For Whom the Bluebell Tolls (5 page)

Brad leaned forward, covering his face with his hands. “Gary was hanging from the bell rope.”

“Ringing the bell.”

He shook his head. “No. The rope was around his neck. He . . .” Brad shuddered and sobbed behind his hands.

I leaned closer and rubbed Brad’s back.

An ambulance pulled up, its lights off and its siren silent. There’s nothing worse than a silent ambulance.

It meant Gary was already dead.

Kane Bixby, Ramble’s chief of police, climbed out of his car, looking as happy to see me as I was to see him. Not that he was ornery or incompetent, or even unpleasant to anybody else, it seems, but me. But his severe allergies put him at odds with anyone who was a florist. Of course, then I remembered that he and Brad had never gotten along well, either, probably based on Brad’s penchant for getting in trouble as a teenager.

“There’s no flowers in there, are there?” he said, as he climbed the steps.

“I don’t know. Not any that I put there, but I haven’t been inside. Chief?” I tried to make my voice sweet. “Brad has had quite a shock, finding the body and all. I’d like to get him out of this heat. May I take him home?”

“No, Audrey. He’s not to leave the premises.” Bixby looked impatiently at the church.

“But, Chief!”

“Audrey,” he said firmly. “He needs to stay.” Bixby lowered his voice. “I have to consider him a suspect until—”

“Brad? Nonsense. And if anything happens to him sitting in this heat . . .”

“Audrey, I’m going to need to get a statement.” Bixby raked his hand through his gunmetal-gray hair. “
After
I get a look at the scene. And I’m not going to go traipsing all over the country to—”

“My place then. Just a few blocks. Not even out of your way.” I went for a demure smile.

“Audrey, don’t baby me. I’m fine.” Brad tried to illustrate it by standing up, but swayed so dramatically that I pulled him back down onto the bench.

“Besides,” I said, “the reporters will be here soon, and you’ll want to talk with Brad before they sink their teeth into him.”

Bixby sent me an exasperated glare.

“You can interview him at my place,” I pleaded again, “and I guarantee, no flowers at all in the apartment.”

“Fine. Your place. Just avoid the press, for now.”

“Can you walk?” I asked Brad.

“Don’t have to. We can take the Range Rover,” he said.

“I’d rather you leave the vehicle here,” Bixby said, “until we know if we’re dealing with a crime scene and what the extent of it is.”

“I can walk.” Brad slowly rose from the bench.

I had him lean against me. As we hobbled our way down Main Street, Ramble residents watched us out of the corners of their eyes while pretending not to watch us. Small towns are like that. When we reached the bakery, Nick Maxwell stepped outside.

“What’s happened?” Nick’s gaze traveled back and forth between Brad and me.

“I’m trying to get Brad back to my place,” I said. “He’s had a terrible shock and I want to get him out of the heat.”

“Come in here for a few minutes, then.” He held the door open. I could feel his air conditioner reach out onto the sidewalk, luring us in with its frozen fingers. Or maybe it was the scent of fresh-baked goods that was doing the luring. I’d often thought that heaven must smell like a bakery.

Brad shook off my support as we walked into the shop—maybe some testosterone-controlled male ego thing, not to be seen leaning on a woman. He slipped into a chair at one of the white two-seater bistro tables scattered in the middle of the room. Lining three walls was a glass counter, with all kinds of confectionary wonderment displayed. Nick had started the shop focusing on cupcakes, and those were in good supply, but he had a knack for adding in new items and varieties.

I remembered a couple of months ago, shortly after we started dating, when he told me that he didn’t think Ramble could support a cupcake shop. I feared it meant he was considering closing down and moving to a larger community. Instead, he’d expanded into a full-service bakery, adding scones, cookies, and pastries, which he sold in the shop but also supplied to the local coffee house. Later came fresh breads and rolls, which he also sold to the local restaurants. And those gorgeous, scrumptious wedding cakes. He’d hired more employees to help with all the work. Of course, all that baking may have made the room smell amazing, but it really stank when it came to his social life. And my waistline.

