Chapter Thirteen
Sitting in my car again felt like a warm hug. I loved this car. My dad and Harold were like two little kids when they decided to restore old muscle cars. Mom had been after Dad for weeks after he retired to “find something to do!” I think he was driving her crazy following her around the house.
Harold had a ’68 Mustang in his garage and asked Dad to help him restore it. It only took a couple months to complete the work, and it turned out gorgeous. Harold drove that car around town as proud as a peacock in the driver’s seat. When a man contacted him about restoring his Camaro, a restoration business was born.
Dad and Harold had a blast working on the cars, and they would only take on a project if they deemed the car to have muscle. When Dad came across the ’67 Chevelle Super Sport in a junkyard, he had to have it, and the two of them restored it.
So, there was Harold driving the Mustang and Dad driving the Chevelle. We were worried they would start drag racing. The two cars could be seen together all over town, and they had a lot of fun showing them off. I was shocked and delighted when Dad gave the car to me last year for my twenty-seventh birthday.
I turned the key and smiled at the sound of the aggressive engine. I backed out of the carport. I had been home for almost two hours now. It was time to take care of some business.
My flight home had been completely uneventful. I didn’t see anyone at all when I slipped out the side door of the hotel to the waiting cab, and I spent most of my time on the flight reading a book. After another cab ride home, I was ready to face the music with the police.
I was on my way to see Detective Bentley but decided to make a pit stop at the racquetball club first. I wanted to pick up my gym bag and take a quick look around. It was only noon, but maybe someone would be there who had some information on how the interviews had gone with the detective. Any heads-up I could get before going downtown would be helpful.
It was a little unsettling to pull up in front of the club. My heart was still heavy for Jerry and my inadvertent part in his death. If only I had pitched that glass of juice, but it wasn’t the first time I’d left drinks for Jerry, or shared a drink with Samantha, or even drank from Husky’s water bottle. We were a pretty relaxed bunch.
There was a new face behind the front desk today. She was an older woman, and there was definitely no athletic build on her. She looked like she could be anybody’s plump grandmother, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she had cookies behind the counter to give to me. I smiled at my own wit. I was just so happy to be home.
“Hi,” I addressed her. “I’m Susan Hunter. I work here, too.”
“Oh, Susan!” she exclaimed and ran around from behind the counter to give me a big hug. “I’m so happy to meet you. Stan and Louise have told me so much about you. Isn’t it dreadful everything that’s been happening around here? And I’m so sorry everyone thinks you murdered Jerry, but Stan and Louise know that’s not true, and it’s all a big mistake. I’m Sophie. What can I do for you, dear?”
Oh my gosh! I didn’t know what to make of this whirling dervish. I couldn’t get past the fact that she said everyone thought I murdered Jerry. Was that true? How did that rumor get started?
“It’s nice to meet you, Sophie,” I said with a smile. “I just stopped by to pick up my gym bag. I accidentally left it here last Saturday. It’s probably in the office.” I headed in that direction.
“Check the schedule while you’re in there,” she called after me. “Louise said you’ll be closing tonight.”
I almost didn’t believe her. Why would Louise have scheduled me to work tonight? I just got home.
“Do you know why I’m working this weekend?” I asked. “Wasn’t anybody else available?”
“We’re terribly short-handed here,” she said. “A couple of the day girls quit. They were awfully spooked by the murder. Louise said to tell you she’s hired someone to close the club at night, but he can’t start until Monday, so she put you on the schedule for tonight and tomorrow night. I was supposed to call you later today, but now that you’re here, I just told you.” She was all smiles and seemed very proud of herself.
My head was beginning to hurt. I mustered a smile and asked, “Will you be working here permanently, Sophie?”
“Oh, no. I work in the cafeteria over at Carbide Elementary. I’m off for the summer, of course, so I told Louise I’d fill in for her while she’s short-handed. I must say, it’s much easier working here than in the cafeteria, but the food isn’t as good.”
I went into the office, but didn’t see my bag. I looked behind the desk, around the filing cabinet, even under a pile of stray towels. What were they doing in here? Things were definitely not as organized as they were a week ago. I finally found my bag shoved into the small storage closet. I almost missed it as it had been wedged between two boxes. I was slightly indignant. I hadn’t had time to put the clean clothes in my locker, and they were surely wrinkled by now. I wouldn’t have treated someone else’s personal belongings like this. I glanced at the schedule and saw I was penciled in from nine o’clock until one in the morning. It was going to be a long night.
I said good-bye to Sophie, tossed my bag into the back seat of my car, and slipped behind the wheel. I pushed in the eight-track tape. The sounds of The Doors singing Light My Fire filled the car. I loved that Dad had left a cache of eight-track tapes with music from 1967 in the center console. Hearing the raspy voice of Jim Morrison, singing to me, asking me to light his fire, made me smile, and he made Sophie and her non-cookies disappear.
It was time to stop dawdling and head downtown to see Detective Bentley.
