I swiped his card and added the tip. A receipt printed out, and I smoothed it out on the counter in front of him. “Sign here, please.”
I was warming up to Logan Graves. He seemed like a man from my world—polished, straight-edged, and corporate. I’d met that type in LA. In fact, this man reminded me a little of my fiancé, Ian.
Logan drew a scribble on the line. “I also wanted to personally invite you and your sister to the local business mixer at my hotel tomorrow night. It’s an annual event that I hold right before tourist season. Everyone with a local business will be there, and it’s an open bar.” He handed me two laminated cards with the Denali Goddess Resort logo printed on it. A black nylon cord was attached to the back so it could be worn around your neck. “That will get you in the door. It’s black tie and starts at 9PM. Can I count on your being there?”
I accepted the lanyards and shoved them into my apron pocket. “Black tie? Sounds a little extra extravagant for Denali.”
Logan slid his company card back into his wallet. “People seem to enjoy it. It’s nice to see friends and neighbors in pretty clothes on occasion.”
“Ok, I’ll be there,” I said.
The truth was, I loved dressing up—sparkles, silly heels, smokey-eye makeup, I never got tired of it.
“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be quite as extravagant as the parties you’re used to in LA,” Logan said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
“How do you know where I’m from?”
“It’s good business to know things about others,” Logan said. “I’ll send someone by for the food. When do you expect to have it ready?”
Because I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t want to put Wes on the spot, I said, “I’ll bring it over as soon as we package it up.”
“Thank you, Samantha. I hope to see a lot more of you this summer. I look forward to meeting your sister tomorrow night.” With one last glittering smile, he turned to go.
As soon he left, I called back to Wes. “Did you hear that? Twenty-seven sandwiches.” I turned around, startled to find Wes standing right behind me.
“I heard.” Wes wore a weirdly aggressive look on his face. He stepped around the counter, watching Logan saunter across the street in his polished shoes. “That guy’s such a tool.”
“You’re just upset because he didn’t hire you.” I dropped twenty-seven cups and lids into a paper bag along with some coffee stirrers.
“I’m not upset,” Wes called over his shoulder as he headed back into the kitchen. “I just think he’s a tool.”
“He bought almost a hundred dollars of food,” I said. “That was nice.”
Wes opened up a new carton of eggs and started cracking them into a metal bowl. “He wasn’t being nice, Samantha. He was sweet-talking you. There’s a difference.”
I rolled my eyes. “He seems like a decent guy to me.”
“Sure, if you’re into pretentious jerks with overpriced haircuts,” Wes said.
Before I could answer, the bakery door swung open. In walked a woman with dark brown hair, skinny jeans, and a faded orange Patagonia jacket. “Sammie, oh hun, how the heck are you? You’re all grown up, you make me feel a million years old.”
“Hi Rosie!” I hugged her as tight as I could. Emotion welled up in the back of my throat as I pressed my face into her shoulder. It was kind of terrible that Rosie meant more to me than my own mother, but she’d been the one there with the video camera at my dance recitals. She’d been the one picking me up from cheerleading practice. The only reason I know how to change a tire was because of her. Seeing her again was like getting a piece of my heart back.
“Let me look at you,” she said, her hands on my shoulders as she held me at arm’s length. “Definitely too skinny, but wow, you look so much like Rebecca. Where’s Willa? I was hoping she’d be here.”
“Willa’s out running errands,” I said.
Rosie’s eyebrows lifted. “Then who’s black sports car is that parked out back?”
“That’s her car. She drove it from Atlanta,” I said.
“Crazy girl,” Rosie commented.
“Willa’s with Sheriff McGregor, I think. She had some questions about Mom’s death.”
Rosie’s mouth tightened. “I got your message that you wanted to talk to me about that. You got some time right now?”
“I’ve got a few minutes,” I said. “You want something to eat?”
Rosie smiled. “I’ll take whatever that fine young man is slinging back there—to-go, and a coffee, if you don’t mind.” She held out a twenty, and I batted her hand away.
“Your money's no good here,” I said.
“Oh, we are not starting that again,” Rosie said. “You can’t be giving free stuff to every person you ever knew. You’ll run this place into the ground.”
“You’re not every person, Rosie.” Reluctantly, I rang up Rosie’s order and handed her a paper cup of coffee.
Stepping around into the cafe, I lowered my voice. “So have you heard anything about my mom’s death?”
“Probably about as much as you,” she said.
“Connor thinks Mom’s death was murder,” I said, getting right to it.
“I do too,” Rosie said. “No way she drowned on her own.”
“Do you have any idea who could’ve done it?” I asked.
“She had her fair share of enemies. You and I both know what stuff she got into.” Rosie shook her head, her eyes weary. “She was private about her work. I was on a need-to-know basis, even as her best friend. Getting that woman to tell me anything was like pulling teeth.”
I glanced over at Molly in the corner with her babies, making sure that she wasn’t listening in. “Rosie, when you cleaned the guest cabin, did you notice anything unusual about it?”
“No,” she frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Someone broke in and tore up the loft area,” I said.
Rosie pressed her hand to her mouth. “You’re kidding.”
