by Gayle Leeson
I tried to tell her it was all right, that I’d see her and Mom later today, but she’d left me hanging. While I waited for her to return, I flipped my pancakes.
“It says here on the front page that Sheriff Billings is holding a person of interest in the Devon Carpenter murder investigation,” Aunt Bess’s voice practically shouted. “Did you know about this and not tell me?”
I answered carefully so I wasn’t lying to Aunt Bess. I mean, I knew Sheriff Billings had taken Belinda into protective custody, but I had no idea the newspaper’s longtime editor Ms. Peggy had learned about it and put it on the front page of the Winter Garden News.
“What do you think?” I asked her. “You could’ve knocked me over with a feather when Dilly came in saying that story was on the front page of the newspaper. That’s why I called to have you and Mom hold onto it for me—I want to read that article this evening.”
“Well, I’m reading it right now. Do you want me to tell you what it says?”
“As much as I appreciate the offer, I can’t accept because I’m too busy, Aunt Bess. The breakfast rush is about to hit. I’ll look at it later.”
After ending the call, I wondered who leaked the information to Ms. Peggy. Had someone seen the sheriff leaving the Carpenter house with Belinda? Had the sheriff given Ms. Peggy the information to draw out the killer? If the article had been run in an attempt to set tongues to wagging, it had certainly worked. Our patrons were speculating about the Devon Carpenter murder all day long.
FOLLOWING THE LUNCH rush, I called Ryan and asked him how Ms. Peggy learned that a person of interest had been detained in conjunction with Devon’s murder investigation.
“There was a leak in the Sheriff’s Department,” he said.
“Oh, no! Do you know who leaked it?”
“Yep. The sheriff.”
“He did?” I asked. “Why?”
“To advance the investigation. In fact, Sheriff Billings wrote the article himself so it would be worded exactly as he wanted it.” He chuckled. “He’s awfully proud of his journalism. Have you seen it yet?”
“I haven’t, but I’ll look at it later at the big house. Aunt Bess is keeping the newspaper for me,” I said. “She was perturbed when she thought I had inside information and didn’t tell her before it found its way to Ms. Peggy’s desk.”
“Speaking of perturbed people, Mom didn’t care for Scott’s overly friendly behavior toward you yesterday.”
I laughed. “She didn’t try to hide that fact from me. I knew she thought he and I were up to something.”
“You were! I heard about how well he helped you hide your float cake from Aunt Bess and Jenna. If you think Aunt Bess is miffed over having to find out what’s going on in the jail from the newspaper, imagine how ticked she’ll be when she sees your float for the first time there among the huddled masses.”
It dawned on me Ryan was right. She would be upset. I’d wanted to surprise her and Mom, but I didn’t want them to feel excluded. “Do you think I should invite them to the café tomorrow evening to see the assembled cake before the parade on Saturday?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m glad you pointed out the error of my ways,” I said. “I thought I was doing something fun—but I can still surprise them tomorrow at the café. By the way, today’s special was chicken and dumplings, but they’re going fast. I’ll make cheeseburgers, hot dogs, and fries to bring to the police station after work for you, the sheriff, and Belinda.”
“That sounds great, but you know we have food prepared for our prisoners, right?”
“Yes.” I was stubborn. But jail food couldn’t compete with my food—could it? “Do you have a preference for dessert?”
“Surprise me. You like surprises.”
Smart aleck.
WHEN MICHELLE ARRIVED that afternoon, I was packing up dinner for the station and Belinda. I was including a care package for Belinda.
“I have to run these boxes over to the Sheriff’s Department,” I said. “Would you like to go?”
“Shouldn’t you be working on the cake?”
“I will. This won’t take long.” I used my trump card. “I know Ryan would love to see you.” Okay, it might’ve been a stretch, but it worked.
At the station, Ryan seemed glad not only to see his mom but to see the two of us together. I was happy he had a good relationship with Mom, and I imagined he wanted me and his mom to get along well. I wanted that too.
