Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery) (16 page)

“Y
ou tried to get Hutch Everett to admit he wasn’t Susan Everett’s son?” Tasha stopped brushing her hair and stared at me. “What were you thinking?”

I fell back on her quilt-covered bed and stared at the sloped ceiling of my family home. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I guess I was thinking that he might help me solve this mystery so that Grandma Ruth would stop getting arrested and I can sleep at night.” I rolled onto my stomach and looked at Tasha. “I can’t grow my business if I’m constantly trying to keep her out of jail.”

Tasha sat at a white-painted antique vanity. Her makeup and perfume were neatly arranged in silver containers. The bedroom was part of the suite built in what used to be the attic of the homestead. When she moved in with me, she’d decorated it with a wrought iron bed, colorful rag rugs, and white linen curtains. There was little room for a closet, so she had put shelves and a clothing rack in the space under the eaves.

“You think someone is going to tell you something so personal when they first meet you? That’s crazy, and a bit rude.” She turned back and continued getting ready. Tasha had her first formal date with Officer Bright.
Calvin,
she told me,
call him Calvin.
It was difficult. He would always be Officer Bright to me.

I wasn’t at all sure it was good to see her dating again. Unlike me, Tasha was a woman on a mission in search of a good man. The last man she’d dated had tried to kill us both. I think that’s why she was attracted to Officer—Calvin. His occupation alone made her feel safe, and she deserved that. We all deserve to feel there is someone between us and the harsh world.

“What?”

“I’m glad you decided to see Off—I mean, Calvin. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Yes, so did the last two men I dated,” Tasha said. “At this point in my life I have to assume the worst of every man I date.”

I drew my eyebrows into a
V
. “Then why date?”

She shrugged and turned to the mirror to apply her lipstick. “I am a romantic. I still believe that there is someone out there for me. Someone who will love me and Kip. Someone who will take care of me while I take care of everyone else.”

I closed my eyes with a sigh. “You’re better than me, because I don’t believe anymore.”

“What about Brad? He seems pretty reliable. I mean, he always comes when you call and has gotten you and your family out of some tight situations.”

“He’s my lawyer. He bills me two hundred dollars an hour. At that price, I’d come when someone called, too.”

“Then there’s Sam. He takes care of his elderly mother. He watches out for Meghan, and he’s not even related to her. Isn’t he her father’s best friend?”

Images of both well-dressed, wealthy Brad and rugged handyman/cowboy Sam filled my head. I popped my eyes open to banish them. “Do I want a man that involved with his family? Or his friend’s family? I mean, won’t they always come first? I can’t imagine what would happen if I needed something at the same time they did—or worse, I needed something they didn’t support.”

“You are a negative one, aren’t you?” She stood and eyed her outfit in the vanity mirror.

“I’ve been trained by the best,” I said and got up. “You look lovely. Very date-night.” She did. Tasha had on a soft pink wrap dress made of jersey that hugged her curves in all the right places. She wore three-inch pumps that showed off her slender legs. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders.

“Are you going to be okay watching Kip tonight?” she asked.

“Sure, he’ll spend all night with the puppy anyway.” The “puppy” seemed to double in size every day. No one had reported a missing pet. If the dog remained unclaimed by Friday, he would be taken to the vet for shots and Aubrey would officially become part of the clan.

“It is probably foolish to start dating around the holidays,” Tasha mused. “You have all those awkward family get-togethers, and then Christmas presents. Maybe I should cancel.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I turned her toward her bedroom door. “You said yes. You go. Have a good time. You have my cell number on your phone. Feel free to call me anytime.”

“I will,” she said as I pushed her out the door and into the small sitting room between the two bedrooms. My father had turned the attic into a living suite, thinking that my grandmother could live upstairs when the time came for her to let go of her home. He’d built the two rooms with a sitting area that included a small kitchenette and a full bath.