I shook my head. “Connor’s looking into it. He’ll probably come around asking you for elimination fingerprints.”
Rosie smoothed her hand over her ponytail. “Anything missing?”
I paused, some nagging instinct telling me to keep quiet about the missing notebook. Rosie knew about the witchcraft that ran in the Craven family. She also knew that my mom worked tirelessly to keep this place free of supernatural criminals.
Still, there were things that Rosie didn’t know—the wood-fire hell oven, for starters.
“Nothing was missing,” I lied. “But they slashed the mattress and broke the lock on the trunk.”
“What trunk?” Rosie’s eyebrows knitted together. “You mean that antique one in the loft? I didn’t even know it opened.”
I went on. “The weird thing was that the place was locked up. We think whoever did it had access to a key. You’re the only one with a set, right?”
“Connor’s got a set,” she said. “Rebecca gave him keys when he took over for his dad. I’d imagine Rebecca probably had a set on her when she drowned.”
I snuck another look in Molly’s direction. She had a baby in one arm and her phone in the other. Her thumb tapped around the screen like she was texting.
Satisfied, I leaned closer to Rosie. “Connor found her keys on her body. All the keys seemed to be there—at least, the set matched the one Connor had.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, hun,” Rosie said. “The place was locked when I came by to clean it. I was there for about two hours. Then I locked it up right after. I keep those keys on me whenever I go out. No one would have had access to them.”
“I figured, but I had to ask,” I said apologetically. “If you think of anything, will you tell me? Any details at all could help.”
“Of course, I will,” she said. “You tell your sister I want to go for a ride in that car sometime this summer.”
“I’ll tell her,” I promised. “Are you going to the business mixer tomorrow?”
&nbs
p; “Wouldn’t miss it. They’ve got an open bar.” Rosie took a sip of coffee and blew out a breath. “Oh, you make it a lot stronger than your momma did. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You used to drink Red Bulls.”
“Sweetie, that was twelve years ago,” she said. “Just that one sip will probably keep me up all night—you mark my words.”
Wes stepped out of the kitchen with a white grease-stained bag. “Order up.”
“Thank you, young man,” Rosie said before turning back to me. “Has George stopped in yet?”
I wiped up a ring of coffee on the counter. “George Huber?”
“That’s the one,” Rosie said. “He’s coming by later to do some maintenance on the water heater at the RV park. I told him to stop by and say hi to you girls first.”
“I haven’t seen him since I got into town,” I said.
“Well, if you do, you tell him I’m waiting.” She waved her hand, heading out the door.
Wes ambled back into the kitchen and started loading the breakfast sandwiches for Logan’s order into two large paper bags. “She’s lying, you know,” Wes commented after the door shut.
“Rosie? No way.” I narrowed my eyes at him.
Wes gathered the bags in his arms and slipped past me, stepping around the counter. “She lied twice,” he said. “Once when she was talking about the keys and once when she mentioned that George guy. He’s not doing ‘maintenance work’ for her—unless that’s what the kids are calling it these days.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you need me to spell it out for you? She’s sleeping—”
I elbowed him. “Seriously, Wes. That’s the closest thing to a mom I’ve got, so you need to be really careful about what you say next.”
Wes paused. “She’s romantically involved with that George guy.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped.
Wes’ pursed his lips, pity in his eyes. “I love and hate how trusting you are.”
“You are so condescending.” I gritted my teeth, irritated by that know-it-all look on his face.
“It’s hard to see when the people closest to you lie,” Wes said. “They’re your blind spots. Doesn’t change the fact that she lied to you.”
I planted my hand on my hip. “It’s not a fact. It’s your opinion. What do you know about it?”
“About lying?” Wes’ eyebrows rose. “A lot. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to drop off Mr. Moneybag’s sandwiches.”
I held out my arms. “I can do it, Wes.”
“And give him another opportunity to leer at you?” he said, pulling the bags of my reach. “No, I don’t think so.”
14
After we closed up for the day, I suggested we head to the next town to pick up groceries for dinner.
I pushed the cart alongside him, vowing to put my annoyance aside for the rest of the night since Wes had been nice enough to get my mom’s old truck working.
Wes examined a bag of field greens under the florescent lights of the grocery store. “I guess this will do.”
He grabbed two more bags and dropped them in the cart, which was already full of spices and extracts I’d never even heard of before. “That’s the one bummer about living all the way up here,” he said. “We have to make due with out-of-state produce.”
“There are so many bummers about Alaska. The produce is the least of my concerns,” I said.
“Things could be worse.” Wes grinned at me. “Want to hear about prison?”
I glared at him. “No, and please stop talking about that place. Someone’s going to hear you.”
“Who cares?” Wes squeezed a pear, turning it over in his hand before he set it in the cart. “I don’t know why you get so weird when I mention prison.”
“It’s because I don’t like thinking about you being there. That’s where low-life degenerates go.”
“No, it’s where people who made mistakes go. That’s all, Samantha. It's just a place.” Wes shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, ambling over to the seafood cooler. “Though I’ll admit it’s not the most dignified place.”
“Is it like movies?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. I’d never known anyone who had gone to prison.
