Key finders. I couldn’t afford those fancy GPS secret spy locators. Besides,” Gladys smiled, “these came in a three-pack so I took it as a sign.”
Another hand went into the paper bag.
“What is this, Mary Poppins’s magic paper sack?” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Surely the bag should’ve burst with all the things it held inside.
Sam continued to stick goodies in her purse.
“Almost done,” Gladys promised. “Here we are, my very favorite thing.”
“Is that…,” Sam wiggled around on her stool like a kid at Christmas.
“A panic button!” Gladys’s eyes shone triumphantly, a glow of pride on her face.
I looked at the round red and silver objects, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand. “What do you do with a panic button?” I frowned.
Sam leaned across the table and tapped the red button. A shrill whistle pierced the air, followed by whirring sirens and something blathering on like Daffy Duck.
I covered my ears.
Gladys tapped the button again and the noises ceased.
Realizing we had been in the back far too long, and concerned our customers might be freaking out after the panic button alarms, I pushed through the swinging door to check things out.
One child was curled in his mother’s lap crying. Two others were plastered to the front glass looking for police cars outside.
“I’m so sorry,” I apologized as the women at the table looked up at me. “A friend, she was playing a prank. Can I get you a few more cookies, on the house?”
Once I had bagged up half a dozen Chocolate Chunkies and waved the ladies and kids out the door, I re-entered the kitchen.
Sam’s purse now bulged at the seams. My set of supplies and Gladys’s were still spread across the island.
“Where did you get all of this stuff anyway?” I asked picking up a panic button, careful not to press it.
“Amazon of course,” Gladys said as if there weren’t any other places to shop.
“I hate to break it to you,” I crossed my arms, “but these things aren’t all going to fit in my pockets. The one day I’ve carried a purse this month I was accosted and a phone planted on me, so I’m out on that option.”
“Don’t you think I thought of that?” Gladys asked.
“Um…I don’t know. Did you?”
“Of course. I was just telling Sam that I have the perfect solution for you when she asked the same question.”
“You were?” I looked at Sam. She studiously avoided eye contact. Not good.
“Yes. Here.” Gladys turned the paper bag upside down. “You can even pick which color: camo or black.”
I gaped. Sam had turned her back completely to us but I could see her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.
“I got myself one, too; purses get in the way if you need to run.” Gladys held up the two plastic fanny packs. “What’ll it be, black or camo?”
I groaned. “Black.” I took the bag, cringing at the thought of putting the shiny plastic pouch around my waist, but knowing there was no getting out of it with these two. I stuffed the fanny pack full of the supplies. The buckle snapped into place with a loud click. I tried to adjust the pack so that it sat more toward my hip; maybe I could block people’s view of it with my arm.
“Now we’re ready.” Gladys patted her own fanny pack, smack dab in the middle of her waist.
“For what?” I asked.
“For anything.”
I seriously doubted that but was smart enough to maintain my silence.
Chapter 10
“Piper!” The bell tingling over the door was drowned out by Flo’s excited yell as she entered the bakery later Friday afternoon. “I’ve had ten more red, white, and blue flower arrangements today.”
“That’s great!”
“No.”
I frowned. “It isn’t great?”
“No. Yes. Well, it would be if I had about six hands.”
“Oh.” I understood. There had been more than a few times at the beginning of the Ooey Gooey Goodness Bakery where Sam and I thought we would never get enough baking done. Things improved as we got into routines, and now with Victoria and Millie helping part-time things were simple most days.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Flo continued.
“Millie!”
“What?” Flo looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.
The bell jingled and in walked Millie, whom I’d seen parking her scooter out front.
“You should ask Millie to help you, Flo. She’s very artistic already, so you could probably teach her some tricks for flower arranging in no time.”
“Did I hear my name?” Millie worked to smooth down strands of blonde hair that had been mussed up beneath her helmet.
Flo smiled. “Do you like flowers?”
Soon, it was settled. Millie would spend her afternoons working with Flo instead of at the bakery for the same amount of pay.
“This should be really fun! My art so
far has all been two-dimensional.” Millie chatted eagerly, asking questions and nodding as Flo answered. They set off for the flower shop to get started at once.
~
“You should go.”
“Are you sure?” I asked Sam. The clock on the wall showed it was only a little after five that evening.
“Yes. Go. Relax, freshen up, get ready for your date.” She shooed me away from the counter with a kitchen towel. “Victoria and I will manage everything fine until closing. She’s back there whipping up some outrageous brownie batter as we speak.”