But Grandma had had her own ideas and instead had moved lock, stock, and barrel into the senior assisted-living apartments in town. “Don’t want to be in any grown person’s way,” she’d said.

Then Dad had died and Mom had gotten cancer. Now I lived in the big old family home. It was nice to have Tasha and Kip living in the suite. That way, when family stopped by, I only had the three third-floor bedrooms. The two bedrooms on the second floor were really the giant master bedroom with en suite bath and the smaller ten-by-ten-foot study. It had been a nursery when I was a child, but with only me in the master suite, a study made more sense. I’d ripped off the nursery-rhyme paper and painted it a soft cream with gold trim. I had created a window seat that ran the entire length of the turreted windows. Then I added books and games.

It made for a nice place to sit on a rainy day and look out and dream.

Tonight I had set up a game of chess. Kip liked routine. Tasha usually worked on Friday and Saturday night. When she did, I would watch Kip for her. We would have dinner and do the dishes, and then it would be bath time. The incentive for Kip to get clean was that once he passed inspection we would go into the study and play board games of his choosing until the cuckoo clock went
cuckoo
and the little dancers came out and danced. Kip was fascinated by the clock, as I was at his age. It had been in the family ever since my great-uncle had brought it home from his time in Germany during World War Two.

I followed Tasha down the staircase and into the foyer. The doorbell rang and I rushed ahead of her to open it. Officer Bright stood there. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans, polished cowboy boots, a white polo shirt, and a brown tweed jacket. His blonde hair was combed across his forehead.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi, is Tasha ready?” He stood there with his hat in hand and looked as uncomfortable as a sixteen-year-old on his first date.

“Sure, come on in.” I waved him in. Kip came running down the stairs, the puppy following on his heels until they were a blur of arms and legs. Both boy and dog attacked Tasha at the same time.

“Mommy, are you leaving already?”

Ba-roo, ba-roo
. The puppy jumped onto her dress. She reached down and roughed up the dog’s head and leaned over to kiss Kip. “Yes, I’m going to have dinner with Officer Bright. We’re going to a movie after and will be home late. So you take good care of Aubrey and Auntie Toni, okay?”

“Okay,” Kip said solemnly.

“Come on.” I held out my hand to the boy. “I need you to rescue me from some cookies in the kitchen.”

“You do?” He veed his eyebrows. “Why? Cookies can’t do anything to you.”

“Yes, they can.” I was as solemn as he was. “I’m allergic to gluten, you know. So if I eat too much, I could get very sick and possibly die.”

“So could I,” Kip reminded me.

“What then should we do with those cookies?” I asked him.

He cupped his elbow and drummed his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can feed them to Aubrey.”

“They have chocolate chips in them,” I pointed out. “Dogs should not eat chocolate. It can make them very sick.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I nodded.

“I know,” he said as Officer Bright took Tasha’s dress coat from her and helped her into it. “We can take them to Mrs. Dorsky. She likes cookies.”

“She does?” I tilted my head.

“Yes, she told me so one time. And she doesn’t have any allergies like we do,” he added.

“Good idea,” I said. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and package up the six chocolate chip cookies left over from dinner?”

“Okay,” he said. “Bye, mommy.” He kissed her cheek and rushed off to the kitchen. The puppy followed at his heels, barking.

“You have regular cookies in your kitchen?” Tasha asked.

“Oh, no, they’re gluten-free. But I know he likes to pretend. Besides, Mrs. Dorsky wouldn’t take them if she knew they were gluten-free.”

“So you let my little boy lie to her?” Tasha put her hands on her hips in mock anger.

“Certainly. If I lied to her she’d know.” I pushed the front door open. “Go have fun, kids.” I waved my hand toward the porch. “Don’t stay out past curfew and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Good night, Toni,” Officer Bright said as he stepped out.

“Good night, freak.” Tasha gave me a quick hug. “Don’t let him stay up late. He’ll be hell to deal with tomorrow.”

