by Laura Quinn
A salesman knocked on the door next, offering a full-page ad in the upcoming phone directory. He assured her that the investment would pay off by standing her apart from the nearby Olde World Bakery. Claire tried to remember the last time she even saw a phone directory while pointing to the name and dog-themed décor of her shop. The middle-aged man nodded his understanding and promised to order his nephew’s high school graduation cake from Claire, if she signed up by the end of the month. She threw away his card as soon as he left and returned to the freezer.
Sorting the frozen lamb, beef and chicken patties by size and weight, she placed each in its assigned spot in the large glass-door freezer. As her hands began to redden and numb, she made up lyrics to “Frosty the Snowman”. Baron barked at the front window.
“Oh, not another one,” Claire said to herself, delicately retracting from the tilting piles of product. Her heel caught the edge of a box, knocking them all down like dominoes.
A man wearing a sweaty running shirt and mud-streaked shorts was bent down, retying his sneakers.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t open until Friday,” Claire explained for the umpteenth time. “We’re going to have a huge grand opening weekend. I hope you can come.”
“It’s me, Nick.”
“I didn’t recognize you with the mud treatment. No galoshes this time?”
“This was supposed to be my day off, but I was called in to do your fire safety inspection when Ernesto’s wife went into labor early.”
“I just saw her at Fourth Fest. Her mother-in-law warned her that the jalapeno poppers would jump-start the process; I guess she was right,” Claire said. “Thanks for coming in. Would you like something to drink?”
“That might be construed as a bribe, but I’m willing to take a chance. I see your buildout contractor was Samantha Mason. She’s got a great reputation for safety, so I’m sure this will be an easy inspection.”
“Sam is fantastic,” Claire agreed. “She was recommended by the chamber, though I admit I nearly changed my mind when I learned that she is Mike Barbon’s niece. Fortunately, she shares his precision but not his personality.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if he was a help or a hindrance to her when she moved out here and put up her shingle. I know how hard it is to be an outsider in this community, but she has established herself professionally.”
“I was lucky to get her before she landed that huge contract downtown, and now she’s leading the planning of the new lakeside development proposal,” Claire said. The back doorbell rang, announcing another delivery.
“You take care of that and I’ll start inspecting the space,” Nick said. “I’ll call you if I have any questions.”
Claire signed for three boxes of toys she ordered as a last-minute impulse buy. The packing list itemized ice-cream-themed squeaky plush and floatable water toys. She called Traci and left a message asking where to best place the unplanned merchandise. She set the boxes on the ground and began inventorying and pricing. Baron inspected the new additions and selected a triple-scoop plush cone for his test toy.
“I thought we had cool toys at the firehouse,” Nick said, watching Claire sort through the boxes.
“Are you done already? I hope that means good news.”
“Just one problem; your emergency exit sign in the back isn’t lit. It’s probably a loose bulb. If you’ll bring a step stool and a screwdriver, I can fix it for you.”
“My shop, my responsibility,” Claire said. She headed back to the unlit sign, grabbing her tool kit along the way.
“Don’t forget to shut off the electricity first,” Nick advised.
“I was just about to do that,” Claire lied. She went out to the common entryway to switch off the circuit breaker, then climbed the steps to disassemble the sign. Baron dropped his toy and ran to the front of the store. His woof alerted her to another visitor. Her hands full, Claire yelled from the back of the store, “We’re not open yet.”
“I’ll go out there and tell them,” Nick offered. Recognizing the police recruit, he invited him in. “Hey, how’s our newest man in blue?”
“Oh, hi. It’s Nick, right? What are you doing here, bro?”
“I’m conducting the fire safety test. What brings you here? The shop doesn’t actually open until Friday.”
“I’ve got to speak with Clarissa Noble. She here?”
“Come on in. I’ll tell her you’re here.”
“What is this place?” Officer Vert asked. “It smells like a bakery, but why are there leashes and collars and things? Is this one of those kinky pastry shops?” His face flamed red when he realized they weren’t alone.