“We’ve brought food.” I indicated the smaller box. “And I’ve brought a care package for Belinda.” I opened the box because I knew that if it were any other visitor and any other prisoner—even though Belinda was here for her own safety—the box’s contents would need to be approved.
Michelle eased closer to observe what was in the box. There were a couple of magazines, three novels (because I didn’t know what genre Belinda would prefer), a soft blanket, a washcloth and towel, and a bar of finely milled lavender-scented soap.
Ryan grinned at me. “This is a jail, not the Ritz. We have blankets, towels, and books, you know.”
“I’m only trying to be nice.”
He kissed the tip of my nose, handed me the box, and said, “Take it on back.”
“Thank you.” I caught a glimpse of Michelle as I went back to the holding cells. She had a smile more mysterious than that of the Mona Lisa on her face. I wondered what it meant.
“Amy, hi!” Belinda stood and moved closer when I neared her cell.
A matron hovered but wasn’t overly intrusive.
“I brought you a care package.” I handed it to her through the bars. “If you need anything else, please have Ryan let me know.”
“I will, thank you.” She took the box back over to her cot and opened it up.
I waited as she oohed and aahed over the contents.
Picking up one of the novels, she said, “I’ve been wanting to read this one.”
“Good. I’m glad I chose well.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.” She walked back over to the door of her cell. “You don’t even know me, and yet you’ve treated me better than my own family has. Adam came to see me for about fifteen minutes today; and the whole time he was here, he kept telling me to keep my mouth shut.” She lowered her head. “He did say he’d try to find me an attorney, but I told him I didn’t need one—that I was being held as a witness, not a suspect. That agitated him even more.”
“People react differently in a crisis,” I said. “Maybe Adam is helping in the only way he knows how—by trying to protect you and get you out of here.”
But I couldn’t help wondering if that was what he was actually doing or if he was sweating bullets over what his sister might divulge about the smuggling operation.
{ }
Chapter Twenty-Two
A
fter work, I went to visit Mom and Aunt Bess.
Aunt Bess hurried into the kitchen to get the newspaper. “I saved this for you. I also highlighted what I felt were the most important parts.”
I took the folded newspaper she thrust at me. The entire article was bathed in yellow ink. Where in the world did Aunt Bess get a highlighter? “Thanks.”
The article said, in part: The Winter Garden Sheriff’s Department is holding a person of interest in the Devon Carpenter murder investigation. No charges have been formally filed, and it is hoped this individual might be able to shed light not only on the Carpenter murder but also on crimes originating in the state of Florida.
Aunt Bess had penned a note in the margin here saying, What happened in Florida? Investigate!
I had to bite my tongue from saying Sheriff Billings did a good job with the piece—the byline was that of Ms. Peggy. But the sheriff had certainly drawn a line in the sand with the article. If Devon’s killer were still here in Winter Garden and hadn’t been attempting to murder Belinda, he—or she—would be gunning for her now. And unless Sheriff Billings had the killer in custody within the next three days
, Belinda would be in serious jeopardy. I prayed the sheriff knew what he was doing.
“Well, Angels,” Mom said, coming into the living room and sitting on the sofa beside Aunt Bess. “Have we any new developments in the case?”
“Mark my words—it’s one of those cousins who resented the fact that Devon’s aunt left him that house,” Aunt Bess said.
“Actually—” I started to tell them I thought Devon bought the house, but that wasn’t a fact I wanted to debate at the moment. Instead, I said, “I have a surprise for you two. Could you come to the café tomorrow after closing?”
Aunt Bess leaned forward and rubbed her hands together. “Are we setting a trap for Devon Carpenter’s killer? Would you like for me to be the bait?”
“No!”
Mom and I spoke the word simultaneously.