The downtown area was only ten minutes from the club. Carbide City was founded in the mid-eighteen hundreds, and many of the buildings had been restored in the past fifty years. Some of the architecture was stunning. The Catholic church had been built in a black Victorian Gothic style. The exterior of the church was impressive with large stained glass windows, pointed arched openings, and intricate iron lacework. Many of the old buildings had Greek or Romanesque styles with American designs. One beautiful old farmhouse bordering on the downtown area had been a stop on the Underground Railroad. It was a lovely older town with a lot of rich history to offer if one took the time to look for it.
Because of urban sprawl and the shopping mall, I didn’t get downtown as much as I used to. When I was younger, my mother and I would make a special day of it, coming downtown to shop the numerous stores and have lunch.
As I cruised into the downtown area, I felt nostalgic. I had taken a cue from Darby and rolled the windows down, making it easier to take in the familiar sights and sounds. It was hot today, but not nearly has hot and humid as it had been in Florida.
A sudden wave of unease swept over me, and even though I had nothing to hide, I realized I was exceptionally nervous about walking into the police station as a murder suspect. What if I never came out? I wished Darby were here with me to talk to the detective. He could help explain the events in Florida. Why didn’t I think of that before? He and Johnny would be landing soon. Maybe I should come back later.
No. I wanted to get this over.
The police station didn’t have a parking lot, and the spaces directly in front of the station were reserved for police cars. I ended up driving around the block a couple of times, waiting for a space to open across the street.
When one was available, I performed a fine job of parallel parking between a plain white delivery van and an SUV. I grabbed my purse, reached for the door handle, and stopped cold. Coming out of the coffee shop just ahead was the man who visited with Jerry on Thursday nights. He was wearing white pants and a white shirt. He wasn’t smiling, and he kept his head down as he climbed into the delivery van. He pulled out into traffic.
I had to follow him.
My red Chevelle wasn’t a good car for being discreet. I kept several cars between us, hoping I wouldn’t draw his attention. Traffic was moving slowly through town, so it was
easy to keep the white van in sight. He turned west onto Old Carbide Road and proceeded to head up over the viaduct into the oldest part of town.
This was not a seedy part of town, but the homes were older and hadn’t been restored or even as well maintained as in other parts of town. Some of the lawns were manicured, while others were unkempt. The neighborhood was a mix of middle and lower middle class families.
The white van pulled into a small parking lot and drove around behind a yellow brick building. I drove past and turned around at a gas station. When I passed by the building again, I saw the van parked at the back. There was a sign on the front door indicating this was Ferguson’s Bakery. A small open sign hung below the name. I had been so intent on watching the van, I had missed both signs on my first pass.
I parked on the street a few yards up from the bakery and decided to go in. I still thought the man had something suspicious to do with Jerry - like drug dealing and supplying him with steroids. I’d go in and buy something while trying to look around.
The old building was cool inside, almost chilly. Two bakery cases displayed donuts, cakes, and cookies. Signs on the walls behind them announced prices and information about special orders. The lighting had an oddly yellow cast to it and gave the room a dingy feel, but upon closer inspection, it was obvious everything was spotless. To the right of the main case, a set of stairs led upward to a closed door. The entire wall to my right was lined with large boxes stacked ten high. I suspected the drugs the man was peddling were in some of the boxes. He was smart by hiding the evidence in plain sight.
There was no one in the room to serve customers. Granted, I was the only customer, but still, I was surprised there was no sign of a clerk.
I looked over the donuts and cakes. The cakes were beautifully and expertly decorated. The donuts looked light and airy. Even the cake donuts didn’t look heavy. But what I was most interested in were the cookies. When I wanted something sweet, a cookie was my first choice.
The case held the typical varieties of chocolate chip, oatmeal, and molasses cookies. There were numerous types of brownies and a section of specialty cookies to include maple bacon, dipped macaroons, and lemon sandwiches. I don’t know why I always took the time to look at all the cookies when my purchase was always the same – a half dozen snickerdoodles. My mom taught me to make them when I was six years old. My dad loved them and dipped them in his coffee. He always said I was his little cookie baker, and snickerdoodles have always been my favorite.
At least ten minutes had passed, and I was getting nervous. Maybe I shouldn’t be here. Maybe they were closed, and someone forgot to take the sign down.
I was just about to leave when the door at the top of the stairs opened. I could see a much more brightly lit area behind the door and some activity indicating that the actual baking was taking place there. A small woman dressed in all white and a full apron walked down the stairs. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Have you been here long?”
“About ten minutes,” I told her.
“I didn’t hear the buzzer when you came in, but Jessie finally told me someone was at the cases.” She pointed to a security camera. “After all these years, you’d think I’d watch the monitors more closely. Most of our customers are here early in the morning, so I don’t tend to watch as well as I should after ten o’clock.”
“I’ve lived here all my life,” I told the woman. “I never realized a bakery was here. Have you been open long?”
“Almost two years now,” she said. “This used to be a car parts shop. My husband is a baker at heart and always had a dream of opening a bakery. Two years ago, we took the plunge, opened this place, and things have been going pretty well. I’ll tell my husband you didn’t know about us. Maybe he should go back over his advertising plan.”
