Banana Muffins & Mayhem (8 page)

"Definitely. Interrupting my shower is Macy's superpower. It's like she senses whenever I get shampoo in my hair. Within five seconds of me lathering up, she begins fussing probably ninety percent of the time. Do you know how long it's been since I've had a long relaxing shower on a weekday? Usually, I have her in the bathroom with me, sitting in her bouncy seat. It isn't easy to lather and rinse while playing peekaboo with the shower curtain. So, thank you."

Amy smiled as she imagined Macy dressed in a tiny spandex superhero costume. "She's the Shower Avenger. Saving you from the evil shampoo bubbles."

"Something like that." Carla took Macy from Amy and settled the baby into her swing. "You have no idea how much I appreciate the shower today. I actually scared myself when I walked past the mirror in the hallway. So…when you called, you said you needed to ask me something."

She had completely forgotten about why she had stopped by. Diaper blowouts were rather mind-blowing, at least for Amy. She settled onto the end of the couch, happy to be relieved of baby wrangling duty. "Could a head injury from a mixed martial arts fight affect a person's personality?"

"Head trauma, no matter how it happens, could affect personality. It just depends on what area the damage is in and how severe the injury is."

Amy nodded. "Could the effects last for a long time after the initial injury?"

"Sure. There's always a chance of permanent damage." Carla flipped a switch, and the swing began to sway back and forth. "I might be able to help more if you can give me some details of what's happening."

"I'm wondering about Chuck, the guy who owns The Inkwell. He was behind the counter the other day when you stopped there with me. He's always been so calm and nice, but I saw him get upset today because he was worried about his wife. The change was startling. I know he used to be a fighter, so I was wondering if there could be a connection."

Carla shrugged. "Nice people can get mad too. Bad days happen. Everybody loses their temper sometimes, especially if they're upset over a loved one. An uncharacteristic outburst doesn't mean there's brain damage. Maybe his coffee maker broke this morning."

"Good point." Yet Amy couldn't shake the odd vibes Chuck had been giving off at the park. There was a coldness in his tone, despite the heat of anger. He'd been upset because Phoebe started whining to Aubergine immediately after arriving in Kellerton. What if he had become so upset over the diva tirade directed at his wife that he snapped?

*   *   *

The knife sliced through the wedge of cabbage and thunked on the wooden cutting board. A thick, chunky soup was more winter than spring fare. But when comfort food cravings hit, Amy heeded the call. So she and Alex would be having stuffed cabbage roll soup for dinner with her favorite tapioca pudding, flavored with caramely dark brown sugar, for dessert. The quick and easy version of her favorite Polish food had popped into her mind as she drove home from Carla's house. After so many things went wrong at that visit, from reconfirming without a shadow of a doubt that she had zero maternal instincts to finding out that Chuck's former hobby could be currently affecting his life in a very bad way, she craved something good to balance out the not-good parts of the day. And for her, many of the good things in life were food related.

Amy moved the cutting board covered with chopped cabbage onto the counter beside the stove. She stirred the ground sirloin and onions sizzling in the soup pot. Cooking stimulated all of her senses, from hearing the hiss of the onions crackling in olive oil to seeing the bright-red tomato juice, which would go into the pot next. She adored getting lost in the meal-making process. Meditation was supposed to quiet a person's chattering "monkey" mind. Cooking was her favorite way to settle down her internal chatter—giving the thought monkeys a bunch of bananas to keep them quiet.

The thump of a car door caught her wandering attention as she scooped rice into a measuring cup. She turned to look out the breakfast nook window. Alex was home from work early. The cooking Zen evaporated. Not only did he rarely arrive home before dinnertime, but she could also see from his expression that he wasn't happy. A scowl traced over his handsome face as he walked up the path to the porch.

She quickly poured the tomato juice into the pot then stirred in the rice and cabbage. Those were the last ingredients that needed to be added so she could concentrate on her husband and not worry about ruining dinner. The door opened as she was wiping her hands on the blue gingham apron she was wearing. "Hey, honey. You're home from work early."