“I’m not setting a trap for anyone,” I said, wondering what programs Aunt Bess had been watching on TV, “but that’s all I’m telling you. You’ll have to wait and see. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” she grumbled. “I’m old. What if I die in my sleep tonight?”
“If you die in your sleep, you won’t know what you’ve missed because you’ll be so delighted by heaven,” Mom said.
“Oh, you’d like for me to be left out of the surprise. Is that what you’re saying, Jenna?”
Rolling her eyes, Mom replied, “No, Aunt Bess. I’d never want you to be left out of anything.”
“Well, that’s good. Because—by crackies—I don’t intend to miss a trick.”
ON FRIDAY MORNING, I awoke before the alarm went off and felt optimistic. This was going to be a good day. I was going to assemble the cake, show it to Mom and Aunt Bess, prepare the Bug for the parade, and help Michelle finish up the cookies. And all that was to follow a full day’s work at the café. But I didn’t dread it—I was excited about it.
I was contemplating how the day would unfold when Princess Eloise pounced onto the center of my chest. That was odd. Where was Rory? It was usually he who bounded into my room to demand food and attention.
After stroking Princess Eloise under the chin and setting her aside, I sat up and called to Rory. No bark or clicking of approaching paws.
I got out of bed, slid my feet into my slippers, and headed down the hall. I called to and looked for Rory as I walked. A quick search of the house proved futile, so I thought he must’ve gone out through the doggie door into the backyard. Stepping out onto the back porch, I gasped when I saw my sweet dog playing tug-of-war with Adam Tate through the fence. Thank goodness I’d put a padlock on the gate.
“Rory, come!”
He ignored me and refused to give up on the game.
I redirected my attention to Adam. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk with you,” he said. “But in private—not at the café.”
If he was expecting me to invite him into my house, he was sorely mistaken. “Why not at the café? We can have a private conversation there.”
“I don’t want to risk our being overheard. It’s about Belinda.”
Glad as I was that my pajamas were flannel, I still didn’t relish being outdoors within eyesight of a creepy stranger in my pjs. “Would you please let go of that toy so Rory will come in?”
“It’s not a toy—it’s my scarf.” As he spoke, he released it, and Rory ran to me with his prize.
Taking the scarf from the plucky pup, I said, “I’ll go in and change and meet you out front.”
“Great. Thanks.”
I went inside, got dressed, and put on my coat. I turned on the light and stepped out onto the porch.
Adam was sitting on one of my white wicker rockers. “It’s getting colder. Winter Garden might wind up with a white Christmas.”
“We’ll see.” I handed him his scarf and remained standing. “What was so important that you had to come to my home before daylight?”
“Belinda didn’t kill Devon,” he said.
“Have you made your case to the police?”
He shook his head. “What’s the use? You think they’re just gonna take my word for it?”
“They might. And they’re in a much better position to assist you than I am.” I crossed my arms. “How could I possibly help?”
“You can tell me what they’ve got on her.” He stood. “I’ll know what to do if I know what evidence they have.”
“To my knowledge, Belinda hasn’t been charged with a crime,” I said. “And even if she had, I wouldn’t know anything about the evidence in the case.”
Adam took a step toward me. “Your boyfriend is one of the main investigators in the case. You’re bound to know something.”
My phone was in my pocket with the sheriff’s office number ready to be dialed at the touch of a button. I stood my ground and refused to be intimidated. “I know absolutely nothing about Devon’s murder investigation. I believe Belinda is innocent, that she’s heartbroken over the loss of her husband, that she fears for her life, and that she wishes her brother would be more supportive.”
“I am supporting her!”
At Adam’s raised voice, Rory began barking.
“Please leave,” I said calmly. “And don’t come back to my home uninvited again.”
Adam stared at me long enough to make me think he might not leave. Then he muttered a curse and jumped off the porch.
I quickly went back inside and locked the door. As I fed the pets, I wondered how Adam had found my home. Had he done an internet search? Had he followed me? Had he simply been driving along, recognized my car, and thought he should drop in for a pre-sunrise visit? No matter how he’d found me, I wasn’t happy about it. And I knew Ryan wouldn’t be either.
