CHAPTER 2
Lizzie and I cleaned up and were closing at four instead of five. Just as we stepped out the door and I fished for the key, Nancy Flemming, the reporter for the local newspaper came up.
“So, Ms. Bailey. I wondered if you had anything to say about the death of Barbara Simpson today?”
“She has no comment,” Lizzie said quickly and took my arm as she took off at a record-setting pace toward her car.
Ordinarily, I liked the walk, but today, I felt grateful for the ride. When we arrived at the house, it had just started to get dark and the small solar path lights flickered to life. The neighborhood looked still and just about the same as it had this morning. What a difference twelve hours makes, I thought.
Inside the house, I went straight to my bedroom, pulled off the jeans and shirt and put on my faded blue robe. I desperately needed a shower. Lizzie went straight to the living room to pick up the cooking magazines and other “clutter” so it looked presentable for David’s visit. I stood in the shower for a long time. The hot water helped me feel my numb limbs again and I started to think about my defense. I felt like I really had nothing to defend because I didn’t do it, but on the other hand, there did seem to be evidence that made me look guilty and I had to do something so that I didn’t wind up on trial for murder. I felt sick suddenly. What if they really did put me on trial? Would the truth come out or would I be sent to prison for a crime that I didn’t commit? When the water cooled off a bit, I got out of the shower, wrapped my hair in a towel and put my robe back on again. I found Lizzie fluffing the huge floor pillow in front of the fireplace. She stopped when I came into the room.
“That’s what you’re wearing? I might’ve chosen something else, like, oh I don’t know—clothes.”
“I’ll get dressed in a minute,” I said and curled up on the couch and grabbed a pillow to hug.
“Hey, don’t let this get to you. You need to whip up a batch of spunk muffins or brave bread or some other concoction and get your butt into gear, lady.”
“You’re right. You’re a good friend. Thanks.”
“Just remember that when this is all over and someone offers you the big book deal for your story or better, yet; just make sure that I play myself in the made for TV movie, alright?”
The knock on the door startled me a little. I looked down at the robe and grabbed the towel off my head. Nearly tripping over the pillow I dropped, I sprinted into the bedroom to get dressed. I heard Lizzie let David in as I ripped the brush through my hair.
A couple of minutes later, I came out clad in my yoga pants and a clean white t-shirt that apparently met with Lizzie’s approval because she gave me the thumbs up sign as I came into the room.
“Hi David, do you want something to drink? I haven’t been home long, so I’m afraid I don’t have any idea what I have to make for dinner just yet.”
“I’ll go and see what I can dig up,” Lizzie said and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Thanks, nothing right now. I just want to sit for a minute. I can’t stay long. I need to meet Pete at Barbara’s house.”
“Where was Ron this morning?” I asked not really letting him finish his sentence before jumping in.
“He went to his mother’s apparently. That’s where we got a hold of him to tell him the news.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but I’m worried, Green Eyes, that you’re gonna take the fall for this, that’s the way it’s looking.”
“What? The way what’s looking?” Lizzie came in with cheese and crackers on a plate. She nearly dropped it when she heard that.
“Okay. Here it is, Barbara ate a piece of poisoned chocolate cake and the working theory is that you poisoned her to make sure that your business didn’t go under. The thing is, the poisoned cake might be a piece of your Death by Chocolate cake.”
“But how stupid do people think I am to feed her my signature dessert laced with poison and leave it there to be found?”
“Well, you’d be surprised at how criminals forget about details. It usually is how we catch them,” he smiled and his dimples made me lose a bit of my indignance.
“That’s all circumstantial, though. They can’t arrest her for that, can they?”
David sighed and reached for a cracker, “I’ve put together weaker cases before.”
“You’re a big help,” I said.
“I’m just saying, you can see the logic in the case they’re building. Oh, and one of your recipe cards also turned up near her hand.”
“So they think she held onto the card to name me as the killer?”
He shook his head since he had stuffed more crackers and cheese into his mouth.
“Then we need to find the real killer to prove that I am innocent.”
“Okay, Sherlock. What’s the first move?” asked Lizzie.
“Wait a minute,” David cleared his throat from the crackers. “Don’t go meddling in an active investigation or you’ll be charged with obstruction.”
“I’d rather an obstruction charge than a murder rap,” I countered.
“I think we should opt for no charges,” said Lizzie.
David’s cell beeped and he checked it. “I’ve got to go.”
He stood and grabbed a few more crackers and pieces of cheese and moved toward the door. I went with him and Lizzie got very busy with the cheese and crackers. He opened the door and then turned back to me. He leaned down a bit and kissed me. Although surprised, and admittedly a bit out of practice, I kissed him back and for that blissful second, I totally forgot about everything, including the murder.
“Don’t worry, Green Eyes; I’ll do whatever it takes to catch the real killer.”
I opened my eyes and smiled. “I know you will. Thanks.”
The door swung back gently as he stepped out and it took me a second to actually move from the spot.
“So that could’ve been a scene from a movie. So romantic,” Lizzie oozed as I walked back to the couch.
In spite of the fact that I had to focus on devising a plan to clear myself, the dopey smile from this morning snuck back out and my thoughts were a bit cloudy.
“I think it is safe to say that he believes that you are innocent,” she chuckled.
“Will you focus, please?” I tried to make my voice sound stern, but since my smile wouldn’t fade, I couldn’t pull it off effectively.
“Right. Focus,” she echoed.
