"I can explain," Emily said, straightening up.
"You will," Rachel replied. "Explain to the police, that is. Last I checked, breaking and entering is a felony."
Not that Emily looked like anybody's idea of a thief, even now, with her hair up in a messy bun and no makeup, Emily was nothing short of gorgeous. Her green eyes perfectly matched her sun-streaked blond hair, and her doe-like neck would have made Audrey Hepburn jealous. Worst of all was her face. Emily's perfect, gorgeous face with it's sharp nose, and thin mouth, and "I'm superior" expression. The only flaw you could really find in Emily—if you looked hard—was in her ears, which stuck out at a forty-five degree angles from her face, looking rather like cabbages in full bloom.
“There’s no need to call the police, really,” Emily said. “Let’s just talk it out ourselves, OK?”
Rachel sneered and turned away. In the last year, she’d been cheated out of her own business by arrogant, perfect people like Emily. As a consequence, Rachel had developed an especial hatred for people who thought that the rules of decency didn’t apply to them simply because they were good-looking and charming.
Keeping one eye on Emily, Rachel dialed the police.
*****
Chapter 2
The Sheriff Asks Questions
Sheriff Tanner would have scraped the ceiling if he'd been an inch or two taller. He and his deputy had been prompt. To Rachel's surprise, five minutes after her call, they were at her door. To her further surprise, the sheriff had spoken to Emily for all of thirty seconds before inviting Rachel into her aunt's study for a one-on-one.
So now she sat in the study, blanket wrapped around her. Blue lights flashed through the window on the wall next to her from the cruiser sitting outside. It lit up her face intermittently and cast pulsing shadows around her. Now that she’d handed Emily over to the police, the artificial calm that had kept her going had vanished, and an adrenaline aftershock flowed through her. Her knees wouldn’t stop shaking and made a rattling sound as they hit the desk in front of her.
To her surprise, she heard a woman’s laugh float in through the thin walls of the study. Was that Emily? Before Rachel could think about it, the study door clicked open, and Sheriff Tanner walked in.
“Need some coffee?” He held out a coffee cup with dancing turtles on the rim. Her own cup. Rachel raised an eyebrow, and the man gave her a powerfully charming grin. The grin had the effect of making her entire body freeze from shock and then instantly thaw. Just the solidity of his presence made her feel safe and warm.
“I hope it’s not terribly rude, but I took the liberty of making some coffee. I knew your Aunt Rose quite well. Heck, she was like a second mom, to be honest. So the kitchen is familiar territory, she’d often invite me in for a cup.” His voice was like melting chocolate poured slowly into a cake pan—thick and delicious. Rachel smiled, feeling even more relaxed. If Aunt Rose had liked the sheriff, he must be a good man.
“Anyway, I thought it’d calm us all down a bit.” He handed her the coffee. The dark liquid slopped against the rim, spilling a little as she took it from him.
“Thanks,” she said, taking a small sip of the earthy roast. “It’s really good.”
“My pleasure.” He gave her another smile, and Rachel noticed his left canine was slightly chipped, a single imperfection in an otherwise perfect smile, a white triangle with dimples on either side.
“So,” he said. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Sheriff Scott Tanner. My deputy, Lewis Corcoran, is outside speaking to Mrs. Frank at the moment.”
Another laugh floated through the walls, and as she recognized it, irritation clouded Rachel’s mind. “Speaking to, or flirting with? Emily seems to be in a good mood.”
The sheriff’s lips pressed together, and his eyes narrowed a bit. Without answering, he plopped down on the chair in front of her, his long legs jutting out awkwardly. There was a moment’s silence as each sized up the other. Tanner was young to be a sheriff, Rachel thought. Early thirties, max. He had a full, dark beard that was meticulously groomed, with a few strands of grey already visible here and there. Thick eyebrows jutted out over a lined forehead topped off by a widow’s peak. He had a rough air about him, and yet this was clearly a man who cared about his appearance. His hair had been cut stylishly, and despite it being the middle of the night—his shoes were shiny. He was pleasantly handsome, though his ears stuck out a little too much and his nose had a bump on it.