“Nine
P.M.
, and we’re both going to be upstairs in our jammies with a good book.”

“You lead such an exciting life.” Tasha took Calvin’s arm. “Emergency numbers are—”

“On the fridge. I know. Go. Have fun.” I shooed her off the porch and watched as Calvin opened the door for her and held it as she got into his blue sedan. He closed it and moved around the front of the car while I waved good night.

I certainly hoped Tasha had fun. She deserved it. No one was as dedicated to their kid as Tasha. Kip had Asperger’s and could be a handful when he was having a bad day. Tasha took it in stride. She kept up a careful routine, rarely straying from a schedule that revolved around Kip’s life. It was good for her to get out of it every now and then.

Their living with me meant I could watch Kip and help maintain his routine. In return, Tasha and Kip kept me grounded. Without them I wouldn’t know what day it was, and my whole life could easily become all about the bakery. If there was one thing I learned from my dead marriage, it was that nothing, no matter how much you loved it, should ever take up your entire life. Because if you were to lose it, you’d look up and wonder who you were and what the heck you were supposed to do now.

S
unday night I was hard at work creating cranberry mince tarts when the door to the bakery jingled. I had had a mirror system installed last month that allowed me to see whoever walked in. It wasn’t much security, but it was enough so that I could grab a baseball bat and get the heck out. Sometimes time was the best defense when faced with a possible threat.

Not that I needed to worry. This time it was only Sam coming in the bakery door. The man had a bad habit of arriving close to closing time. He swore it was because he was doing a remodel in the area and wanted a late-night snack. But I suspected he worried about my ability to see myself home in one piece. Especially with it growing dark around four
P.M.
and there having been yet another unsolved murder in Oiltop.

“I’ll be right out. Help yourself to coffee,” I called. “The pot’s fresh.”

“Did you make this coffee fresh just for me?” He picked up the pot and raised it into the mirror so I could see the smile on his handsome face.

“Of course not,” I called. “I made it for the last-minute shoppers.” I finished crimping the piecrust tops on the small tarts and put them in the top oven. Then I washed my hands and wiped them on a hand towel as I went out to greet Sam. “There are some fresh orange cranberry scones. Do you want one?”

“Sure.” He turned one of the café’s black wrought iron chairs around and sat down on it so that his belt buckle was framed. He wore tight-fitting jeans, black cowboy boots with dust and paint on them, a plaid shirt with a snap front that looked like it would be easy to pop open, and a suede coat with a shearling liner. His cowboy hat sat on the table beside him. His dark hair was pushed to the side and his large square hands cupped the white mug of steaming coffee with great care.

He was a picture-perfect fall treat and my mouth was dry as toast. I pretended that my knees were not weak and my hands did not tremble as I dished up two scones. There was nothing delicate about my scones. I made them large for the men and added tiny cups of cinnamon butter to the plate.

I handed him the plate and turned back to get something for myself when he snagged my arm. “What?” I asked.

“I heard that Tasha was out with Calvin Bright last night.”

“Yes, she was.”

“Is she happy?”

I was warmed by his concern. “I think so, yes.”

“So, she’s over the incident last month and ready to date.”

“Yes.” My heart skipped a beat and I wondered if I read him wrong. If he was interested in Tasha—after all, she was so pretty . . .

His thumb caressed my arm. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Ready to date again?” This last sentence was filled with smoke and meaning.

I told myself to take a deep breath. I told myself to count to ten. Think before I act. That’s the drill. In the past, I always acted before I thought, then regretted it. This time I would remember to—

“Date?”

His smile was crooked and fast as lightning. “Dinner, maybe a movie, maybe a trip out to the spillway . . .”

Oh man.

The bakery door jangled open and a cold wind blew Phyllis inside. Her cheeks and nose were red and her eyes stark against her pale skin. “Toni, come quick, it’s Ruth. She’s hurt.”

My heart leapt into my throat and I tore out after Aunt Phyllis.