“First, I need to think about who has bought my Death by Chocolate cakes this week.” A slight pang of regret stabbed at me briefly for naming the dessert that. “Then, we need to figure out who else, besides me, could have a motive for killing Barbara.”
“Okay, but once we figure out who else could have a motive, how are we going to prove that he or she did it?”
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll figure out the ‘hows’ after we figure out the ‘whos.’ We’ll get whatever we find out to David as soon as we can so that he and Peter can officially investigate everything.”
“Get it to David? I thought it sounded like he would be helping us, too?”
“You heard him about the obstruction thing and he could even be in trouble for talking with us about anything to do with the investigation. No, we need to do this on our own and once we have something solid, we can bring it to him so he can follow up with the official channels.” I picked up the nearly empty plate. “I don’t want to get him into too much trouble for being on my side.”
I went into the kitchen and rinsed the plate. Lizzie followed me and opened the freezer.
“You only have strawberry? What happened to good old fashioned chocolate?”
“I ate it all. The strawberry is leftover from that apple pie I made a couple of weeks ago.”
“Mmm, I remember that meal.” She closed the freezer without taking the ice cream out.
“So, who tops your Death list?” she asked, returning to the issue at hand.
“What?”
<
br /> “You know, who bought your cake?”
“Willie bought just a piece a couple of days ago. Rachel bought one for her open house for that new scarf line.”
“Okay, so that’s two.”
“Mrs. Ramsey bought one for her dinner party and Mark bought one for something or other and you.” I tried to look as suspicious as possible and I pointed at her.
“So four, altogether?” she asked and swatted my hand away. “That’s not too many to check out. Who do you want to question?”
“I’ll take Willie and Rachel,” I said.
“That leaves me with Mark and Mrs. Ramsey. I’ll switch you Mark for Rachel.”
“You just want an excuse to shop, right?” I watched her slightly sheepish smile form.
“I guess since you are helping me, I could take Mark back, figuratively, of course.”
“Great. It’s settled. I’ll call off from work in the morning and get to Rachel’s as soon as she opens.”
“My two might be harder to track down. Willie came in early this morning before he left for work somewhere so I’m not sure if he’ll even be in town and Mark usually doesn’t come in at all.”
“Then once I track down my two, I’ll swing by and cover the shop, as long as I don’t have to cook anything, while you go and catch up with Mark.”
Suddenly I felt exhausted and yawned. Even though it wasn’t quite eight thirty, I had nothing left. Though Lizzie offered to stay with me, I opted to just crawl into bed and call it a night. Not that I expected to sleep all that much, but I thought I’d give it a try.
I tried to think about any tiny detail that might be important in figuring out who killed Barbara. What kind of motive would there be, aside from mine, that would make someone kill. Money? Well, Ron would stand to gain because he’d presumably get the business and possibly insurance. Who else? She’d been in business for twenty years and it seemed like everyone in town liked her or at least didn’t dislike her. In a small town, how could there be such big trouble? I had the funny image of a miniature town in my head and the next thing I knew the alarm clock buzzing at 3:30 startled me.
I sat up in bed and the moonlight peeked through the slats in the venetian blinds. I wondered if I should drive to the shop this morning instead of walking. I felt uneasy and even a little unsafe walking to work, even though I’d never given it a second thought before now.
I got dressed and made my usual oatmeal for breakfast. For a baker, it seemed a bit odd, but I’d been eating oatmeal nearly every day all my life and it never really occurred to me to do anything different.
That’s it! What was different for the people in town yesterday? Most people are creatures of habit in some way, so when something goes a bit awry, that throws them off, I thought I might be on to something that could protect me – routine.
After shoveling the oatmeal into my mouth, I went outside. I looked at my red Baja in front of the house and instead I walked down the street as usual for me. I wondered briefly if anyone watched me and remarked that my routine hadn’t changed. The thought of someone watching me made me walk faster and gave me goose-bumps not at all related to the cool air.
I got to the shop at about 4:25, a little later than usual. I fumbled with the key just like every morning. The loud click echoed through the empty street and I had a momentary déjà vu feeling. Inside I put on the lights and donned my apron. This morning, the chocolate cake logo didn’t make me smile as it had others, instead it made a sick feeling grow in my stomach. Swallowing hard, I set up the coffee urns and fought with myself about whether to make any Death by Chocolate cakes today. Not usually caring what people thought of me, I knew that I’d be under a microscope and there didn’t seem to be a good answer as to whether I looked guilty if I did or didn’t make the cakes after Barbara’s murder.
“But how do they know the cake she’d eaten actually had been mine?” I wondered out loud. Then another thought occurred to me. How and why would anyone put that much effort into planting evidence that squarely put me in the hot seat? Barbara had been one victim, but had I also been a target or had I just been collateral damage? I realized that I had been frozen in place while my thoughts reeled. I needed to get some things ready for the morning. Today I could be in for a true rush or people would steer clear of my bakery just on principle.
I opened the refrigerator and took stock. I had cranberries, chopped apples, lemons and blueberries for fresh fruits. I took them all out and grabbed the bowl of bread dough, too. Once the oven groaned to life, I filled the kettle and put it on the back burner. I took the last Death by Chocolate cake out and the remaining apple muffins from yesterday. As I mixed up a batch of cranberry muffins and made a lemon zest icing, the door opened with a customer. I looked up at the clock and it wasn’t even five o’clock, yet. I stepped toward the counter wiping my hands.