Sam was right. They could handle things, even though it had been a busy afternoon. A lot of the customers coming in were placing advance orders for the Fourth of July with their coupons. It would be all-hands-on-deck next week for getting the extra orders ready.
“Thank you! I’ll see you in the morning.” I hugged Sam and stepped through the swinging door to the kitchen. Delicious chocolate aromas filled the room and I stopped to enjoy them for a moment. After telling Victoria goodbye, and swiping a finger through the bowl of brownie batter for tasting, I traded my apron for my keys and headed to my truck.
Outside the sun still shone brightly and the heat evoked immediate drops of sweat on my neck and forehead. I wiped them off, getting into and cranking the truck. As I leaned forward to set the AC temperature cooler, I noticed a fluttering through the windshield; a yellow paper was stuck below the truck’s windshield wiper. I opened the door and stood, leaning out and snatching the paper inside the truck with me before slamming the door back.
“What have we here?” I mused. The yellow paper was lined, appearing to be a standard sheet torn from a notepad, and folded into a small rectangle. I unfolded the paper. A note, handwritten in large letters, said: MEET ME. 113 CRESTWAY. RIGHT AWAY.
I turned the paper over. No signature. I pulled out my phone and saw one missed call from Griff. Griff! I put the truck in drive. Maybe this was his way of being romantic. I did think our date was supposed to be later this evening, but I wouldn’t put it past him to try and surprise me. I drove toward Crestway street, smiling as I tried to figure out where we might be going over there.
The address wasn’t far away. It was in a newer part of town. So new, in fact, that when I pulled up at what the GPS said was number 113, I realized there wasn’t even a completed building here; it was a construction site. Maybe Griff had to work late on an inspection I decided and he didn’t want to cancel our date.
I parked on the street and hopped out of the truck. Beeping the lock button, I started walking toward the open gate in the chain link fence surrounding the property. When I didn’t see Griff’s truck after walking several yards onto the site, an uneasy feeling began creeping up my spine and along my neck. I continued walking as I dialed Griff’s cell. The ringing went unanswered, voicemail picking up. I hung up the phone, deciding I would have to text him instead.
A noise past the dumpster and by a stack of pallets captured my attention. It sounded male, maybe someone talking on the phone. I relaxed, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension that had been building. If Griff were on the phone with a client, he wouldn’t be able to take my call. I walked slowly in the direction of the voice, not wanting to interrupt.
Oh sheesh, the fanny pack I palmed my forehead, embarrassed, chiding myself for not taking the silly thing off as soon as Gladys left the bakery. I started to unbuckle it -at least if I carried it, it wouldn’t look as much like I was a tourist on vacation for the first time ever – but left it on. If I was carrying it around that would look even stranger. Griff would be sure to ask what was inside, and I didn’t want to have to tell him about Gladys’s supplies.
As I got closer, the voice carrying to me rose and I realized two things: one, that wasn’t Griff; two, whoever it was sounded angry.
Chapter 11
I froze. Now that I was closer, I could hear a second voice. This one was lower and talking fast; too fast, the words were impossible to make out. Griff wasn’t here. I was certain of that now. I began to tiptoe backward.
A sharp noise cracked like thunder in the quiet evening, then a second, both echoing off of the large metal dumpster.
A yelp escaped me, the noise catching me completely off guard.
A thud followed, like that of dropping something heavy on the ground, and then the loud, angry voice shouted. “Who’s there?”
I turned tail to run, but it was too late.
“Stop!”
Regretting it, but too scared to disobey, I stopped and turned back to the source of the noise. Sure enough, the man who had stepped out from his place of cover was holding a shiny black gun. Gulp. Aimed right at me.
“Toss the phone.” Covered in tattoos from his neck down to his wrists, he stared at me with cold eyes. Not a muscle twitched, there was no falter, his arm perfectly steady as the gun remained leveled at my chest.
I tossed my phone, throwing it a couple of feet to my right. No way was I putting it closer to him than to me. It began to ring. Of course! Now that I couldn’t possibly answer and scream for help.
A sharp crack reverberated through the air.
My eyes squeezed shut reflexively, waiting for the impact. Nothing. No pain. No other sounds. Forcing my eyes open one at a time, I risked a look at the man. Chills racked my body when I saw a malicious smile. I forced myself to look away, to follow the new direction of the gun barrel.
My phone lay dead in the dirt. Murdered. Shot in the back.
