Becky wasn't cheering me up any. I was done with hearing about other women's pregnancy tales. Every mother in the world had one, and at my baby shower I'd been regaled with them. Each story had been worse than the previous one.
Becky helped me change back into my sweatpants and T-shirt and placed the dress in a garment bag. "If you change your mind, we can always have another fitting, hon. And if the baby comes before the wedding—" She frowned thoughtfully. "Well, we'll think of something."
I emerged from the dressing room to find Gianna standing in front of the three-way floor-to-ceiling mirror, studying herself critically from each angle. She was stunning in an antique veil and tulle and lace dress. The bodice had embroidered appliques and beading, while the long sleeves with floral motifs gave it a very romantic look. I'd seen her in the dress before, but she still managed to blow me away with her natural beauty.
My eyes started to tear as I looked at her. My baby sister was getting married. "You look more beautiful every time you try it on."
Her cheeks flushed pink at the compliment. "Thanks, Sal. I needed to hear that today."
Lydia fluffed out the delicate skirt. "One of our customers who was in this morning said that a Muccio girl had her picture in the paper! Must be our bride-to-be."
"Oh!" Becky said excitedly. "There's one at the front counter. I haven't looked at it yet. I'll bring it right back." She hurried to the front of the store.
"It must be the engagement photo. They certainly took their time!" Gianna said indignantly. "The Colwestern Journal promised it would be in two weeks ago."
Becky returned within a minute, but she was no longer smiling. She stared down at the paper between her slim hands, then looked hesitantly at me.
My heart gave a jolt of fear. "What's wrong?"
She swallowed hard, her eyes troubled as they locked on to mine. "I guess they meant you and not Gianna, honey."
Becky held out the paper, and having no choice, I grabbed it. Sure enough, there I was, front page center, leaving the police station last night with Mike's arm around me. Above the picture and caption was Jerry Maroon's name in bold italic letters, followed by the headline Local Business Owner Bakes Up a Murder.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"This is an outrage!" Gianna cried as she drove away from the shop. "I'm going to have that Maroon's job. Hasn't he caused you enough trouble already?"
I leaned my head back against the seat in disgust. Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse. "Take me to the bakery please."
She shot me a funny look. "I thought you were done working."
"Well, it's still my shop, and I need to talk to Josie. I'll catch a ride home with her."
Gianna hesitated. "Sal, I know what you're thinking. Please don't do it."
"I have no choice. This article is going to be bad for business because now everyone will think that I killed Damian."
"They're your faithful customers," Gianna said. "Do you really think they'd believe a nine-month pregnant woman slit some drug dealer's throat?"
We both exchanged a knowing look and sighed. This was Colwestern. People believed whatever was in the newspaper and in blogs like my father's. In short, I was doomed.
"Maybe it won't be so bad," she remarked. "Brian knows you're not a criminal. He won't let you be arrested."
"Brian's removing himself from the case. He said this is too personal for him."
She glanced at me sharply, but to my relief, didn't provide a wisecrack. "Then I think you should let the department handle it. I know you've solved some tricky cases in the past, but this time is different. You're not in any condition to go snooping around. It's dangerous for you and the baby."
"I know this. The baby's welfare comes first, and I'm not about to do anything stupid that might hurt him or her. I only want to have a talk with Rachel, Damian's ex, and see if she knows anything. Maybe she had something to do with his death. If he dumped her to go back to Magnolia, she might have a motive to kill him."
Gianna shook her head in disgust. "This is what I don't understand. What was so great about the guy? He was a drug user. I remember Damian from high school, even though I was three years behind you guys. He was good looking, but so what? The man was no prize. He was always getting called into the principal's office. I checked into his priors today. Drug busts, assault, even a domestic dispute. Would they honestly have pulled the 'If I can't have you, no one can' card with this loser?"
I shrugged. "Who knows? Stranger things could happen."
She considered this for a moment. "Yeah, you do know all about that."
If Gianna was trying to make me feel better, she was failing miserably at the task. "Look. Someone killed Damian and is framing me. Why, I don't know. But if a person, say Magnolia, goes to the cops and says they saw me at his apartment that night, I'm done for."
"It won't happen." Gianna was lying through her teeth, but I went along with it. She pulled her car into the alley behind the bakery. "If you need me, I won't let you down again. That's a promise. I'm headed back to my office, and the first thing I'm going to do is file a complaint against Jerry Maroon."