“Good morning, what can I get for you?” I asked before I looked up.
“I’d like to have that cake to start, if you please.” Peter Lynch placed a folded piece of blue paper on the counter.
I reached for the paper and opened it before getting the cake. The warrant said that it gave permission to search the premises and to obtain any item(s), including any financial records and computer as potential evidence in the matter of the Simpson murder.
“Of course, Detective. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I tried to sound casual, but I felt nervous. I wondered how guilty people managed to carry on while they lied to the law. I had done nothing wrong and I felt completely on edge.
“No, thank you. Can I take a look around?”
“Of course.”
I tried to work around him, but he made me feel really uncomfortable. He looked in my refrigerator and freezer. He checked under my sink for cleaners and took each bottle out in turn and made a grand show of reading the labels. He made his way to the back door and looked around my desk; all without saying anything to me.
At 5:30, the door opened and David came in. I don’t think I’d ever been so happy to see anyone.
“Good morning, Detective,” I said in as controlled and even a voice as possible, but relief flooded my body.
“Hi, Gr—, Myra,” he mumbled as he noticed Peter. “Hey, Pete. What are you doing here so early?”
“Dave,” he said simply as a greeting, but didn’t offer anything else.
I picked up the warrant and David nodded.
“Are you executing a warrant? Where’s the uni?”
“It came up from the judge after night court over in Caraway, so I thought I’d come over before the rush,” he said with a sarcastic clip to his words.
“Find anything? David asked in a slightly disinterested voice.
“I just secured the cake, but nothing else, so far.”
Secured the cake? I had an image of the cake being handcuffed and the silliness made me almost laugh. I was really glad that David had come in while Peter searched.
“How about a cup of French Vanilla and make it a large, please. It looks like it’ll be a long day.”
“Sure. Just cream, right?
“Yes. I’m sweet enough without any sugar, you know,” he said in a bit quieter voice. David had to be careful not to show that he’d become too involved with a suspect if he wanted to continue in the investigation.
Involved, I wondered if we really were getting involved. One kiss didn’t have to mean that we were even technically dating, since we hadn’t yet had a date and I felt sure that tonight’s dinner plans were off, but the chemistry between us was real enough. That thought also helped to bolster my spirits.
Peter stopped poking around and came back to the counter. “Ms. Bailey, how do keep your books?”
“I use QuickBooks on my computer.”
“I’ll be taking that with me,” and to David, “I didn’t find anything else here.”
He sounded disappointed to me and it made me mad that he clearly seemed to want me to be guilty.
A few minutes later, the two of them l
oaded up my computer in a big box and the last Death by Chocolate cake into Peter’s car. Peter drove away and David came back inside.
“You held it together really well, Green Eyes,” he said as he closed the door.
“He wants me to be guilty, doesn’t he?”
“Not really. He does want this all to be wrapped up though, and you’re an easy answer.”
I needed to figure out who else wanted her dead, and fast. I put the cranberry muffins in the oven and stirred the icing a bit.
“I did find out that it was a poison that killed her,” David said with a gulp of coffee.
“Yuck,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s good that you didn’t have anything incriminating here.” He took another swig of coffee. “You know, we’ll be searching your house, too.”
“Great, so my cases upon cases of rat poison hidden in the crawl space will be confiscated.”
He coughed on his next sip at that.
“Well, I should get going to find some clues to clear your good name.”
“Want a refill?”
He shook his head and placed a folded bill on the counter. He winked at me. “Later, Green Eyes.”
“Bye,” I picked up the money and noticed that he’d stuck his card in the dollar. I slipped it into my jean’s pocket.
I made some more muffins and got dough out to rise for some bread. I wondered if Willie would come in today or if he was still away. Then it hit me. The stain on his sleeve. It looked like chocolate cake. He’d seemed jumpy and he’d come in early. What if he’d killed Barbara and then came into my shop. He’d said that he had a long day of driving ahead of him. Was he getting away from town to avoid becoming a suspect himself? He could be anywhere by now. The door opened and someone came into the shop.
“Dahling, Myra?” called Rachel a bit softer than her usual tone.
“Morning, Rachel. What can I get for you this morning?”
“Do you have any scones this morning?” she asked looking into the case.
“I have some in the fridge. I can heat one up for you,” I offered and went to get the tray out.
“Thanks ever so, also a cup of Earl, too, please. Another long morning of inventory ahead of me means that I so need the sustenance.”
“Of course,” I said. Inventory explained why Rachel had been so early the last couple of mornings.
“Such bad business in town, isn’t it? I said to Cynthia, you know, the Mayor’s wife, yesterday that I just couldn’t imagine a scandal like this in our little slice of heaven. I hope the police will get to the bottom of this before any other proprietor on the Main Street is found, well, you know,” she whispered, “dead.”
“You think we’re all targets?” I hadn’t considered the possibility that there might be more killing. I felt sick again. I got out an Earl Grey Tea bag and poured the hot water from the stove. I put the scone in the microwave and pressed 20 seconds.
“Well, I certainly hope not, but one never knows. I understand that they are investigating you, dear. How dreadful for you! I don’t believe it for a second. Personally, I think the boys would be better off looking for that handy person, what is his name, Willard or something? You know, I heard from Millie, who heard from her sister, Lila, who heard from Dennis, that Willard argued with Barbara the very night before she died.”
“What?”
“I heard from Millie, who heard from—”
I put my hand up for her to stop, “What did Willie argue with Barbara over?”