“Houston, we have ignition,” Claire said, emerging from the back. Her smile faded when she saw the uniformed man. She was beginning to understand Carrie’s frustration with the village’s red tape. “Don’t tell me there’s another inspection? How much needs to be checked in one shop?”
“Ms. Noble, this is Officer Randy Vert,” Nick said. “I’ll go back and finish the inspection.”
Baron sniffed the new visitor, then left to be with Nick. Claire invited the officer back to the park tables and informed him that she knew Chief Pete Maloney, hoping to keep the visit short.
“Ma’am, I need to ask you a few questions regarding the deceased, that is um, Mrs. Bancroft.” Randy fumbled with his notebook. “I’m building a model of the victim’s movements during the forty-eight hours before she was killed, and...”
“So, it was murder,” Claire interrupted.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You just said she was killed, and called her a victim. Unless you meant that she’s an accident victim, but then you wouldn’t be questioning me, so it must be murder.”
“I’m not at liberty to comment. Please confine your answers to my questions, mam.” The officer’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before continuing. “You were overheard to have speculated about Mrs. Bancroft’s liaison with a young man of, um, of the quote hunky variety.”
“I never said that. Who told you that?” To answer her question, Claire tried to peek at the officer’s notes.
Randy slapped his notebook shut, repositioned his chair, then flipped through the pages, trying to find his place again. “What’s your version, then?”
“It’s not a version. I was talking with a friend of mine, in what I thought was a private conversation, about how happy Kim seemed to be when I last talked with her. I may have mentioned the volunteer who was there, but I certainly did not say or imply any type of liaison.”
“So, you don’t believe the deceased was having an affair with this young man.”
“I was told his name is Josh, but I don’t know anything else about him. One thing I can tell you is to be careful about listening to the gossip in this town. Like a mushroom, it grows fastest in manure and darkness.”
“Mam, I reassert my, um, my request for facts only. For the record, you were not aware of an extramarital relationship?”
“That is correct, officer.”
“Did Mrs. Bancroft indicate to you that this person would accompany her to the boat party?”
“No. We only talked for a few moments and…”
“How, then, were you able to ascertain how happy she was? Are you trying to protect someone?”
“What? No. She was smiling and, in my opinion, happy. Why are you asking all these questions about her love life? Do you suspect a crime of passion? I hope you don’t think it’s Ken. I know spouses are the first suspect, but there is no way he could hurt anyone. I’ve known him since I was a kid and will gladly be a character witness for him. Are you writing this down?”
“Yes mam,” the officer said, despite the fact his pen didn’t move. “One final question. I understand that the committee’s gift bags were in your possession overnight before they were delivered to the tent on the third of July. Is that true?”
“Why are you asking me that? Was it poison? Was the poison in one of the VIP bags? Oh my god,
what if it had fallen out and Baron found it?”
“Was Baron alone with the bags? Did he know the victim? Was he having an affair with her?”
“Baron is Ms. Noble’s dog,” Nick interjected.
Officer Vert scratched out the last name in his book and asked if any human had access to the bags besides herself. Claire answered that she was in the shop the whole time the bags were there, but then remembered Carrie and Traci were there during her first run to the park. She assured the officer that both were there for legitimate reasons, and for a limited time.
“That’s all I need for now. I’ll add this information to my database.” He left the store promptly.
“You sure scared him off,” Nick said. “I couldn’t help but listen in. Poor guy.”
“Poor guy? Poor Kim,” Claire said. “How is he ever going to solve her murder?”
“He isn’t great with people, especially of the quote female variety. I hear he’s a whiz with technology, though.”
“That will come in handy if it turns out that she was killed by a robot and somehow, I don’t think Kim had a fling with R2D2.” A phone inquiry halted further commentary.