Tanner cleared his throat as he finished his own assessment of Rachel. “Well,” he said. “If I understand correctly, you were woken up by a noise, is that correct?” He flipped open a notebook and held a pen poised above it.
“That’s right, and I caught that woman—“
“Just answer what I asked, please,” he said.
With coffee in her system and adrenaline still flowing, Rachel felt impatience beginning to flare. Why was the sheriff interrogating her as if she was a suspect? Why was Emily Frank laughing outside?
“They do things differently down here in Swaddle,” Rachel drawled. “Everything feels upside down. You come to my house and serve me coffee. You come to arrest a burglar and interrogate the victim. Why?”
“Hey, I’m not interrogating you, Rachel,” he interrupted. “Believe me, when I’m interrogating you, you’ll know it. This is just me asking questions. This is my job.”
Rachel felt bad for a split second. Maybe the lack of sleep, and the excitement of being broken into was making her ungracious. She was about to apologize when the sheriff continued, “I’m just making sure I have all the facts so that I can catch whoever broke into your house.”
“Whoever broke into my—? Are you nuts?” Rachel was incredulous. “Buddy, I got news for you. I already did your job. I caught her. She’s sitting outside flirting with your man at the moment!”
“We can’t be sure of that,” he said.
Rachel shoved back her chair, toppling it over. It struck a file cabinet on its way down and then fell to the floor, sending up a little volcano of dust.
Sheriff Tanner, thoroughly unintimidated, said, “Rachel, there’s been a misunderstanding. I talked to Emily, myself.”
“When? You were with her for thirty seconds, max.” Rachel fought to keep her voice from showing the emotions boiling inside her. She fought hard to be calm though her temporary peace was shattered. The sheriff wasn’t trying to help her, he was trying to adjust reality to suit his own purposes.
“What do you mean misunderstanding?” Rachel asked. “I caught Emily red-handed rifling through drawers in my aunt’s study. That’s breaking and entering as far as I recall. Do your job and put her in handcuffs!”
The tips of his ears turned red even though his face remained impassive. He tapped his foot rapidly against the desk. “Emily says she was taking a walk outside when she saw lights flashing in here. She says the door was open and she was trying to help catch—“
“She’s lying!” Rachel exclaimed, and her anger leaked through. “Look buddy—“
“Sheriff,” he said coldly. “That’s my title, and I’d appreciate if you used it.”
“Are you really going to believe that pile of—“
“Emily Frank is a solid citizen with no priors and no motive. I have no reason to disbelieve—“
“Emily Frank is telling the most see-through, nonsensical lie! I could poke a dozen holes in her story with a straw right now and suck out the truth. You would too if you were any kind of cop!”
“OK, ma'am.” The sheriff stood up too, and held his hand out, palm raised. “I can see your nerves are rattled, but there’s no need to—“
But Rachel had gone quiet, all the energy suddenly sucked out of her. She knew Emily was the one who had broken into her house, and she knew the sheriff knew it too. She could see it in his eyes.
“You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” she asked quietly. “Because I’m not saying what you want to hear.”
He had the grace to look uncomfort
able. He adjusted his collar and rolled his shoulders. His eyes wouldn’t meet hers.
“Fine,” Rachel said. “I’ll remember this, buddy. Swaddle’s got a real honest sheriff —a good ol’ boy.”
“Insulting me won’t get you anywhere,” he said.
“Trusting you didn’t get me anywhere either,” she retorted.
“Uh . . . Sheriff? Everything OK?” The deputy poked his head in, and looked anxiously from one to the other.
“Oh, it’s just peachy,” Rachel said, mustering all the sarcasm she could gather. “He doesn’t need backup in here; you can go out and tell Emily whatever new joke you’ve come up with. I haven’t heard her laugh in three whole minutes.”
The deputy looked embarrassed but ignored her. “Chief? Need me to do anything?”
“Just go back out, Lou.” Sheriff Tanner growled. “We’re finishing up here.”
The tips of his ears were red again. It suddenly clicked together for Rachel. She looked at him carefully—yes, the resemblance was there—oval face, large ears, sharp features.