She paused and seemed a bit surprised that she’d been interrupted. The microwave beeped and I brought her order to the counter.
“Not sure, but it has something to do with Barbara’s son.”
“Son? I didn’t think Ron and Barbara had any kids.”
“They didn’t, but Barbara had a child that she put up for adoption before she met Ron. You know, too young to care for the child and all, but from what I understand, Willard had information about the man and had been refusing to tell her about it,” she took a breath.
“I didn’t know any of that.”
“You didn’t hear it from me,” she smiled and handed me a couple of dollars.
“Dahling, the gathering will go on as planned tonight. I think we all need a distraction. Maybe you could stop even for a bit, you know just to be social, TTFN,” she swished out the door without waiting for me to give her an answer.
I felt pretty confident that my dinner with David was off, so maybe I could go and see what I could find out to help me clear my name. I’d talk to David about it later. In the meantime, I wondered how to find out more about Willie’s connection to Barbara and her son. Willie could be about the same age as Barbara’s boy, so maybe they went to school together, but I thought he had grown up here in Fish Creek Falls and it sounded like Rachel thought Barbara’s son hadn’t been in the area. Could the son have come back? Could Willie kill? It seemed that when you looked hard enough, nearly everyone could have a motive of some sort. I went over to the desk to try and search for something about baby homes in the area and realized I currently had no computer. I fished my phone from my coat pocket and started to type in keywords.
The phone vibrated and a text popped up from Lizzie. Up…called off…cya at 7ish.
I sent a smiley face back and kept searching. I found out that the nearest baby home had been closed in the 90s, but it was only thirty miles from Fish Creek Falls. I didn’t know if Barbara had been the type to go far away to have a child, or if she’d stick close to home. Sighing, I thought, It’s just one more piece to the puzzle.
I went to rescue the muffins and to check the dough. So much for the extra people coming into the shop, I thought as I glanced at the clock. 6:15 and no one had come in since Rachel. Well, it gave me more time to think about what my next move would be.
I could have talked to Rachel about the Death by Chocolate cake and her alibi, but I got a little sidetracked with the story about Barbara’s son. I wondered if Ron had known about the boy. He just got out of jail. Maybe he’d get a big insurance payout from Barbara. That’s a good motive. I felt like the Willie info and the thought about Ron inheriting money could be strong leads. Reaching into my pocket, I took out the card that had David’s contact information on it.
I swiped my phone and quickly dialed his personal cell number.
“This is David.”
“Um, hi. It’s Myra.”
“Green Eyes. You found my card, huh? What’s up?”
I could hear the background noise of his car so I knew he was driving somewhere. Since he called me Green Eyes, I guessed that he was alone.
“I had some thoughts and wondered if you could check them out, you know, officially?”
“Tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll tell you how official I can be.”
I told him about Willie’s argument with Barbara the night before she died, my encounter with Willie yesterday morning, and my thoughts about Ron. He listened quietly.
“I can check out the insurance thing and I’ll see if I can track down Willie for a chat,” he said.
“Great, thanks!”
“No big deal, but don’t count on that all to pan out before things get tough for you, though. Make the call to the lawyer just in case.”
My legs gave out and I leaned on the counter. Before things get tough?
“Are you telling me that I’m going to be arrested?”
The call failed beep sounded in my ear. I hit the call back button and it went straight to voicemail.
“Call me as soon as you can!” I nearly shouted and hit end.
Get a grip, I told myself. I had to keep my head clear and not freak out. I took a couple deep breaths and decided to shape some bread loaves. I also dumped the coffee that I’d made earlier and started some new pots. I knew that I’d be wasting them too because no one would be coming in today, or maybe ever again if I were arrested, but it gave me something to keep busy with at least.
Then I heard the
door and got to the counter quickly.
“Bailey? How are you doing? Are the police really calling you a suspect?” Mark had a serious look on his face, but I thought he looked more curious than concerned. Word travels so fast in a small town.
“Looks that way. What can I get you, Mark?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to see how you were dealing with everything and to let you know that I’m in your corner. I know you didn’t do this,” he reached out and held my hand that rested on the counter.
“Thanks. Really, your support means a lot.”
“Of course, and now, you’ll see; the people won’t be able to get in here fast enough after all this is cleared up.”
I smiled, but didn’t know what to say. Mark had been feeling responsible for my success in town since he’d told me about the building and brought me to the Main Street Merchants meeting to introduce me. I felt a little like his prized pig or science project that he showed off to people, but having another supporter right now was worth anything.
“Well, on second thought, how about a slice of your Death by Chocolate? I think I love it even more than your molten chocolate cake,” he winked at me.
My mouth went dry at the mention of those two desserts together, “Uh, I don’t have either one today, sorry,” I wiped the counter, breaking the hand holding. “Something else, maybe?”
“I don’t think so,” he turned to leave.
“Hey, what did you need the Death by Chocolate for? Cast party or something?” I thought quickly, “Because if you need more, just let me know and I’ll have it ready for you.”
“Good to know, but that one was for me. Of course, I did share some of it,” he smiled.
He had street clothes on this morning, I noticed.
“No run this morning? I guess it’s too late for that today, huh?”
His smiled faded slightly, “No run today, I slept in this morning.”
“How far do you usually go now?” I asked conversationally. He ran sprints in college, but that, as Rachel pointed out, had been ages ago.