He deposited his briefcase on the breakfast nook table and strode across the kitchen. Pogo, their gray fuzz ball of a dog, orbited around him, yipping and squeaking in a canine version of a welcome home greeting. Alex wrapped Amy in a hug and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "I haven't been working for over two hours. Figured I might as well call it a day and come home to see my gorgeous wife."

Amy tilted her head back and looked into his sky-blue eyes. While she loved the compliments and attention, she had been married to him long enough to realize they were diversions. She focused on what he said first. "Why haven't you been working? What's going on?"

He smiled, but there was no happiness apparent in his expression. "I've been down at the police station looking at security camera footage taken at The Shamrock Bar. Phoebe Plymouth was there during the time she was supposed to be at the party at Riverbend Café."

"
She
was at
The Shamrock
?" Amy couldn't quite wrap her mind around that. Her thought monkeys were going crazy, screeching and flinging banana peels. So much for chilling out via making soup. The Shamrock was the poster child for a dive bar, complete with wood paneling walls and scary, sketchy customers. Definitely not trendy, high-end, or chic. "Why? From what I know of her, that seems like one of the last places in town where she would want to hang out."

A button on the front of Alex's polo shirt brushed Amy's chin as his chest expanded from a deep inhale. He backed away from her and went to his briefcase. As he handed her a piece of paper, he said, "She went there with this guy. He was wearing a Quantum Media shirt."

Amy's gaze bounced between the logo embroidered on her husband's shirt and the one on the shirt the man was wearing in the grainy photo Alex had given her. They certainly looked like they could be the same. He and the other employees wore the casual shirts when they didn't need to dress up in suits for meetings. The business name was surrounded by intersecting ovals, to represent neutrons orbiting around the name—a nod to quantum physics. "Are you sure it was your logo?"

"Yes. There's no doubt in my mind. Plus, the bartender remembered waiting on the couple. Since he was so focused on the pretty blonde, he couldn't recall any details about the guy, other than that he was wearing a red shirt with what the bartender called an atomic energy symbol on it. All of the Quantum Media shirts are red, and that was a pretty apt description of our logo."

"So one of your employees is now being investigated for the murder?" The homicide case's oven door had been opened up while the suspect soufflé was baking, deflating the hope that nobody at Quantum was involved in the crime.

Alex shook his head. "I don't know. The guy wore a baseball cap. There was never a shot of his face—it was always in shadows. I can think of quite a few people at Quantum who look similar to him. At this point, I have no idea who the man is, and neither do the police. I voluntarily turned over all of my employee records to Detective Foster. I want to catch the killer as much as she does so that life can get back to normal. I have nothing to hide."

He didn't have to convince her of that. Alex's picture could go in the dictionary as an example of integrity. But his moral standards couldn't extend to everybody at his company like a force field. Or what if the person wasn't with his company? "Maybe someone donated a shirt to a charity clothing store, and the guy at the bar bought it."

He raised an eyebrow. "It's a possibility. I hadn't thought of that, but I have a feeling the shirt isn't a coincidence."

"Why?"

Alex pulled open the refrigerator. He disappeared behind the door as he bent to peer inside then emerged with a bottle of beer. "Because about an hour before Detective Foster called to have me come down to the police station, I got an odd email. It was a rant about how Quantum Media had ruined that person's life, and now the company was going to pay."

Holy guacamole! The day was the loaded nachos version of troublesome developments. "That's insane! Did you tell the police about it?"

The bottle hissed when Alex twisted off the cap. Amy felt the same way. She could almost feel the steam escaping out her ears as though she were an enraged cartoon character.
Watch out! She's going to explode!
Over the past summer, a cyber thug had terrorized many businesses in downtown Kellerton. Even though the perpetrator was in prison, the thought of Alex receiving a threatening email brought back the frightening memories of that time.

"I told Detective Foster. She has a computer expert trying to track down where the email came from, but I suspect that will lead to a dead end. It isn't very difficult to set up untraceable accounts." Alex picked at the bottle's label. When he looked at Amy, his eyes had turned glassy. Was it fear or despair?

