A Killer Cover Up
Page 1
A Killer Cover Up
A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery
Danielle Collins
Fairfield Publishing
Copyright © 2018 Fairfield Publishing
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Except for review quotes, this book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the written consent of the author.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Thank You!
1
The scent of rising croissants, baking to a crispy, golden brown, surrounded Margot like a warm, comforting blanket. The familiarity of it all made her forget her other list of chores—most consisting of wedding details.
It was hard to believe that she and Adam were going to marry in August. Five months away. The short time was foolish, or so all of her friends had told her, but she and Adam had agreed that there was really no reason to wait much longer. Since she had been married before and Adam wasn’t a fan of overly large weddings, they were confident they could get all of the details taken care of in time.
Or she had been confident, until Julia started throwing out ideas and the sheer number of details started to overwhelm Margot. That was when she turned to baking—anything to let her sink her fingers into flour and dough and forget that there were decisions to be made. Choices, phone calls, options, and more that could consume her if she let them.
The timer went off and she reached a mittened hand into the oven to pull out the tray of flaky perfection. Sliding it onto a cooling rack, she closed the oven and looked up at the clock. Julia Hageman, one of her baking assistants, would be in soon, though Dexter Ross, her other assistant, had asked for a few days off to go out of town to visit his sister. Granting it to him had been easy, especially when she found she could escape to baking rather than take care of other duties. She’d even told Julia to come in late.
Rosie Mae Simms would take over the business side of things when she came in after lunch, but until then, Margot would be free to look into wedding details and shop business alike.
“Oh, joy,” she muttered to herself.
“Talking to yourself again, boss?” Julia said, coming in and hanging up her jacket on the peg near the door. She grinned and pulled a newspaper out of her satchel.
“You know me,” Margot said with a smile, “I’m good company to myself.”
“You know what you’re also good at?” Julia said, waving the paper in the air. “Making the local news.”
Margot’s stomach dropped. “Local…news?”
“Yep.” Julia opened the newspaper and cleared her throat for dramatic affect. “Local pastry chef and crime-solving sleuth decides to tie the knot.”
“It does not say that,” Margot said, rushing toward Julia.
“Okay, okay,” Julia said, laughing. “Local pastry chef to marry local detective: who can solve the mystery of where their wedding will be?”
She knew Julia was joking about the last part since they had been discussing locations the day before. Still, the fact that her wedding to Detective Adam Eastwood was in the newspaper unnerved her.
“I can’t believe they printed that.”
“Apparently, you’re big news.” Julia read on before looking up at Margot. “They even mention some of your crime-solving exploits.”
Margot groaned. That was not what she wanted the town thinking of her. She owned The Parisian Pâtisserie and that was the extent of how she wanted people to make note of her in the small retirement community of North Bank, Virginia.
“This isn’t what I wanted, Julia,” she said, looking around the kitchen as if lost. “I just want to marry Adam in a quiet ceremony with friends and family and…”
“Hey…” Julia came over to her and lightly gripped her arm. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just a wedding announcement, not the end of the world. Besides, people were going to know you’re engaged by the sparkle from that rock on your finger.”
Margot laughed at Julia’s exaggeration. She was thankful that she’d hired the young woman despite her many eccentricities. She’d never once regretted her choice, especially as they’d formed a bond of friendship.
“All right, enough wedding talk. Let’s get back to baking!”
“You’re no fun, boss,” Julia said, donning a pristine white apron and scrubbing her hands in the kitchen sink.
“I know. But I am the boss,” she said in a joking tone.
They reassessed the list they had for the rest of the day and got to work. There wasn’t much left to complete before they opened shop and Margot knew that Julia would spend time at the front once they finished the baking.
At the last minute, she added a batch of cupcakes she’d take up to the Senior Center for the residents to share. It was located close to the senior living complex where her dear friend Bentley Anderson lived, and she knew he would be there when she dropped them off since he was working on a special fundraiser for the center in a few weeks.
She knew she was stalling, but the idea of getting stuck at her computer for the remainder of the day was daunting. If her phone’s notifications were any indication, the word about her upcoming nuptials had spread at an alarming rate. That meant many emails to answer, calls to return, and rumors to set straight since it was a small town and news would travel faster—and more inaccurately—than anyone would believe.
When the last cupcake had been freed from its baking tray and the frosting was chilling in the refrigerator, she handed everything over to Julia and headed toward her office like a child walking into the dentist’s office.
Two hours later and Margot was still filtering through her email, reading some, deleting others, and rolling her eyes at most that asked for details of her upcoming wedding or offered their service for “such an important event” in their lives. She felt sure that the attention drawn from the newspaper article had done this, driven people with good sense to abandon any sense of propriety, but she tried to see it from their perspective too.