“A few miles I guess, I usually run for about forty-five minutes and then finish out the hour with a cool down jog or walk. Want to join me sometime?” he asked.
The question surprised me. “Maybe, but I think I’d be better with the cool down pace,” I wiped the counter again and he waved as he left. He seemed to be walking like he was stiff, but I didn’t want to be too obvious by asking too many questions.
As I thought about Mark running yesterday, it hit me that he’d been sweating when he’d come into the bakery. His money even felt damp, I remembered. I thought that he had been ready to go for a run and not done with it, but then why had he been all sweaty?
Then I thought about calling a lawyer. My legs felt quivery just thinking about it, but it didn’t make sense to not at least make the call. I tried to get myself under control before I dialed, but I could barely keep a single thought in my head, other than the fact that I desperately didn’t want to go to jail—especially for something that I didn’t do. It was still early, probably too early to call. I’d wait for Lizzie to come. She could help me make sense of everything. I wiped the counter again just to do something. What I really wanted to do was go to Barbara’s bakery and have a look around. I wasn’t sure what I could find that the police didn’t, but since they were so sure that I was the killer, perhaps they might have overlooked something that could point to the real killer, or at the very least, something that would put me in the clear somehow.
I decided to make the bread and rolls for the day because at least I’d be productive while my thoughts raced. I knew that I had made too many, but I could always sell them as day old and still make something on them.
Once I popped the last batch of breads into the oven, the door opened again and in breezed Lizzie.
“Hey girl what’s shaking this morning?”
“Just my legs, David said I should call a lawyer.”
Her cheery good-morning smile faded. “Isn’t that a little premature? Does he think things really look that bad for you?”
“I think he’s being careful.” I said and grabbed the rag to wipe the counter, yet again. “But the police aren’t looking at anybody except me, so I guess I should call someone.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why wouldn’t they be looking for anyone who might have a motive?”
“Because they think, well Peter Lynch thinks, that I have the best one.”
“Maybe, but isn’t Detective Hunky helping you out?”
I smiled. “He is, but Lynch is the lead detective and this is a very small town.”
Lizzie fiddled with the empty card holder and didn’t say anything right away.
“There has to be a way to clear my name. What if there is a bit of evidence that they’ve missed? The bakery has to hold the key.”
“We can’t just pop over to the crime scene and have a look around, though,” she said.
“I have to do something. I don’t want to go to jail!”
“I know, MB, but it’s just not possible that you would be found guilty of Barbara’s murder so this is all just a nightmare until we get it all sorted out.”
“I wish I were as optimistic about it all as you, but it doesn’t feel like it’s going to all work out. I’m really scared.”
Lizzie came around the counter and gave me a hug and then snapped into analytical mode. “Okay, so, let’s go over what we already know about the murder. First, Barbara was working by herself. Second, she had your molten lava cake recipe card under her body and your Death by Chocolate cake was found at the scene of the crime. Ron was supposed to work but went to his mother’s. He had a motive because of an insurance money maybe, but who else could be a suspect?”
I quickly told her about what I’d found out about Willie and how I had called David to tell him about it.
“I would never have thought that Willie could be a killer!”
“We still need to check Ron out, though.”
“Didn’t the police say that he’d gone to his mother’s house?” asked Lizzie.
“I know, but when did he go and how far away does she live from the bakery? She’s old, sick and maybe not a great alibi when it comes down to it.”
“Well, I think it’s time to bring something over to Ron and pay your respects.”
“What?”
“Give me your apron. She reached to untie it. I’ll stay here and mind the store while you go to Ron’s and see what you can find out.”
“I can’t go over at this time of the morning.” I started to retie the apron.
“Then, go home and take a shower, change, rest, run , go talk to Rachel and Mark, call the lawyer like Detective Hunky told you to. Just go home for awhile. I’ll be fine.”
“I already talked to Mark this morning. He bought the cake for himself, he says. I wonder who he shared it with? I guess it didn’t matter all that much. But as far as I can tell, he didn’t have a motive to want Barbara dead.”
“I’ll be fine, really. Go.”
“Sure. You, who can’t boil water, are going to be fine in my bakery?”
She blushed slightly and said, “Well, is there anything left to cook this morning?”
“You mean bake?” I asked, thinking of the several dozen rolls and six loaves of breads baking. “No, I think I have enough.” I went to the oven and took out the rolls.
“Then there is no problem. All I have to do is make coffee, which I can do, and sell stuff.”
“You’ll have to take the bread out in about ten minutes,” I added.
She nodded. “Look, you know what you want to ask Ron about, and to check with Rachel anyway, so why don’t you talk to them yourself. After, come back here, and we’ll plan how to get into the bakery, if you still really want to. Maybe Hunky will let us in.”
“I don’t think David would be able to do that. He might bend a couple of rules, but breaking and entering in a crime scene probably isn’t a great career move
.”
A car pulled up and Lizzie looked out the window.
“Hey, isn’t that Detective Lynch? Maybe now would be a good time to disappear, MB.”
I looked out the window to see him standing next to his car. He was on the phone and he was alone. Maybe that meant he wasn’t coming to arrest me. My heart raced and I felt a bit nauseous as I slipped off the apron, grabbed my phone and coat and went out the back door.
“Text me,” I hissed.
If I could get to the end of the block, then I’d be out of sight from the main street to my house. Did this make me a fugitive? No, it couldn’t since I hadn’t been arrested, so technically I wasn’t escaping from anything.