I liked her. This was a woman who really was like anybody’s grandmother, and she really did have the cookies. I completely forgot about the drugs in the boxes.
“Do you have a website?” I asked.
“We do, but it just has our name, location, hours, and a few words about our business. I don’t know if we get much traffic from it or not.”
“Let me leave a number with you,” I said and dug through my purse for a piece of paper and a pen. I jotted down Darby’s number. “I know someone who’s a freelance writer. He’s very good at web writing, and he can give you ideas for your site. He should be able to help you with some marketing ideas, too.”
She folded the paper and put it in her apron. “I’ll pass this on to my husband. Thank you. Did you see anything you’d like today?”
“Half a dozen snickerdoodles. I love them,” I said with obvious delight.
“I love them, too,” she said. “We use my grandmother’s recipe, and the cookie melts in your mouth.”
My mouth was watering as she opened a bag and picked up a pair of tongs. The door above the staircase opened again, and a man came through with a sheet cake in his arms. It was the man who visited Jerry.
I tried not to flinch or act as if anything was wrong. I suddenly remembered the drugs in the boxes and attempted to keep the smile on my face.
He set the cake down on top of the case, looked at me, and smiled. “Snickerdoodles, eh? They’re kind of a lost cookie anymore, aren’t they? Everybody wants the chocolate chip varieties and the fancy cookies, but give me an old-fashioned snickerdoodle any day.” His smile faded and his brow furrowed as recognition came over his face. “I know you. You work up at the racquetball club, don’t you?”
Should I keep smiling or not? My heart was pounding so hard, I was sure he could hear it. I kept the smile and said, “I do. I’ve seen you there, too.”
“Dorothy, this lady worked with Jerry,” he said with sadness in his voice.
“Oh my,” she uttered and pressed her hand against her heart. I could see tears well up in her eyes. “That was the most terrible thing that happened. I’m still crying at night just thinking about that poor boy.”
“Were you related to him?” I asked. “Did you know him well?”
“No, no one really knew Jerry,” the man said. He wiped his hand on his apron and held it across the counter to shake mine. “I’m Jim Ferguson. This is my wife, Dorothy.”
They seemed like such nice people, and I suddenly felt like I had been wrong about the sinister intent of the man and his drugs.
“I’m Susan Hunter. It’s nice to meet both of you.” I paused for only a moment before asking Jim, “How did you know Jerry? Why did you come to see him every week?”
“Jim found him a couple of years ago,” Dorothy said, answering for her husband. “He was delivering mail at the time, and he kept seeing a teenage boy over by the abandoned steel office.”
“I’ve been involved with Big Brothers for a number of years,” Jim said. “I could tell this was a boy who needed some help. I suspected from his behavior he was on drugs. He was too old for the Big Brothers program, but I got a couple of the other men who are mentors to come with me and find out what we could do for him. To make a long story short, we found out he’d been alone for quite a while. His dad died when he was young, and his mom was a drug addict all his life. She abandoned him when he was sixteen.”
I felt sick to my stomach. Jerry and I had seen each other often, but I had never known he had so little love in his life. I couldn’t comprehend it.
“We all chipped in and helped to get him into a rehab program. When he came out, our friends, Stan and Louise, agreed to put him on nights over at the club.”
I pressed on with a couple more questions. “You said he went through a rehab program? The police said he had steroids in his system – more than were legally prescribed. Did you know about that?”
“I suspected the steroids, but I didn’t know for sure,” Jim said. “As with any drug addict, you can only hope they won’t relapse, but Jerry didn’t go back to the hard drugs he was doing before. He wanted to enter powerlifting competitions, and he must have thought steroids were the
way to go. I can only assume he was getting the extra pills from another weightlifter. It makes me sad to hear about the drugs, but I’m still glad we helped him.”
We were all quiet for a moment. I had one more question. “What was in the package you brought every week?”
Jim’s face lit up. “Snickerdoodles. Jerry loved them, and Dorothy made me take them to him every week. Plus, it gave me a chance to check in with him and see how he was doing or if he needed anything. Jerry didn’t want anybody at the club to know I was bringing him cookies.”
Dorothy chimed in. “He didn’t want razzed from the other weight training guys about eating sugar, so I wrapped them in plain brown paper and tied the package with a string.”
Cookies. I never would have guessed cookies.
We chatted for a few more minutes. Jim promised to give Darby a call, and I told Dorothy I would be back soon. I picked up my bag of snickerdoodles and left.
Back in my car, I sank into my seat, put my head back, and closed my eyes. Two tears slipped out, one from each eye. I wished I would have known more about Jerry when I was with him. Would it have made any difference? We go through life with so many people crossing our path, but what do we really know about them? And what would we do if we did know the details of their lives? I suddenly felt guilty about my irritation with lunch lady Sophie this morning at the club. I was going to do my best to get to know her better.
I looked at my watch. The day was passing. I absolutely had to go see Detective Bentley.