Nick slipped three large glasses of lemonade onto the table, then pulled up another chair and straddled it. “I heard the sirens, but wondered what was happening. Nick Maxwell, by the way.” He sent a pointed look to Brad, which was his polite way of saying, What in blazes is going on?

“Brad Simmons.” Brad held out his hand, and the two men shook. “I’ve seen you around the set, I think.”

“Yes, and we’ve talked on the phone. I’ve been supplying coffee and snacks for the show.”

“Those were your scones?” Brad asked. “They were amazing.”

“If I give you one will you fill me in on what’s going on?”

“Gary Davoll is dead,” I said. “Brad found him in the church.”

“Whoa,” Nick turned to Brad. “And you rang the bells to call for help?”

“No.” Brad gulped. “Gary did that, I’m afraid.”

Nick’s brows were not only knit in confusion—it looked like they were purling and casting off as well.

“Gary was hung on the bell rope,” Brad said.

“Hanged,” Nick and I both said together. Had to give the man a point for good grammar.

“How in the world did that happen?” Nick asked. “Accident?”

“Suicide,” Brad said.

But at the same time, I said, “Murder.”

“Murder?” Brad pushed up from his chair in protest. “Audrey, what makes you think that?”

“Easy,” I said. “Who hangs themselves on a bell rope? Certainly not that egomaniac I met this morning, and not in the middle of filming.”

“You can tell that by meeting him once?” Brad sank back into his chair. “I’ve worked with him for months now, and I don’t know him well enough to know that for sure.”

“Call it a hunch if you want. Or maybe intuition.”

“Or maybe a good schooling on human nature,” Nick suggested. “I believe you.”

“Thanks.” I sent a smile in Nick’s direction, then patted his hand, which he turned over to grasp mine.

“Oh,” Brad said. “I didn’t realize. Of course, I should have known when I left Ramble, I—”

“You know,” I said, “I should get Brad back to my place. Bixby said he’d be coming to question him, and if we’re not there . . .”

“No problem,” Nick said. “Let me get Jenny to watch the front of the house, and we can take Brad in my truck. No sense walking in this heat.”

Nick untied his apron and darted into his back room.

“New boyfriend?” Brad said.

“We’ve dated a little.”

“How much is a little?”

“Why? Are you jealous?” I asked.

“Do you want me to be jealous?”

Nick and Jenny emerged from the back room. I’d once considered hiring Jenny to work at the Rose in Bloom, but before I could add her to the payroll, her former fiancé was murdered with one of our shop knives. After that, while we remained friends, she decided to seek employment elsewhere. Nick’s expanding bakery seemed like a good fit.

“Audrey, just the person I was thinking of,” Jenny said with a broad smile. “Hi, Brad,” she added, almost as an afterthought. She turned back to me. “I was wondering how busy things were for Eric. I might have some business to send his way.”

Nick must not have told her about Gary. No, probably best not to alert the town before the news could be officially released. “Is it true what I’ve heard about your mother’s restaurant reopening?” While I needed to get Brad back to my place, I could spare a few moments to lobby for the man who married my favorite cousin.

“Maybe.” Her eyes sparkled. “It’s going to take a while, though. The building needs a major renovation. But the financing just came through, and I know she wants to ask Eric for a quote on the construction.”

“I’d tell your mother to get to him quick,” I said. “Once the fall hits, people want to start getting ready for winter.”

“I’ll suggest that to her, then. We’re planning to make it a little more family-friendly, this go-around. No wine list because . . . you know.”

I nodded. I was happy that Jenny’s mom was sober again, but working around wine all day would probably not be the best of ideas.

“Sounds great,” Nick said. “Although I never got to see the old place to compare.”

“I have,” Brad said. “Audrey and I used to go there all the time, didn’t we, Audrey?” Brad put his arm around me, while Nick stared.

And somehow my illusions that we could be mature and all get along began to evaporate. Any such thoughts that remained were driven away as I sat between the two men on the bench seat in Nick’s truck. Nick sat bolt upright, working his jaw and hammering out a silent rhythm on the steering wheel. Nick was the taller of the two men and had well-developed muscles, which he claimed came from tossing twenty-five-pound bags of flour around all day.