“She’s related to you!” Rachel exclaimed. “Emily Frank. She’s related to you, isn’t she? That’s why you’re making an effort to let her go.”
The sheriff ignored this and began speaking quickly. “So, as far as we can tell, nothing of value has been taken from the study. Now if I understand, you’re opening a bakery on this premises the day after tomorrow?“
“She’s your sister, isn’t she?” Rachel pressed. “Cousin, maybe? No, you look alike, once the obvious differences like hair color are ignored. She probably dyes her hair, blond.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I can have a patrol in front of your house to make sure the intruder doesn’t return.” He talked over her, ignoring her question again.
“Unbelievable!” Rachel shook her head. “I should go to the press with this.”
“Fine. Do.” Sheriff Tanner finally lost patience. “Emily and her husband are one of the foremost citizens of Swaddle. She’s on a dozen boards, she’s known all over town. If she says she saw an intruder, that’s what it was. It’s your word against hers, Rachel, and you’re a newcomer who was sleepy and made an error in judgment. That’s what the press would say too. It’s a misunderstanding, and it’s best if you forget about it.”
Rachel sighed. He was right. It didn’t look like there was much she could do. “Get out of my house, buddy,” she said. “And take your thieving sister with you.”
“For the second time, it’s sheriff,” he replied. “Sheriff Tanner to you.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve the title,” Rachel said. “Goodnight. Buddy.”
*****
Chapter 3
Double Mocha, Double Mystery
Rachel was in a sour mood the next morning. She was replaying the whole scenario in her head and kicking herself for not letting Emily Frank talk more when she’d caught her. Maybe Emily would have made a confession then, and it would have forced the sheriff's hand. As it stood, Rachel had refused to talk to Emily while the police were on their way and had given her enough time to cook up a flimsy excuse. Now she had no grounds to press charges, and Sheriff Tanner certainly wasn’t going to help her.
Oh well. Rachel sighed. She wouldn’t let it happen again. Before the day was up, she was determined to have security cameras installed all over the house. The one sliver of satisfaction she had lay in knowing that whatever Emily had been looking for, she hadn’t found.
What had she been looking for? Rachel frowned. It’s not like her late Aunt Rose’s study held the secret map to the pharaoh’s treasures. So what on earth could the owner of the café across the street want in Aunt Rose’s study? Why would she risk arrest to find it?
Meanwhile, unease sat heavy over her heart. She’d been in a foul temper last night, but in the daylight her businesswoman’s instincts had come into play. The sheriff might be a corrupt dirtbag, but she had been an idiot to attack him the way she had. In a small town like Swaddle, good relationships were the key to good business, and she’d already made two enemies.
Her mind flitted back to Emily Frank. Before Rachel had made the abrupt decision to move to Swaddle and run Aunt Rose’s bakery, Emily had been very interested in buying it. Rachel remembered that Emily had actually written her a very emotional letter of condolence when Aunt Rose died. In the letter, she’d spoken of the importance of local business, and praised Aunt Rose for being an important thread in the fabric of their town. Rachel had been touched, and had actually rejected a corporate buyer in order to sell the bakery to Emily. Now, looking back, Rachel snorted in derision. Emily was cunning and manipulative. She’d sounded genuine in that letter, but it was all probably a ploy to get Rachel to sell.
A brief knock on the back door had her coming out of the fog of her thoughts. She glanced at the clock. It was seven a.m. in the morning, and Arthur Rafferty was at her doorstep with two Styrofoam cups in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. Rachel felt her smile brighten a little as Arthur’s face peeped in through the window.
Arthur Rafferty had been the lawyer who first contacted her when Aunt Rose passed away. He had helped Rachel tremendously in settling Aunt Rose’s estate. Aunt Rose had never written a will, and without Arthur’s help, Rachel would probably have spent years tangled in red tape. As it was, he’d not only helped with the legal aspects of it but also provided her a comforting shoulder when she was grieving for her aunt. He was her first friend in town, and a good man.