"If the company supposedly ruined this person's life, then it's probably a former employee, don't you think?"

"Yes, that's the most logical reason for the threat. Only two people have been fired from Quantum, but there are over a dozen who have left for various reasons. It's going to take a while, I would think, to look into all of them. On top of that, we have no idea if the threat is connected to the murder or not. Could be two totally unrelated events that were coincidentally happening at the same time. I get the idea that's what Detective Foster is thinking."

Amy gave the soup a quick stir. Then she wrapped her arms around Alex's waist. He was her rock. But now, more than ever, he needed her help—to figure out who was threatening his company. He had worked so hard to make it successful. There was no way she would let somebody drag Quantum, and all of the employees, through the muck of murder and revenge. At least, not if she could help it. Amy laid her forehead on Alex's chest. She didn't just want to make the situation better. She
would
make it better. Considering Foster was tackling her first murder case as the lead detective, Amy probably had more experience solving homicides.

But there wasn't much she could do at the moment except try to make her husband feel better. She stood on her tiptoes and reaped two benefits from the action—a foot stretch and a kiss from her husband. Pleasures for her soles and soul. She smiled at her internal dialog's play on words. Alex arched his eyebrow at her. "What are you smiling about?"

Alex wasn't a fan of word games, but she did know something else that he enjoyed. She held up her index finger before spinning around to lower the heat under the soup pot. When she turned back to face him, she looped her fingers through the belt loops on the front of his black slacks. She tugged him toward the doorway leading to the staircase. "I just thought of a little activity that would relieve some of your stress. But we have to go upstairs to the bedroom in order to do it."

"I see." The corners of his mouth crooked up. "I think I might be amenable to your proposal, but I would like more time to study the details. Can dinner wait? It could take a while to do the proper research."

"Absolutely." Amy giggled as Alex scooped her up in his arms. As he carried her up the stairs, she took a deep breath and willed her mind to focus on her husband. The little thought caterpillar trying to figure out who was wearing the Quantum shirt needed to crawl in a corner of her brain, build a cocoon, and morph into a beautifully plausible explanation. She was going to be busy concentrating on Alex for a while, so there was plenty of time for her subconscious mind to work on the puzzle.

"Do you really
honestly
think it will be pretty?" Amy asked. She looked at the small sample tiles and then at her plate. The pottery glazes changed colors when they were heated in a kiln. It was difficult to believe the muted, muddy looking swirls would resemble tropical ocean water. But Geri had promised the glazes would be beautiful together when Amy picked them out, so she was trying very, very hard to believe the drab would turn into fab.

"It's going to be gorgeous," Geri said as she bent over to examine the plate closer. "You are a talented artist."

Amy couldn't help but smile at the compliment, even though she knew very well that Carla's mom was just fluffing her ego. Geri had made the perfectly symmetrical, not in the least bit wobbly plate that Amy painted. From a lump of clay. Using only her hands and some simple tools. Swishing around some glaze with a paint brush was far from being the true artist that Geri was. Amy rolled her eyes. "Thank you. I know it isn't true, but I appreciate your effort to make me feel somewhat competent. I'm always looking for interesting dishes to use in photographs for the food on my blog. I figured I would try my hand at making something unique. Although I suspect it will be uniquely ugly."

"You'll be pleasantly surprised at what it ends up looking like. The colors will be completely different once the plate is fired again." Geri hummed to herself as she set the bottles of glaze on a tray to tidy up the area where Amy had been working. Carla's mother split her time at Make It Unique between making items for customers to paint and helping people accomplish that task. The job was perfect for her personality, and since her boss was also her landlord, she got a great deal on the apartment upstairs. After spending years in New Zealand getting back on her feet after a divorce, Geri had returned to Kellerton a completely different woman. Or at least that's what Carla said. The uptight and sophisticated mother who Carla remembered came back a stylish hippie. Amy suspected the artistic tendencies were always there, just buried under other things that she had made a priority while Carla was growing up.