Banana Muffins & Mayhem (18 page)

"Wait a minute. Your daughter usually reads me like a book. How did you pick up on me skipping over something, and she didn't?"

She shrugged. "Carla's distracted. I bet she doesn't even know what day it is half of the time, especially since the shooting. I, however, know much more about what's been going on. What else did the detective say?"

Amy sucked in a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then let it out in a long sigh. "You know how Carla warned me about how Detective Foster is coming up with outlandish theories? Well, she's come up with a supersized combo meal of an unlikely scenario. She asked me how well I know Alex, insinuating that he may have some sort of secret, dark side that I don't know about."

"And the dark side could literally be a killer?"

"Exactly!" Amy whacked her hand on her knee. "She didn't come right out and say it, but her point was about as sharp as a knife in a Michelin star restaurant."

OK…she was going a little heavy on the food analogies.

"But you don't believe her, right?"

Amy shook her head. "I
know
Alex. And honestly, I'm rather offended that she even brought it up that he could have a secret life. She doesn't know anything about my husband, and now I'm doubting how capable she is of solving the murder correctly. An innocent person could go to jail, but there is no way it's going to be Alex!"

Geri used her thumb to spin around a ring shaped like a snake on her index finger. "I know you're offended and scared, but at least she seems to be covering a lot of bases…looking at everybody. Or at least everybody who she can think of. Did you mention the blood in Mick's workshop to her?"

"No. There were too many possibilities that our test could be wrong."

"Good. Because I'm positive that he's just as innocent as Alex."

Amy rested her arm on the back of the couch. "Really? How did you come to that conclusion?"

"I know what caused all of the stains in his workshop. The one on the floor was stain."

Amy blinked. Her brain was still stuck on Alex being falsely accused of murder. And her stomach was grumbling after the description of Shepler's pizza. More stress-eating cravings. "I…don't get it."

"Wood stain. He spilled a can of it on the floor. It was redwood-colored, so that's why it resembled blood so much."

"Oh. That makes sense. So what was on the wall?"

"Blood. His blood." Geri picked up her mug of green tea and cradled it in her hands. "His dog was running around chasing a mouse and bumped into Mick when he was using the jigsaw. He showed me a fresh scar on his hand."

"I'm glad you found out everything, but how did you do it?" A disheartening thought occurred to Amy. What if the meddling and sneaking had spoiled the budding relationship that Geri was so excited about? "Did he catch you trying to retest the bloodstains or something?"

"No. I never even took the bottle of peroxide out of my pocket. I just played innocent and pretended I was discovering the stains for the first time, asking what caused them." Geri sighed. "To be honest, I'm surprised myself that he didn't get suspicious with my suddenly discovering all of the stains and asking about their origins. But unless he's a very good actor, I don't think he did. I've always been a good judge of character. All of his explanations were forthcoming and made sense."

"And while we may have been heading up the wrong path by suspecting Mick, at least it ended up helping. You can continue to date him without worrying, and it appears that the peroxide test did work."

Geri shook her head. "I am so relieved that he isn't a killer, but I'm not convinced the peroxide wasn't just bubbling from being squirted from so far away. Unfortunately, I'm all out of dried bloodstains to redo the science experiment with."

Amy transferred the red gift bag to her left hand and pulled open the front door of The Inkwell. She had an advantage over Detective Foster, and she was going to make use of it. Baked goods were always a good tool to set people at ease. Especially loaded brownies filled with everything from gooey caramel nougat candy bar chunks to mini marshmallows. Who could resist a treat like that?

Behind the counter, Chuck had his arms wrapped around his wife. They were both smiling and laughing. When the front door thumped shut behind Amy, the couple turned in unison to look at her. "Hello," Aubergine said as she wiggled out of her husband's embrace. "What a nice surprise. What can I help you with?"

"Hi." Amy swallowed as she came to a stop on the other side of the checkout counter. She felt as though she had interrupted them in an intimate moment. The store had odd hours, often stretching late into the night for classes or computer gaming group meetups. How often did the couple get to spend time alone, away from the store? "I just wanted to thank you for being such a wonderful calligraphy teacher. I have learned so much over the last few weeks."