RYAN WAS AT THE CAFÉ waiting for me when I got there.
I tried to hide my smile—not wanting him to know how delighted I was to see him—but I couldn’t. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to. When you called and said that creep was waiting outside your house when you got up this morning, there was no way I was going to have you opening up by yourself.”
Kissing him hello, I said, “But you’re not even on duty yet.” He looked magnificent in jeans, a blue sweater, and a black jacket, but I kept that to myself.
“I’m not here in a judicial capacity.”
“I could whip you up something special for breakfast.” I unlocked the café, and we went inside.
“Like what?” He flipped on the light switch.
“Whatever you’d like—bacon and eggs, Belgian waffles, blueberry pancakes.”
“How about chocolate chip pancakes?” he asked.
I nodded. “I’m on it. Just let me get the coffee pots percolating.”
“I can handle that,” Jackie said.
“Jackie!” I hugged her.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m back to the land of the living.” She looked at Ryan. “What’re you doing here so early? I thought you had the late shift this week.”
“I do.” He looked at me, giving me the option to tell Jackie what had happened or not.
I explained that I’d discovered Adam Tate outside my house this morning—actually, outside the fenced backyard—playing tug-of-war with Rory.
“Is Rory all right?” she asked.
“He’s fine. He wasn’t keen on having to give up Adam’s scarf, but I traded him a dental bone.”
“Why in the world was he at your house playing with your dog before daylight?” Jackie asked. “That’s super creepy.”
“He said he wanted to talk with me privately—was afraid we’d be overheard here.”
She looked around the café and spread her arms. “Yeah, this place is bustling at this time of day.”
“Has Roger been getting any weird visits or calls from Adam?” Ryan asked.
“Not Adam, but Devon’s cousin, Chris, came to see Roger on a job site yesterday morning,” she said.
“What did he want?” I asked, as I walked into the kitchen
to get started on Ryan’s pancakes.
“A job. He said he’d been considering going to Florida and working on the charter boat with Adam, but—and this is a direct quote according to Roger—'that’s just not my scene.’ Besides that, he doesn’t know Adam well enough to trust him.”
“He said that?” I took my mixing bowl to the window where I could see and talk with Jackie and Ryan as I worked.
“He did,” Jackie said. “Roger says he asked him, ‘What if that dude and his sister knocked off my cousin?’”
“What did Roger tell him about the job?” Ryan asked.
“He said business is slow this time of year and to check back with him the first week in January.” She grinned. “He’s very diplomatic.”
“Did Chris seem angry at Roger’s answer?” Ryan took a couple of packets of sugar and one of creamer in anticipation of the coffee being almost ready. Its comforting aroma was already filling the café.
“No,” she said. “He thanked Roger and said he hopes to work with him after the first of the year. Roger thinks maybe the rats are trying to desert a sinking ship.”
Ryan nodded. “With luck, they’re about to turn on each other and tell us who killed Devon Carpenter.”
{ }
Chapter Twenty-Three
H
omer was bubbling over with contagious enthusiasm when he came into the café at his usual time.
“You seem to have even more spring in your step than usual today, Guru Guy,” Scott said.
As Homer took a seat on his regular stool, Jackie poured him a coffee.
“I’m happy to see you back at work, young lady,” he said. “I trust you’re well?”
“I am.” She placed the cup in front of him. “I was bored to tears staying at home watching television and taking medicine every six hours.”
“Who’s your hero today?” I asked.
“The entrepreneur Jim Rohn, who I believe has been my hero more than once over the years. Mr. Rohn once said that happiness isn’t something you postpone for the future—it’s something you design for the present.” He smiled as he stirred sugar into his coffee. “Have I told you how honored and pleased I am to hand out cookies for you during the parade tomorrow?”