She’d snatched the article from Julia and read it herself, grimacing through most of it, and coming to understand that the North Bank News had used her engagement to Adam as a boon for their own good. They’d made it sound as if Hercule Poirot was marrying Jessica Fletcher in the wedding of the century. It was complete fiction, as much as those characters, but they’d pulled it off.
Every business or individual that had contacted her about using their services had assumed there would be media coverage and attention brought to their wedding. Something Margot would be certain to put a stop to in order to avoid the invasion of their privacy.
She sighed and leaned back, rubbing at her temples where a headache was forming. Could this day get any worse? Her privacy—her special moment with Adam—was opened wide for all the world to see. Or so it felt.
Her email pinged the announcement of another incoming message.
“Wonderful,” she said with sarcasm.
Moving her cursor to the top of the list where she planned to obliterate the email without hesitation, she stopped. The subject line read: Help me uncover the truth about Julian.
Her hand began to tremble where it hovered over the mouse, her finger a centimeter from clicking delete but now frozen by that one name.
Julian.
With it came a flood of memories. His roguish smile. His easy laughter. His hand in hers.
She swallowed, trying to fight back the flood of tears that immediately came to her eyes. Her husband had been dead almost six years now and yet sharp memories like this still attacked her at the least likely moments. Then again, his name brought to mind all sorts of things, but when paired with ‘the truth,’ it was too much to bear.
She clicked the email open without thought to a virus or anything sinister, only in search of the truth, one she’d sought for almost six years, though less actively of late.
An image began to load from the top down, taking its slow time as large files usually did. Slowly, inch by inch, a semi-blurry screenshot appeared. The top showed an alleyway, dingy brick and grime, and then revealed two people. One had their back to the camera, almost completely blocking the view of the second person, but—
Margot gasped. The second figure was Julian beyond a doubt. She could spot his sharp facial features and cowlick of hair that never managed to be tamed. It looked as if he was frowning, though it was hard to tell with the quality of the image. There was no way to tell who the other man was, though. He wore a baseball cap that disguised the shape of his head and all other features were covered by baggy clothing.
Then the last part of the photo downloaded and included a timestamp. She gasped again, her hand flying to cover her mouth. The image had been taken the night of his death.
A sick feeling rushed over her. This was Julian—her Julian—and likely the last image of him taken before he’d been shot. But who… Her eyes flew to the top of the email and she clicked the icon to reveal who the email had come from. It was obviously a dummy account labeled insider260@cmail.com with the first and last name listed as Insider Information. That wasn’t helpful.
She immediately thought of Dexter, then remembered he was visiting his sister Danielle in Maine. He would be able to help her with this, she was certain, but she also didn’t want to interfere with his time with his sister since he barely got to see her much.
Next she thought about Adam. He’d often hinted at having contacts beyond what a normal police detective in a small town would have, but this felt personal. As if someone was reaching out to her for a specific reason. But why? She didn’t see any text added to the email.
She scrolled down to the bottom again and noted three small dots right beneath the image. Curious, she clicked them and a single line of text popped up.
Pine Creek Trail 10am tomorrow.
Margot swallowed. The text hadn’t shown up due to her email settings and had been condensed as part of the footer. This note was obviously for her and it also meant that the person at least knew something of who Margot was and where she spent her time outdoors. She loved running on the Pine Creek Trail that wound along the Potomac River. It was one of her favorite places to go on weekend mornings. How did this person know that? Had they been watching her for weeks to discover this? Or was it a random coincidence that they picked the trail to meet at? It was secluded and would provide a good cover for anyone.
Her stomach twisted into knots. She knew better than to meet someone by herself, but she had no reason to believe they wanted anything more than to meet her. There had been no threat in the email, just something geared toward information gathering—or so it seemed.
She bit her lip. Adam was in Washington, D.C. consulting with his brother on a case and wasn’t scheduled to be back for at least another few days. She knew if she called him that he would insist she not go, or he’d ask her to take someone like his partner Les with her. She didn’t want to bother Les and she didn’t think that she was in danger. At least, she hoped she wasn’t. Still, Adam wouldn’t be happy knowing she went on her own.
She scrolled back up and focused on Julian’s face. It was really too blurry to make out much of anything. She wished she could see the other man’s face. Could it really be that the person who had sent this was trying to solve the mystery of her husband’s death?