Aubergine rolled her eyes. "Really? Because I am so far off from my usual teaching style. Knowing Detective Foster is there checking us out is completely unnerving. I hate that I keep losing track of what I want to say because I'm constantly on edge."

"I think we should just give her a full refund and kick her out of class." Chuck stooped slightly and kissed Aubergine's cheek. "But somebody is too nice to do that."

"I believe a little kindness can go a long way. Sometimes I guess that doesn't work though." Aubergine placed her hand on Chuck's wide chest. "Why don't you get going? I'm sure Luca is waiting by his food dish by now."

"You're more important to me than feeding our overweight cat," he said as he slipped out of the opening in the counter.

Aubergine pressed her fingertips to her lips and blew a kiss to her departing husband. Once he disappeared through the door into the backroom, she leaned closer to Amy and whispered, "There's no sense in getting upset over something we can't do anything about. That detective can be as suspicious as she wants. We aren't the killers, but I don't know how to convince her of that so that she'll leave us alone. I think kicking her out of the class, like Chuck wants, would just make her more determined to dig up dirt on us."

"How very frustrating. Maybe this will help a bit," Amy said as she held up the gift bag. "Candy store brownies. A little thank you for teaching me how to do calligraphy."

"Awww…thank you." Aubergine peeked into the bag. "They look delicious. I just wish you were in a class where I wasn't so distracted. Chuck's been a rock. Really more like a stone fortress, but he can't sit beside me and hold my hand through each class to protect me from my own thoughts and that witchy detective. I'm thinking about running the class a second time, free of charge, for everybody except her. I feel terrible about how it's going."

Not the information Amy had been hoping to hear, but she would take any pieces of the puzzle that she could get. The rookie detective was as much of a riddle as the murder case. Amy reflected on the classes filled with instructions and helpful hints. She thought they were going well. In fact, until that moment, she hadn't even been sure the artist knew one of her students was the detective in charge of Phoebe's murder case. What had been going on that was unnerving Aubergine? "I think everybody has been more than satisfied with your teaching, so I don't believe that would be necessary. I certainly didn't realize you were having issues with anybody. What has Detective Foster been doing?"

"Besides glaring at me?" Aubergine tapped her index finger on her chin as she tilted her head to the side. Her dark-purple curls bounced as though they were hundreds of miniature Slinkies. "Oh…let's see. How about cornering me after class and asking me how well I know my husband then implying that he could be the killer."

Seriously?
Apparently the detective had one theory and was applying it to everybody. That wasn't thinking outside the box. It was tracing around the same form over and over. "If it makes you feel any better, she said the same thing to me. I don't know how long you and Chuck have been together, but Alex and I have been married for almost eight years. I was definitely offended by what she said."

Aubergine's eyes widened. "Wow. And I thought stalking us in our own store was bad. Now to find out she's just barfing the same accusations at everybody. Chuck and I have been married for three years, but we've known each other for over six years."

"Did she explain to you why she's suspicious of Chuck? Is it related to his MMA fighting in the past?"

"No explanation from her on what brought about the accusations." Aubergine plucked one of the brownies out of the bag. She began to unwrap the cling film that encased it and said, "It never dawned on me before now that she could've looked into him and found out about his fighting career. And then stupidly connected it to the murder. All of Chuck's fights were sanctioned though. It wasn't like he was in some kind of underground fight club or anything illegal. He certainly didn't kill or even seriously injure anyone."

"I can't imagine what it would be like watching your husband battle another person like that. I would be afraid of Alex getting injured, especially from being punched or kicked in the head." For her own peace of mind, Amy wanted to know if Chuck had ever had a head injury.

Aubergine's curls came to life again and wobbled as she shook her head. "He stopped fighting before we got married. I was scared to death that he would get hurt, so I pulled out the big guns—an ultimatum. He had to quit, or I wouldn't marry him. Somehow I convinced him to stop while he was at the top and able to win without much damage to himself other than a fat lip or black eye. There were some guys gunning for him that I know would've done anything to win."