"Don't do it yet," I pleaded. "I'd like to find out who his source is first." The article, unlike the headline, didn't come right out and say I had killed Damian. Good old Jerry was being extra careful about his wording these days. The article explained that I was the number one suspect and had been brought in for questioning. He also knew that my cake server had been used as the murder weapon. I was dumbfounded. The police hadn't disclosed the weapon's details, so where was Jerry getting his information from?
"All right. But say the word, and I'll have that guy on slander charges. Now take care of yourself and Alex's future playmate." She pulled me into a hug before I lumbered out of the car and waved as she drove away.
I inserted my key into the doorknob that led to the kitchen workspace area. As I pushed it open, I heard a bang followed by a shriek. Dodie stood there, looking miserable, with a tray of broken gingerbread at her feet.
She placed a hand over her heart. "Oh, Sally, I'm so sorry. You startled me." She kneeled down and started to clean up the mess. "You can take it out of my paycheck. It won't happen again. I promise."
"Dodie, watch out—"
She straightened up from the floor and promptly banged her head against the block table while I winced inwardly.
"Oh my God. Are you all right?"
Dodie took her hand away from her forehead, where a huge lump was already forming. "I'm fine," she mumbled. "Guess I'm having a bad day."
From what I'd seen, Dodie didn't have many good days. It was hard not to watch her episodes of daily clumsiness without wondering how much this was costing me in profits. Maybe my accountant would let me write her off as a loss next year.
I was starting to think that Dodie was some kind of a jinx. Still, it was impossible not to like her. The sixty-something-year-old woman with silver hair and gray eyes had a very sweet disposition, and she enjoyed entertaining customers and me with stories about her eight grandchildren. She'd been widowed for ten years and had confided to me that baking was a happy way for her to fill the long, often empty days. Dodie understood this might only be a temporary job for her as I attempted to find a way to juggle both bakery and baby, and she was fine with that. Her late husband had left her a sizeable life insurance policy, so whatever the outcome, she'd be okay.
Josie hurried in from the storefront. "What's all the commotion back here?" She looked down at the broken cookies that Dodie was hastily piling back onto the tray and sucked in some air. "Oh. I see the problem."
"I had a little accident," Dodie said sheepishly.
Josie raised her eyebrows. "Dodie, it's almost five o'clock. Why don't you head on home early?"
Dodie looked uncertain. "Shouldn't I stay and help clean up the—"
"No!" Josie spoke a bit more loudly than she'd intended. "I mean, nope, it's all good. I'll see you tomorrow."
Dodie beamed while she put
on her coat. "Okay, girls. Have a lovely night, and Sally, if I don't see you tomorrow, I'm betting that sweet baby comes before Monday. You know, I have a very good instinct about these things." She gave us a little finger wave, turned, then bumped into the closed door. "Oops. Guess I forgot it wasn't open." She stumbled out into the night and caught her scarf in the door. She reopened it, removed the scarf, then meekly shut the door again.
Josie slumped against the worktable. "I'm not sure how much more of this I can take, Sal. She's a walking disaster. Not that it mattered today though."
Perplexed, I stared at her. "What do you mean?"
She walked over to the sink and began to wash the few dishes stacked in it while I grabbed a sponge to wipe down the worktable. "It means that we started off great, and then business started to dry up during the day until there was no one left in the store. I don't understand what happened."
Uh-oh. It had started already. I twisted the sponge between my hands. "I think it's my fault. Have you seen the Colwestern Journal today?"
Josie narrowed her blue eyes. "Oh no. You're in the paper again? Is it about Damian's murder?"
I spread my hands out wide in a dramatic fashion. "Yep. You win the door prize. Good old Jerry Maroon snapped a picture of me leaving the police station last night with Mike. The article said I was the police's top suspect."
"That son of a—" Josie's face turned as red as her hair. "Good God, Sal. This is turning into a nightmare for you!"
"What really hurts me is that our customers believe I could have done such a thing." Some of them had been coming in almost daily since we opened the doors. "They know me—they joke around with us. How can they think that I killed someone?"
Josie's expression was grim. "The problem is that these days anyone can commit a murder—from a ten-year-old kid to a ninety-year-old grandmother. How many times do you watch the news and see someone talking about the nice woman who lived across the street? 'We babysat each other's kids. I'd never suspect her of being a killer.' You've been involved in so many murder cases that maybe people are starting to look at you in a different way."
How ironic. I'd been calling Dodie a jinx, but the fact of the matter was that I was the cursed one. Josie had made a logical point. If I knew someone who always had a habit of getting involved in a murder investigation or finding dead bodies, would I think there was something ominous about her?