Margot thought back to the tragic and tear-filled nights right after Julian’s murder. She’d spent long nights asking why of anyone who would listen—his chief of the day, his coworkers, his partner—but no one had offered her much. They said they didn’t know. Said it could be gang-related or just a random act of violence. But all of their offerings added up to more questions than answers.
She’d looked into things as best she could at the time, but then she’d come to the realization that she could either let his death define her life, pushing her to become obsessed and miss out on her own life, or she could use it to spur on her own dreams as she knew Julian would have wanted.
That was when she’d opened the bakery and put thoughts about her husband’s passing to rest.
Then again, they’d never truly left. They’d only become dormant, waiting for something—or someone—to bring them back to life.
Thankfully, she had the knowledge and experience and healing of years to put to rest her anxiety and obsessiveness over her husband’s passing. She was curious, or even a little more than that, about the truth, but she wasn’t going to let it consume her.
Then a thought came to mind. She knew what she’d do about the meeting.
2
“Margot,” Bentley said, coming toward her with arms outstretched. “You look worried.”
She accepted his embrace, taking in a deep breath of the scent of peppermint and baby powder that enveloped her along with Bentley’s reedy arms. “I’m all right.” She pulled back to look at him. “How are you? Anita said you had a cold.”
“Ach.” He tossed a hand in the direction of the two older women sitting on the other side of the center’s meeting room. “Anita likes to worry. One sneeze and you’d think I’d caught my death of plague.”
She grinned. “I think she just cares about you.”
“Too much.”
“Did you see the cupcakes?”
“Sure did. What made you think to bring them?”
Margot shrugged. She didn’t want to bring up the amount of attention her wedding announcement had brought. She was sure that if she did, her true feelings would shine through in addition to thoughts about the cryptic email she’d gotten. Normally, she’d want to tell Bentley. He’d been almost a like a father figure to her and had even joined her on her last case when they made a trip to the famous Garber Resort in West Virginia. That case had also involved his son, the elusive and still at-large Ben Anderson, though the authorities were less enthusiastic about finding him since all of the stolen items from the patrons of the Garber had mysteriously shown up on the security chief’s desk one morning not long after the case had wrapped up.
Now, she thought about bringing Bentley into her confidence but held back. She knew he would be a helpful addition, his lawyer mind still sharp as a tack, but she felt the need to explore this on her own at first. Like so many other leads, she was sure this one wouldn’t pan out. It was possible the date had been forged or the picture was a composite from several others, or a complete fabrication. Then again, she had no idea why someone would go to the trouble to create something like that. They hadn’t asked her for money or anything other than to meet with her.
“Margot?” Bentley said, tapping her on the shoulder. “You look a million miles away.”
“Right,” she said, blinking. “I’m sorry. A lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure it’s the wedding, dear,” Anita said, coming up to stand next to Bentley. Her soft gaze turned on him, a half-smile playing on her lips rimmed with coral lipstick. “You’ve got a lot of things to take care of.”
Margot noticed the way Anita stood closer to Bentley than necessary and she fought back a grin. The woman was obviously smitten.
“Not so much that I can’t handle it, thankfully,” Margot said.
“But are the rumors true?”
Margot almost groaned out loud. “What rumors?”
“Why, that you’re making your own wedding cake, of course.”
“Don’t be nosy,” Bentley said, his gruff tone only making Anita smile.
“No,” Margot admitted. “I’m not planning on making my own wedding cake.” Though she didn’t know why it would matter if she did. Who cared whether she or some other baker made their cake? Just more mindless details she’d have to deal with.
“I think they need you at the front there,” Bentley said, motioning toward where another volunteer sat.
“You think so?” Anita said, seeming to accept any and all attention Bentley would send her way.
“Definitely.”
“Of course,” she said, then shuffled off toward the front.
Margot eyed him. “You just sent her away.”
“She’s been clinging to me ever since I accepted this project.” He shrugged and folded his arms across his chest.
“She likes you,” Margot said with a grin.
“Pfft.” He frowned. “I’m too old for that stuff.”
“Never,” Margot said with a grin. “But, I did bring the cupcakes as a trial run for my contribution to the night. Try them, pass them around, and then let me know what you think. I can create a special garnish to fit the theme. You said classic Hollywood, right?”
He nodded. “I think they’ll be a really nice touch. We’ve got some live music lined up and even a stand-up comedian from back in the day. Should gain a lot of interest and hopefully finance the last of the project.”
“I’m proud of you,” she said, smiling at her friend. “You’ve gone to great lengths to ensure this is a success.”
He shrugged again. “I get bored sometimes. Thought this would be a good way to put this mind to use.” He tapped his temple and smiled. “But are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”