Nick checked off the last box and signed the certificate. When she finished the call, he presented the paper to her. “Congratulations, you officially passed. How about if I take you out for a drink tonight to celebrate?”
“I wish I could, but this is my social life for the next several days. How about if you stop by tomorrow night? We’re having a soft opening for family and friends, to test everything out. champagne bottles are chilling in the fridge for afterwards.”
“Dang, I’m back on shift tomorrow, but I’ll stop in for the ice cream social Friday. I’d bring Dot, but the fire chief already claimed that honor.”
“We’ll have plenty of dogs available for adoption. I’m sure we can find you a plus-one for the event, if you promise to work the room for shelter donations.”
“Deal,” Nick agreed. “See you then.” He pet Baron on his way out.
Claire laid the certificate on the counter, then spun around. “Hey, why did you sign your name as Phoenix Cooper?”
“For that, you’ll have to buy me a drink,” he said, then left.
Chapter 8
While she had her tool belt on, Claire went to the front of the shop to fortify the front cube module which wobbled after the last move across the floor. That led her to scraping off sticky residue from the front window with her trusty widget. She was about to hang her new certificate, still pondering the story behind the unusual name, when she thought she heard a shave-and-a-haircut knock at the back door. Baron cocked his head and barked when the faint sound repeated. Claire told him to stay while she went to the outer door. She peeked out the peephole, and saw Agnes bent over, projecting something from her mouth. Claire quickly opened the door to help.
“Are you okay?”
“Here take this, it’s disgusting,” the senior said, thrusting a partially-eaten brownie and its package into Claire’s hand. “Worse than the pond scum they serve us at the home. Even Nurse Anita wouldn’t touch this. VIP my ass.”
“Come in and I’ll get you something better,” Claire offered. She wondered what brought Agnes to the shop, and why she used the back door instead of the front. She escorted her guest to the kitchen, absent-mindedly putting the brownie in her tool pocket.
“I wouldn’t say no to coffee, but make it decaf,” Agnes said. “My pain-in-the-ass doctor says I have to watch my intake. I can’t imagine life could be much duller than in that prison, so maybe it is the caffeine raising my blood pressure. It sure ain’t my sex life.”
Claire popped a decaf pod into the machine and brought out a box of cider doughnuts she bought from the market. Agnes opened her Atlantic City Lucky Lady rolling cart and pulled out a handful of colorful fabrics. She put a white bandanna around Baron’s neck.
“He’s a great model,” Agnes said, snapping a picture with her camera. “We made them extend our craft time to help us cope with Kim’s death, so we tried our hands at a new product line exclusively for you. I think they turned out pretty nifty.”
“I can’t wait to see,” Claire said as she called Baron over. She nearly choked on a bite of doughnut when she saw “babe magnet” emblazoned in black sequins above shimmering red-beaded lips.
“John told me that Baron was a real stud muffin at the market, so I was inspired. I’ve got some more commercial slogans in here, plus some North Haven bandannas with crystal-lined paws replacing the vowels. Those should go down well with the hoity-toities.”
“I’ll take the lot. It’s amazing how many you made; you must have been working for hours. Did it help with your grief?”
“Grief?” The old lady chuckled. “It helped us get out of physical therapy and tv time with the slobber brigade. Just because we’re the same age doesn’t mean we’re all doolally. Plus, we had plenty of news to share out of earshot from those nosy nurses. The dictator doesn’t like us to gossip, but we hear things.”
“So I learned. John and Jean had leads before most people even heard about the death.”
“When you get to be our age, you acquire many sources. The stories aren’t always scintillating, but they keep our brains active. Kim’s cavorting, however, made for some very juicy tales. Va-va-voom!”
Agnes’s eyes glittered with secrets bursting like fireworks just below the surface, but she said not a word more. Claire tried guessing some of the implicated men, but only got a reaction when she said Mike’s name.