He was a clean-cut young man with a square jaw and impeccably groomed hair cut in a low-fade style. Dressed in a navy-blue silk suit with a checkered Burberry tie, and Ray-Bans shading his eyes, he looked totally out of place in Rachel’s bare, utilitarian kitchen with its multiple ovens, skeletal cooling racks, and the single large counter in the middle.
“It’s so good to see a friendly face this early.” Rachel smiled. “What’s up, Arthur?”
“Just came by to say hi,” he said. “Got you some coffee too. Your favorite, double mocha.”
Rachel looked down at the cup and groaned. The white Styrofoam cup had a cartoon caricature of a smiling man with ears jutting out and the proclamation—“Bull’s Café” under the logo.
“Bull’s,” she said. “That’s the place Emily Frank owns, right?”
“Yep,” Arthur said. “Best coffee in the county, hands down. Though some say it was better when her dad ran the place. I think Emily is a natural barista, personally.” He took off his shades and tossed them on the counter. “Are you OK? You look a bit frazzled.”
“I had a long night,” Rachel said. “You won’t believe—”
“Ah-ah-ah. Before you start off, I’ve got something you’d like to see,” he said. “Jackson asked me to drop it off at your place, he’s busy doing inventory this morning. He knows I’ve become a regular here for pancakes, so I offered to help.”
Rachel grinned. As thanks for helping her out with her aunt’s estate, Rachel had offered to treat Arthur to homemade pancakes for breakfast one day. He’d loved them so much that they now had breakfast together every Thursday.
“Wait—who’s Jackson again?”
“Jackson Wyatt. Hardware shop owner. Big redheaded guy. But forget him—check this out,” Arthur said. He laid the plastic bag on the counter, and with a flourish, took out a rolled-up sign.
“My sign!” Rachel’s face broke out into the widest of grins. “It’s finally here!”
Pink, with illustrated cakes dancing on it, the sign said “Comfort Cakes Bakery” in large cursive. Rachel felt the miseries of her past fall away. A new, hopeful future beckoned. This was the sign that would announce the bakery to Swaddle. She could imagine the sign staying up for years—decades perhaps—as she settled in, made friends, baked cakes, and lived a comfortable life right here in Swaddle. For a moment, all thoughts of her feud with the sheriff and Emily were forgotten. The future was as pure and overpowering as the smell of vanilla and cinnamon emanating from a
warm oven.
She gave Arthur a spontaneous hug and danced around the room with the sign clutched in her hands. She finally furled it up again and placed it on top of some shelves. “I’ll have this put up as fast as possible,” she said. “Everything’s set now. I’ve got all my equipment, and the bakery’s ready to open tomorrow. I have a lot of prep work to do today.”
“Calls for a celebration.” Arthur smiled. “Since it’s too early for champagne, how about we toast with some mocha?” He paused, frowned, and gripped her wrist suddenly. Startled, Rachel stood still. He leaned forward and looked deep into her eyes. “Oooh. Look at those dark circles under your eyes, looks like you really need the coffee. What happened?”
Rachel sighed. “It’s a long story. Maybe you better tell me how you got that stain on your favorite tie first.”
“Stain!” He looked down, alarmed, and sure enough there was a reddish-brown smear on his tie. “Ugh! This is all Audrey’s fault. I’ve told her a thousand times to be careful doing her makeup around my stuff!”
“And she’s told you a thousand times not to leave your stuff lying around near her makeup.” Rachel grinned. “You better take that to the dry cleaners, Arthur.”
Arthur still looked peeved. His face was clouded over, and his eyes far away. Rachel shook her head. Arthur had only been dating Audrey for a year, and it seemed like the two fought every other day. It was funny how much they squabbled, considering that both of them were some of the most easygoing people she knew. Well, she supposed there was some tension, she knew Audrey had been angling for a ring, and Arthur was dragging his feet.
Arthur was still looking glum, and Rachel realized that the same look had probably been present on her face daily when she was engaged to Brandon. Long before they broke up, the tiniest things Brandon did wrong had aroused the deepest anger in her. Arthur’s expression probably meant that he was plotting all the things he’d say to Audrey when he next met her—and some of them were probably designed to be cutting.
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