Brad took to throat-clearing and staring out the window. He was fairer in complexion and slighter, with sensitive features and blue eyes that tended to draw you in.

Of course, I didn’t need two men in my life. And narrowing my focus to one of them should have been an easy decision. Why is it that easy decisions are always so difficult?

After the truck jerked to a stop, Nick and Brad both rushed to open the doors for me. And instead of dropping us off, Nick remained in my apartment, flopping down on my sofa and riffling through a bridal magazine from one of the stacks I used as end tables.

“I should call Liv and tell her where I am.” I cranked up the air conditioner before pulling my cell phone out of my pocket, then slipped into the bedroom, closing the door and leaning against it for support.

“Is everything all right?” Liv asked, the second she picked up.

“Brad found Gary dead at the church.” I filled her in on the details at high speed. Only Liv knew me well enough to interpret. I took a deep breath. “And now Brad and Nick are both sitting in my living room while we wait for Bixby to come.”

“That man.” I assumed she meant Bixby. Ever since the chief had executed a search warrant and absconded with a bunch of our tools, which we eventually got back, and bags full of our stock, which I’m sure rotted in their evidence locker, Bixby hasn’t been Liv’s favorite person, either. “Maybe Brad should get a lawyer. On TV, the person who finds the body is often the first suspect.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Brad didn’t kill Gary. He had no motive.” And then my mind replayed Gary’s threats to Brad’s career during the filming. “I’ll suggest it to him.”

“Good girl. I guess it’s too early to tell what’s going to happen with the wedding, right?”

“Oh, the wedding.” Considering the events of the afternoon, I’d forgotten why they were all in town in the first place. “I don’t know. I doubt the rest of the crew has heard about Gary yet. I wonder if they won’t cancel it.”

“I hope not, kiddo,” Liv said. “We’ve got full coolers and more on the way. Once he recovers, see if Brad knows what they plan on doing.”

I could hear the low rumble of conversation from the living room. “I’d better get back.”

“Yeah, you won’t want to leave those two boys alone for long. We’ve got the shop covered. Can’t really do anything but sit on our hands until we know if and when the wedding is going to take place—and if so, which design to work with.”

Before rejoining the “boys,” I stripped off my shirt, which was sticking to my back due to the humidity and exertion. Did I really run down Main Street in this heat? Nice to know I could. I ran a cool, damp washcloth over my skin, added fresh deodorant, and slipped on a clean T-shirt.

When I opened the door, I was greeted by two frozen smiles. Three, if you count Chester, who was sitting on Brad’s lap.

“I was getting reacquainted with Chest Hair.” Brad nuzzled my purring cat under the chin.

A smirk started across Nick’s face, but before he could get out the quip I knew was coming, I blurted, “Liv thinks you should get a lawyer.”

“Why would I need—?”

“Think about it, Brad. You found the body, so that puts you at the scene of the crime. You had a fight with Gary this morning—”

“A fight?” Nick said.

“An argument,” Brad said. “More of a professional disagreement.”

“He threatened to fire you,” I said. “And more than that—to end your career.”

“That does sound implicating.” Nick calmly plucked several gray cat hairs from his baker’s whites, a common activity when he wore his work clothes in my apartment.

“But Gary spouted off all the time,” Brad said. “And he always cooled down and forgot about it. Besides, he threatened Audrey, too.”

“He did?” Nick looked up in concern.

“Yes, but I have an alibi,” I said. “I was in the shop with our full staff, waiting to learn what design Gary picked so we could get a jump on the rest of the flowers.
You
were at the scene of the crime. Motive, means, and opportunity.”

Brad turned ashen. “You can’t think I killed Gary.”

“Of course not,” I said. “But I can’t prove it to the police.”

Maybe Brad’s grasp of Chester got a little too tight at that point, because the cat hopped from Brad’s lap to the sofa, then curled up on Nick’s lap. Nick looked a little too proud of being chosen as he stroked Chester behind the ears. At least someone was getting a little love.

“Why don’t you tell us what happened,” I said, “from the time you got there until I arrived, and maybe we can see how that will sound to the police. Huh? First of all, why did you go to the church?”