“In some ways.” Wes leaned over the cooler, selecting a case of salmon. “I’ll tell you about it if you want. I feel like you’re dying to know.”
I stared down at the contents of the cart, mostly so I wouldn’t have to look Wes in the eye. “Maybe a little.”
“Well, for starters—prison is terrible. Don’t ever go there.” Wes pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie. “The beds are lumpy. You have zero privacy. You’re stuck hanging out with a bunch of dudes—no girls anywhere. And the food,” Wes shook his head. “The food was the worst.” He paused, glancing into the cart. His lips moved as he silently took inventory of everything he’d selected. “I think we’re ready to check out.”
I steered the cart towards the register. “What was so bad about it?”
Wes smirked. “So you do want to talk about prison?”
“You piqued my interest.”
Wes rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “You know, you and me aren’t that different. We both got stuck somewhere we didn’t want to be. It’s obvious you don’t want to be here—not sure why. But in my experience, the bad things that happen end up being our defining moments. I worked in the kitchen for part of my sentence, and we’d get these boxes of meat with the words, ‘Not for human consumption’ printed on them.”
“What?” I froze. “No. That can’t be true.”
“Wish it wasn’t. Google it sometime.” Wes smiled grimly. “So I made it my goal to figure out ways to make the food marginally edible. I’d experiment with whatever spices we had on hand. I’d try new cooking methods.”
“Did it work?” I asked. “Did it taste any better?”
“Not really.” Wes chucked. “But when I got out, I went to culinary school, and I was the best one in the class. I owe it all to my time working in a prison kitchen.”
“I’m still stuck on the part about the meat that wasn’t fit for human consumption,” I said, feeling my stomach turn.
“Samantha, why are you always so concerned about my meat?” Wes started loading the groceries onto the checkout counter.
“I didn’t say your meat,” I hastily clarified. “I said the meat. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“Whoa, hey—don’t blame me for this.” Wes held up his hands defensively. “I’m the one getting sexually harassed by my boss.”
As Wes and I loaded up the truck bed with groceries, I spotted a familiar face just a few cars down. Misty Sullivan stacked cases of wine and beer in the back of a navy van with the Denali Goddess Resort and Spa logo on the side.
I waved to her. “Hey Misty!”
She gave me a bright smile, swiping her dark bangs from her eyes. “Hi! I heard it went well at the bakery today.”
“It did,” I called back. “We were doing breakfast sandwiches and completely sold out by the afternoon.”
Wes got the last of the groceries in the truck and clicked the tailgate back into place. “Misty, you want some help with those boxes?”
Misty braced her hand against the van door, looking relieved. “Oh, yes, please. Thank you!”
Wes went over to help her while I pushed the cart into the corral.
“No problem.” He flashed her a smile as he took the box out of her hands.
Misty stepped out of Wes’ way and twirled her van keys around her finger. “I see you didn’t end up going back to Anchorage.”
“Nope, I got a job,” he replied.
“I knew it would work out.” Misty smiled.
“It always does.” The bottles inside the box clattered as Wes slid it into the back of the company van. “So how do you and Samantha know each other?”
“We went to school together,” Misty sai
d.
“We both did cheerleading,” I added, strolling over. I motioned to Misty’s purchases. “That’s a lot of alcohol.”
“Tell me about it,” Misty said, pulling off her trucker hat and clamping it under her arm. “It’s for Logan Graves’ business mixer. I got sent out to pick up more booze for tomorrow night. I’ll be bartending. It’s a good thing we’re stocking up. It's an open bar, and Rosie’s coming with George. Those two drink like fish.”
I frowned, taken aback by her comment. “Rosie’s not a big drinker.”
“Are you kidding? She's at the bar five nights a week. You should have seen her last week. She got belligerent, and I had to take her keys to stop her from driving.”
“The bar is right across the street from her RV park,” I said. “Why would she drive there?”
Misty shifted her weight, kicking at the gravel with the rubber toe of her sneaker. “She wasn’t going home. She was going to her not-so-secret boyfriend’s place.” Misty arched an eyebrow. “Rosie and Indiana Jones are a thing now. Everyone knows, even if they pretend not to.”
I knew who she was talking about. Indiana Jones was what everyone called George Huber. He had a reputation for being a bit of a dare-devil. He’d take people flying in his plane if you asked nicely. He could do loops and rolls and spins. I’d had such a crush on him as a preteen, which made it a lot worse when I threw up on him during a flight. He never took me up again.
“That doesn’t sound like Rosie,” I said, feeling protective of her.
Misty shrugged. “You haven’t known her when she’s been with George.”
“I’ve never even known Rosie to date,” I said.
Misty perched on the van bumper. “Because of her psycho ex-husband? I know. That’s why Rosie keeps it on the down-low.” Misty grin conspiratorially. “She thinks she’s being sneaky about it.”
When Misty didn’t offer anymore information I gave her a stiff smile. “If Rosie wants it kept quiet, you probably shouldn’t be talking about it.”
Misty checked her sparkly blue nails. “Not my problem.”
Wes shot me a sideways glance as he grabbed the last box in Misty’s cart, but he kept his mouth shut.
Bake or Die Page 11