Amy knew about ruthless competitors. "Cooking isn't anywhere near the same as mixed martial arts fighting, but I've run across some people who would do just about anything to win a trophy. Once, during a live baking contest, one of the competitors swapped out another person's all-purpose flour for the self-rising kind. The cake turned into a volcano in the oven, and the overflow actually caught on fire. The competition ended up looking like an episode of
I Love Lucy
with people running around trying to figure out what to do."

"Oh my." Aubergine giggled. "I know that must've been awful while it was happening, but it sounds pretty comical now. I really needed to laugh after everything that has been happening with the murder."

"Try not to worry. I think Detective Foster is shaking every apple tree, hoping an apple pie will fall out."

Aubergine's eyebrows slid toward each other as she frowned. "I don't cook much. I'm sorry—I don't understand what point you're trying to make."

"I think she's grasping at straws, hoping if she shakes up enough people the killer will somehow drop into her lap, complete with a full confession bow tied around their neck."

"Well, I wish she would stop." Aubergine slumped onto the stool behind her and took a bite off the edge of the brownie. "I love to teach, but I'm struggling with her sitting there during my demonstrations—studying me instead of the examples on the screen. She could be a good calligrapher, considering how precise she is, even though she doesn't appear to be paying attention to the lesson. I feel like I'm being challenged to a two-hour stare off during class."

At least Amy had been a good student. She was so busy trying to copy Aubergine's elegant curving lettering style that she hadn't noticed the blatant intimidation. The investigative style didn't seem to be what Shepler would've taught the newbie detective. Or at least Amy didn't think so. What was up with the wild accusations and borderline harassment? Hinting at husbands with a dark side seemed like an odd investigative tactic. Amy chewed on her lower lip. But she herself had wondered if Chuck had a violent streak. If the detective was suspicious of him after researching his background, what had she found out that made her pose the same hidden life question to Amy about Alex?

They talked for a few more minutes about less distressing topics like how many kinds of candy bars Amy had used in the brownies Aubergine was munching on. When several customers arrived, Amy excused herself. As she was walking out the door, her phone began ringing. It was Alex.

"Where are you? Is everything okay?" were the questions he fired out as soon as she answered. The barrage of concern stopped Amy in her tracks. She sat down on the edge of one of the brick flower planters, which formed a dotted line of foliage along Main Street, to talk with her husband. Even though she was only a block away from Quantum Media, he didn't want her to stop by his office. No—he wanted her to go home, lock all of the doors and windows then double-check that the security system was on.

But she didn't want to do that. Alex was concerned about her safety because he had received another creepy email, but she was more concerned about figuring out who was threatening to harm her—or someone else. After forcefully insisting that she was perfectly fine surrounded by plenty of people, none of whom appeared to have evil ulterior motives, she hung up and made a beeline via the Main Street crosswalk to Make It Unique.

Amy pulled open the pottery studio's door and stepped inside. The murmur of conversations mixed with the faint instrumental music playing over the sound system. Tommy stood near one of the worktables. She waved a greeting before twisting the cap off of a bottle of glaze for a customer. Amy wandered further into the colorful space, searching for Geri. She wasn't sitting at her usual spot in the front window, creating bowls, mugs, and plates on the pottery wheel.

Tommy wiped her hands on the front of her glaze-splattered overalls as she walked up the aisle between the tables. "Looking for Geri?" she asked. Amy nodded. "She took the afternoon off to take care of Macy. I think they're just hanging out upstairs in her apartment. You can take the shortcut through the backroom if you want to head up there."

"Wonderful. Thank you."

As Amy climbed the stairs, she kept looking behind her. The echo in the narrow stairwell made it sound as if someone was following her. But she was alone as she ascended the staircase. It was just her Alex-triggered, over-active imagination. Or a ghost. By the time she made it to Geri's apartment door, her heart was beating faster than a drummer in a punk rock band. She knocked and scanned the empty hallway for possible attackers as she waited for Geri to answer.