I waited in the back for a minute, hoping that he’d gone inside the bakery already. His car was parked at the end of the block, so it didn’t give me much choice but to go past it to get home. With a deep breath, I moved from beside the back door and started around to the front. No one ever was in the empty lot on that side of the building. When I got to the side window, I ducked under it. I could barely move with the adrenaline building and making my legs wobbly and almost unresponsive. I hoped Lizzie would distract him long enough for me to scoot away. At the front corner of the building I peered around the wall. Peter paced a bit as he continued to talk on the phone. I had to calm down my heart as it pounded so hard that I couldn’t hear well. I crouched down a bit and leaned around the corner to see if I could hear a snippet of the conversation. He didn’t look happy, but I wasn’t sure that I’d ever really seen him look happy before.
“She’s guilty, man. I don’t care if you are still stuck on her. I’ve got to go.” He slapped his flip phone closed and jammed it into his coat pocket and then strode into the store. Poor Lizzie, I thought as I raced from behind the building and past the car to the other side of the street. I slowed to a walk just before the end of the block where I turned to go home. I wondered who he had been talking to and if I had been the “her” that he spoke about to the caller.
Once home, I quickly changed my clothes into some khakis and a button down shirt. It looked a bit wrinkly so I rummaged in the closet for a sweater to put over it. I tried to think about what to say to Ron when I saw him. Maybe I could just see how he reacted when I called on him and go from there.
“Of course,” I said to my reflection in the mirror as I fixed the sweater, “if he thinks that I murdered his wife, then he may not be all that glad to see me.”
I glanced at my watch. “Only eight in the morning, so it might not be the best time to go knocking on his door.”
I fished my phone out of my pocket and searched for the lawyer that David had told me about.
A gruff voice answered the phone, “Cahill and associate.”
“Um,” I stammered, taken aback by the sound of the voice since I had expected a receptionist or someone who sounded pleasant to answer the phone, “Good morning. I wondered if I could speak with Brian Cahill, please.”
“You’ve got him. What can I do for you?”
“Right, well, you see, I think I may need a lawyer.”
“Well, my normal hours are 9-3, so my secretary isn’t in yet. Can you call back in an hour to make an appointment?”
“Can’t I tell you what’s happening since you’re already on the phone?”
He sighed and made a loud sipping sound. “Alright, I guess I did answer the phone, what’s your issue?”
So far, I really didn’t find this referral to be all that helpful. “I may be charged with murder, but I am innocent. I don’t think anyone cares about that part. Detective David Bentley gave me your name.”
“Ah, old Davey B. So he’s made detective now. Well good for him! Wait, are you involved in the hoopla over in Fish Creek Falls?”
“I am, but I didn’t kill Barbara.” I said again not really certain that he’d heard me the first time.
“Who is this?”
“Myra Bailey, I own the new bakery in town and it was my cake that poisoned her, but it wasn’t me. Can you help me? Davey, I mean David said he thought you would be the best since you grew up here…”
I heard a car in front of the house and went to the window to look out. It was Peter Lynch.
“The police are here,” I shrieked a bit.
“Okay, Myra Bailey, I’ll represent you. I like a challenge. Say nothing, if you are arrested until I get there. If possible, say nothing before that too, should they just wish to question you further. The gruff voice had become somehow kinder and filled with an enthusiasm that hadn’t been there before. “Give me your address and I’ll be over in a half hour.”
I babbled the address as the knock on the door came. “Thank you,” I said and hung up to answer the door.
“Good morning, Ms. Bailey, I’m surprised to find you at home. I thought you’d be at your bakery.”
“Well, then why did you come here?”
He stiffened and said, “Actually, I went to the bakery and Ms. Stevens told me that she didn’t know exactly where you were, so I thought that I’d check here as a first stop.”
“Come in, Detective.” I swung the door open further. “Would you like something to drink?’ I said trying to be a bit sociable. I wanted to buy some time until Mr. Cahill got here. I hoped that he drove fast.
My phone beeped with a text from Lizzie. “Told Dicktective that I needed $ so you let me work for you…good luck.”
“Nothing for me. Why are you not at the bakery this morning, ma’am?”
“Oh, well,” I stammered as I slid my phone into my pocket. “I felt a bit tired and Lizzie needed some extra cash, so she opened for me.”
“I wondered, Ms. Bailey, what type of training you have?”
“Training for what?” Though I thought that I knew what he was getting at. My undergrad degree had been in chemistry because I flirted with the idea of going to medical school, but the only thing I really loved mixing and fixing were recipes for the best baked goods in the world, so I never pursued it. When I had been with Mark, he’d suggested a business track so that I could eventually start my dream bakery.
“Your college degrees, what are they in, ma’am? Culinary Arts, perhaps?” he said this with an I-already-know-the-answer-to-this-question tone.
“I have an MBA, which helped me to get my business started, but no, I never studied the culinary arts, I am self-taught.”
“What about your undergraduate degree, that is in chemistry, if I’m not mistaken?”
“I wanted to go to medical school so my undergraduate degree prepared me if I decided to go.”
“But, it was a chemistry degree, right?”
“What are you getting at, Detective?” I asked without answering his question.
“Just that you hold a chemistry degree who bakes and that is an interesting combination is all,” he stared at me, but said no more.
I held his gaze because I thought somehow I would seem guilty if I looked away.
“Was there something in particular that you’d like to say, Detective?” I tried not to sound angry.