“Sorry sweetie,” Agnes said when she recovered from a fit of laughter. “I know you’re curious about Kim’s death, but what’s said in our group stays in our group. It’s our savings for a rainy day.” She handed a detailed inventory of the accessories to Claire, who wrote a check for the balance.
“Thanks again for these. I’m sure I’ll be ordering more in the near future. Should I call you?”
“Send an email. We want to keep this arrangement on the down-low.”
Claire winked her understanding. “I’ll open the front door for you, so you don’t have to go around the back again.”
“Nah, the fuzz might still be out there. Like I said, I operate on the down-low.” Agnes patted Baron. “See ya toots. You strut your stuff with that bandanna.”
Baron wagged his tail and escorted his guest to the back door, walking with a bit of swagger. Claire returned to baking, though her imagination ran wild with what lurid tales Agnes could tell about the late village president. Who else was she seeing? When a vision of Kim and Mike frolicking naked in Village Hall materialized, she shook her head to purge the image. She focused on the patriotic pinwheels she was rolling out, creating lyrics to occupy her brain. She began singing about a Yankee poodle rolling a pinwheelie for his wife-doggie.
“I never heard that song in school,” Emma said, unable to stifle her laughter. Baron ran up, barking his amusement.
“Claire’s a real artist, making up lyrics on the fly,” Zac said. “Not that you would appreciate originality.”
Emma was in the midst or correcting her brother when Claire defused the argument by showing them the NHFD certificate. She hung it up on the wall, retiring the tool belt for the day. The final to-do list was split between the three. Emma was in charge of front-of-house, ensuring all the displays and appropriate signs were set, and checking that the registers and card readers were working as expected. Zac was in charge of packaging and labeling the treats as Claire finished baking them. Baron supervised all activities, with occasional naps.
“OMG, Claire, these new toys are adorbs!” Emma called out from the floor. “But, where should I put them? They’re not on Mrs. Hamilton’s planner.”
“That’s odd,” Claire said. “Traci hasn’t called back yet so I’ll leave them to your creativity.”
A little while later, Emma called her boss out to check the display. She crafted a swimming pool from the cardboard box and filled it with the water toys and a dog mannequin we
aring NHHS goggles.
“That’s amazing!” Claire said. “I love it! Where did you find the goggles?”
“I have a pair in my bag from swim team practice this morning. I won’t need them until next week, so it will look extra NoHa-y for the grand opening.”
“I have to admit, that’s pretty cool,” Zac said. “But, NoHa-y is not a word.”
Emma ignored her brother. “I’ve already got sixty-three likes on Instagram, and I just posted it. See?” She started to hand her phone to Claire, but then snatched it back. “OMG, look what crazy Carly plucked out of the garbage now. Tragic.”
“Oh yeah, that’s wrong,” Zac said.
“What is?” Claire asked, squinting to see what was so obvious to the teens on the tiny screen.
“Those are Vegetarian Shoes,” Emma said. “I got a pair last time I was in Brighton.”
“Ah, and they are too utilitarian to pair with her outfit?” Claire guessed. “When I was a teen, I used to wear my Doc Martens with everything. Or, maybe she’s going to join the gardening club.”
“She’s wearing them with leather shorts and an ivory necklace,” Emma explained. “Plus, who would ever those away? Even if they’re last season’s, anyone who buys that line should be totally committed to recycling.”
“Someone must have,” Claire said. “Carly takes great pride in her trash fashion. She was eco-conscious long before it was en vogue, for her wardrobe anyway. I’ll bet she still buys a new Mercedes every year.”
“I wanted to make a docu of her for film class last year, but she wouldn’t hear of it,” Zac said. “That would have gone viral, guaranteed.”
“There are plenty of other eccentrics in town,” Claire assured the young filmmaker.
“Like a baker-slash-free-style lyricist?” he suggested.
The mood was instantly doused when Peggy arrived, still wearing a Le Bon tape measure draped around her neck. Zac and Emma disappeared to the back. Baron pretended to be asleep under the table.