I looked back to find the smile gone, replaced by a sneer more suited to his face. One shot, perfect aim, no mistakes – those were the things I knew he was communicating to me. I forced myself to control the shaking, to swallow the bile rising up my throat.
“Looks like it’s just the two of us now.” His words confirmed my fears. The other man I had heard was already dead. I might be next.
“Come over here. I have something to show you,” he gestured with the gun, ensuring it was never pointed far off me as I edged nearer. He kept me walking, forcing me around the pallets. My knees turned to jelly and I dropped to the ground. Staring down into a large hole, I saw the body of the man who attacked me in the bakery.
“This is what happens to associates of mine who fail. Though in the end, I guess he did get you here. Oh well.” There wasn’t a trace of guilt or regret in his voice, only amusement. After a moment he added, “This is also what happens to the meddling woman who got my son arrested.”
Uh-oh. I couldn’t quite fathom this man being Asnee’s father; he looked young enough to be the same age. Now wasn’t the time to demand a look at the family tree, though. I had to think of a way out of here. Nobody even knew where I was!
I looked around at the gaping hole in the earth, the crumpled man at the bottom of it, and the giant pile of dirt beside it. The shovel standing stoically nearby, ready to be used, pushed me over the edge, almost literally. My stomach couldn’t handle anymore. I twisted around and threw up. As my bad luck would have it, I tossed my cookies right on the gunman’s shoes.
“Why you disgusting…” spewing what I assumed were obscenities and curses in another language, the man lashed out with a swift kick. His booted foot caught me in my now empty stomach, launching me into the makeshift grave. I landed hard, knocking the wind from my lungs. I gasped and heaved in great gulps of air. Tears were starting to well up, whether from pain, fear, or lack of breath I had no idea. I racked my brain. The hole was deep. It must have been dug for a well or a septic tank; regardless, there was no climbing out fast enough to avoid being shot.
I couldn’t panic.
Panic! Panic, that’s it!
I unzipped the fanny pack, praising it as the best accessory ever known to man, and grabbed the panic button, dropping it in my hurry. Thank God the man must still be busy rubbing vomit off his shoes or I’d probably be dead by now. I grabbed it from the dirt, doing my best to ignore the stiff arm it had landed next to, and prayed that Gladys had been thoughtful enough to put batteries in them
. I squeezed the little button for all I was worth and resisted the urge to cover my ears when wailing and sirens erupted.
Above me, more cursing ensued. A shadow fell over me and I saw the gun pointed my direction. I dove as several shots fired in my direction. Burning seared my shoulder and several more rounds thudded into the dirt wall. I didn’t move for several minutes; playing dead worked for opossums and I wasn’t above trying it. I maintained a rigid grasp on the panic button in my hand, the noise so close to my ear I feared I might be deaf if I somehow made it out of here alive. Alive – oh no, what if he buries me alive. Great, now that thought embedded itself in my head, I didn’t know what would be worse, getting shot and buried, or not getting shot and still getting buried.
When no more gunshots came, and no shovels full of dirt plopped onto my head, I ventured a peek up to the surface of the hole. Seeing nobody, I unclenched my fingers from around the panic button. The ringing continued in my ears at least sixty seconds afterward, but eventually, silence trickled back around me. Carefully, I uncurled and stood up.
Pain shot through my left arm as I lifted them both and tried to jump up. As suspected, I could get nowhere near the top. Turning my attention to my left arm, I lifted the now torn sleeve of my t-shirt. A deep gouge to the outside of my shoulder had blood trickling slowly down my arm. Somewhere in the back of my head, I heard myself thinking this must be what they call a flesh wound, and then I threw up again.
Pulling myself together, I put the panic button back in the fanny pack. I pulled out the little-bitty energy drink bottle and chugged it. Now that I was done freaking out, I had to get out of this hole.
Chapter 12
“No, not again! Please!” I landed on my feet in the bottom of the hole as yet another root I’d been using as a handhold tugged loose, oblivious to my pleading, and sent me flying.
Digging the toes of my sneakers into the crevices I had dug out about a foot up from the floor, I began again. Scrabbling for holds in the dirt, thick roots, anything I could find, I began my slow and painful ascent. My shoulder throbbed. My fingernails hurt from having dirt shoved up beneath them further and further. And the stench in this hole was unbearable. Thank goodness this pit was wide enough to keep me from falling on top of the body; I’m not sure I could have handled that.
Ooey Gooey Bakery Mystery Box Set Page 35