“I’m just following up on information so that I can feel confident that when an arrest is made, it will be the right person.” He stared again.
“Let’s hope so, for Barbara’s sake.” I said trying to stay calm. I sat on the couch and fiddled idly with the strings on the edge of a blanket.
“Ms. Bailey, approximately how many recipe cards do you print per week?”
“I’m not sure. I fill up the holder and I refill it if it gets empty before the end of the week.”
“You have no idea how many cards you print? 50, 100, or more?”
I thought about the template for the cards. I think it printed eight cards per page, and I probably printed four or five sheets.
“I think between thirty and forty. Why?”
“Did you have any left of the,” he opened his small, lined notepad and scanned the page, “chocolate molten cake?”
“No, the cards were all gone. In fact the
y went the fastest of all the ones that I have done so far.”
He sighed, closed his notepad and put it away.
I noticed his watch as he did. The gold watch seemed expensive, but it also seemed pretty beat up; it even looked like the stem to set the time was missing, which was kind of fit for Lynch.
“Does that mean that anyone who had a copy of my recipe card could have killed Barbara? That’s quite a few people to investigate, huh? Almost half the town,” I said in a much braver voice than I felt. I didn’t want him to know how much he intimidated me.
“Not necessarily,” he said and his phone rang.
“Lynch. Okay, hold on a minute, will you?” He said as he let himself out the door.
I followed him to the door and tried to hear anything that he said as he walked a few steps away from my house. With that, another car pulled up outside and parked behind Peter’s car. A very tall man with a full beard unfolded himself from the driver seat and walked to my door, giving Detective Lynch a once over as he passed him.
“Hello, Ms. Bailey. I am Brian Cahill, esquire,” he held a giant hand out.
“Hi, I’m Myra, thanks for coming so quickly,” I said as I held the door open for him.
Inside, he looked around a bit and then seated himself on the wingback chair by the door.
“So, the Falls’ finest is outside. You didn’t talk to him, did you?”
I told him about the questions about my chemistry background and the recipe cards. He frowned a bit, but said nothing, took out a pen and scribbled on the back of a card. He handed it to me.
“This is all my contact information, including my service that can get me even when I’m in the can. Call day or night and I’ll be there in a matter of minutes.”
“Thanks.” I slid the card into the khaki pocket and sat on the couch again.
“So, what can you tell me that is different from the ten o’clock news?”
“I’m not sure. Only that she was poisoned and poison was found in my signature chocolate cake. She’d been lying on a recipe card that came from my bakery when they found her and I didn’t do it.”
“How much have you talked to the police so far, just what that guy asked?” he gestured toward the door.
“They had a warrant to search my bakery and home. They took my computer at work and they came here to search. They didn’t take anything from here.”
“Do you know what kind of poison it was?”
The door opened and Detective Lynch came back inside just in time to hear that question.
“Well, Beanstalk. It has been a long time,” said Lynch and he put out his hand. Brian Cahill made no movement to shake his hand or to get up. He still looked at me with a look that I couldn’t read.
“I can answer your question,” Lynch said as he put down his hand. “It was a castor bean, isn’t that right, Ms. Bailey? The beans have ricin in them and are toxic from just one small bean.”
Both men looked at me as I tried to understand what he was saying.
“A baker and a chemistry major would easily know how to crush the bean up and mix it into the icing. You only need a very small amount of that poison.”
“Well, Lynch,” came the gruff voice again, “I would think that someone who wanted Ms. Bailey to be a suspect would make such a choice, as well.”
“Maybe, but it’s enough for me to place you under arrest for the murder of Barbara Simpson, Ms. Bailey.”
“What?” I barely breathed. This couldn’t be happening, not really. I’d thought about it, but never really thought it would actually happen.
“Please, stand up and come with me, ma’am. I am placing you under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, and anything that you do or say can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, him, if you like, or one will be appointed for you, if you can’t afford his rates.”
“Myra, say nothing. I’ll meet you at the station.”
“Will you call my friend, Lizzie for me? She’s at the bakery.”
Luckily, he didn’t put handcuffs on me; he just led me to his car. I guess he didn’t think I’d be much of a flight risk.
At the police station, I got fingerprinted; they took my phone and other pocket items and logged them in and I ended up in an interrogation room. It might have been a closet originally because there were marks on the wall where shelves hung before.
I waited a while, but I couldn’t really tell how long since the room had no windows and no clock. In spite of the nausea that I felt, my stomach growled so I guessed it had to be around lunchtime. The room had no two way mirror like in the crime shows on TV, so I felt pretty sure that no one was staring at me while I sat there waiting. I wonder where my lawyer is? I thought. He seemed to be better known than I’d thought. Peter had called him Beanstalk—an apt nickname because of his height, but one that didn’t appear to be amusing to Brian Cahill. I wondered if David called him Beanstalk, too.
Finally, the door rattled and opened. It was the officer that had been with Lynch when he served the search warrant. He stood aside and the door filled with Brian “the Beanstalk” Cahill.
“Ms. Bailey,” he doffed an imaginary hat and made a shooing motion to the officer who closed the door.
“Hi, Mr. Cahill. Thank you for representing me,” I said.
He put his hand up for me to stop and he brushed off the chair before sitting down across from me. He opened the folder that he carried and pulled out his pen.
“It’s Brian and I like defending innocent people. Besides, to prove that you are innocent in my fairly closed-minded hometown holds a certain attraction for me. Now, let’s get started.” He clicked the pen three times and poised it to take notes. “Where were you when Mrs. Simpson met her fate?”
“I’m not sure exactly what time that was, but I was home and then I walked to the bakery and got things ready for the day.”
“And I’m presuming that you were alone the whole time? Any chance that you saw someone or that someone saw you at any time that morning?”
“I didn’t notice anybody. It’s pretty early in the morning.”
“This town is pretty quiet most of the time, but that doesn’t leave you with an alibi that anyone can check.”
“Well, I opened on time and had fresh muffins and breads made, so how could I do that if I wasn’t really at the bakery the whole time?”
“While that is a logical argument, it can be called into question because couldn’t you have made the preparations the night before so that it took less time in the morning?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but no self-respecting baker would do that and sell them as fresh,” I said, not meaning to sound huffy.
“The law rarely cares about the quality of baked goods, my dear,” he scribbled on his tablet. “Okay. Let’s tackle motive. It seems that their working theory is that you killed Ms. Simpson because she owned the rival bakery in town and your bakery had not been doing well.” He stared at me.
“Well, I’ve been doing well enough for just opening several months ago. I’m not raking in the dough, so to speak, by any means, but I’m making ends meet.”
“So, if Ms. Simpson’s bakery went out of business, you’d stand to gain more business?”
“I guess,” I felt a wave of nausea sweep over me because this lawyer believed me and still made it seem as though I had been the one to murder Barbara. I could go to jail. The weight of that thought made me gasp for breath.
“Look, the bright side of this situation is that if there is little evidence to clear you, there is also little evidence to convict. I won’t lie to you, this is every bit of an uphill battle to get you off, but I love a challenge.”
“So do I, usually, but not in this case,” I tried to smile.
“Well, the rest of it is the recipe card and the chocolate cake at the scene. But, by raising questions about the dozens of people who could have had your recipe card with them, that could be a wash on both sides.” He said more to
himself than to me.
“The chocolate cake is the most difficult evidence to explain. How many people could have had some of your cake? Best guess will be a start.”
“I sold four cakes this week. I did sell two the week before, but I highly doubt that Barbara would have eaten a stale piece of cake.”
“Do you know who bought the cakes?”
“Yes, I do. Mark Corner, Ron Simpson, Rachel Anderson and Willie, the handyman, but I don’t actually know his last name.”
“What about the other cakes that you said you sold last week?”
“Detective David Bentley bought one for something here at the Police Station.” I shifted on the hard seat and decided to confide my theory about Ron’s motive for insurance and for how Willie fought with Barbara the night before she’d been found dead.
“Okay, so that gives me some ammunition, possibly. I need to get things ready for your arraignment. Sit tight. Be strong and say nothing.”
I sat for who knows how long before both David and Lynch came into the small room.
“Ms. Bailey, do you want anything to eat or drink?” Lynch asked nearly as soon as the door opened.
I looked at David and he winked ever so slightly at me.
“I guess just some water, please.”
He nodded and left David standing in the doorway.
“Fancy meeting you here, Green Eyes. You okay?” he said softly.
I smiled weakly. Seeing him made me feel better. I took a deep breath.
“I see that you got in touch with Brian. I think that’s a good choice. It’s all going to work out in the end, you’ll see.” He said the last part quickly as Lynch came back with a bottle of water and pushed by David.
“Here’s your water, ma’am,” he said as he leaned over the table. “Since you have a lawyer, we can’t really speak to you, unless you decide that you have nothing to hide and a lawyer isn’t needed and then we can just talk about what happened and get everything wrapped up.”
David shifted and started to speak.
“No, detective,” I said first. “I think I’ll just wait to have my lawyer with me when we just talk.”
“Of course,” he stood. “Well, here’s the drill. You’ll be here tonight in one of our cells.”
I cringed.
“Tomorrow,” he continued seemingly satisfied at my response, “you will be arraigned in Caraway and will be in custody in the county jail while you await trial.”
He really seemed to be enjoying the fact that I had been arrested, but why would he care that much about having me convicted? His whole demeanor made me mad and I fought with myself to keep my temper.
David noticed and spoke up, “Hey, why don’t you get her a sandwich anyway. I’ll bring her downstairs.”
Lynch looked at David and then at me and made a “humph” sound as he left the room. He knew there was something between us.
“Thanks, but are you sure you want to be associated with me right now?”
David shrugged and gestured to the door. “Too late now to worry about it. Look Green Eyes, I meant what I said. It will all work out and I’ll be waiting for you when it does.”
He took my elbow as we left the room and I could feel gooseflesh rise on my arm as we walked down the stairs and past the uniformed officer stationed at a desk near the two cells.
“Number one,” David said to the officer and then we heard a click.
The cell we stopped in front of was a square box with a tiny window way too high and small to look out of or to get to and it had a bench built into the wall, a small sink and toilet and that was it. The door had a window in the upper part. It wasn’t quite the barred and dank cell I’d been envisioning, but it was far from inviting.
I stepped into the cell and turned to face David as he held the door.
We just looked at each other for a second and in that moment, I felt closer to him than I had to anyone. I just wanted him to hold me for a while. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, his radio beeped.
“Yah,” he said pressing a button on it.
“Got a hit on your guy, bringing him in now.”
“Right,” he said and then as he closed the door, he said, “See, things are already looking up. We found Willie.” He winked and left me alone again. I felt certain that I’d never felt so alone in my whole life.