Yes, I probably would.
I sat down on a stool in an attempt to relieve my aching back. It didn't work. "Since Brian is out of the picture, I'll have to try to find the killer myself. And because of my current condition, I need your help more than ever."
Josie's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Of course. We're a team! But Brian won't desert you. He'll come around."
"I'm not so sure. Either way, we need to work fast. I thought maybe we could start by talking to Damian's ex-girlfriend. Her name is Rachel Hedley, and she works at the Colwestern Mall as a hairdresser."
Josie glanced at her watch. "Dru Ann mentioned her name, but I'd forgotten it until now. All right. For some strange reason, I don't think we're getting any more customers today, so let's close up." She hurried out front to lock the door and put the Closed sign on. "What's the name of the place she works at? The mall's open late for Christmas, but I believe the hair salons always close at six."
I set the alarm, shut the lights off, and locked the door behind Josie as we made our way to her minivan. "Isn't there only one—the Hair or There place? I hope she's working today."
Josie started the engine. "Think positive. Rob's working tonight, so I need to be home close to my regular time."
"We won't stay long. I'd rather not mention it to Mike, if I can help it. He'll be upset."
Josie's blue eyes were anxious. "Well, I can't say I blame him. You're going to have that baby any second."
My voice trembled. "Yes, and I don't want it to be in a jail cell. This is also our busiest time of the year, and we can't afford to lose any money. Let's face it—this hasn't exactly been a banner year."
She patted my arm. "I know. With Mike getting injured and out of work last spring, you guys have had a tough time financially. But I have a feeling next year is going to be your best yet. It has to be, because your little angel will be here, right? You've waited so long for this, Sal. No one deserves it more than you."
"Sometimes I feel like I've been waiting for this baby my entire life." I rubbed my belly gently and smiled at the colorful holiday lights that surrounded the mall's exterior. Strands from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer drifted through the air from a set of building speakers while Santa's sleigh and eight toy reindeer were parked by the main entrance. Luckily, we found a parking spot close by. A Santa Claus was ringing a Salvation Army bell, and he smiled at us. I stopped to extract a couple of dollar bills from my wallet. He nodded in approval as I dropped the money into his red kettle. "Merry Christmas, ma'am. Ho ho ho!"
Ugh. I managed a small smile for him but doubted those words would ever have the same appeal again.
As we walked in the direction of Hair or There, I caught sight of a sign displayed over the directory. Come and meet Santa at Guest Services! Every day until Christmas Eve, from 3:00 to 6:00 p.m.
Josie gave a snort. "My kids would never fall for that."
"They don't believe in Santa anymore?" I asked.
"Danny doesn't," Josie said. "Dylan is on the fence, but my little two are still heavily into the big red man. What I meant is, if they saw all the Santas in here, they'd start asking questions, and the self-doubt would kick in. My kids don't fall for the 'they're all Santa's helpers' bit."
"That's because they're no-nonsense like their mother," I teased. "How many Santas are usually here on a given day?"
"It varies," Josie said. "I was shopping last week with my mother-in-law and spotted at least five Santas. Kids aren't stupid. Hey, has Gianna brought Alex to see Santa yet?"
"Gianna hasn't had time to breathe lately," I murmured, "but I do think they were planning to try to come tomorrow." A light switch clicked on in my brain. "Where do you think these Santas get their costumes from?"
Josie shrugged. "Well, there's the holiday costume store over on Starwood Avenue. I think it's the only one in town." She snapped her fingers. "Oh! Are you thinking that maybe the Jolly-less Santas suits came from there?"
"Doubtful," I conceded. "They were kind of cheap looking. And the Santas would have to be pretty stupid if they bought the suits locally, wouldn't they?"
"From what you've told me, they didn't seem like the brightest bulbs in the box. Didn't you say they might have been street kids and that Brian thought they lived nearby? Hey, I was a street kid once too."
I shot her a look of disbelief. "No, you weren't. You hung out with me."
"Yes, but I also spent time on the street." Josie's expression sobered. "My parents didn't care who I hung out with. They couldn't keep track of all of us and didn't even want to. I know that your mother and father are about as weird as they can get, but I'd give my right arm to have parents who care about me the way they care about you and Gianna. And of course, no one compares to your grandmother. Not to make excuses, but if I'd had people in my life like that, maybe I would have been more successful." She sighed.
"Stop it. You are successful. You're one of the best bakers in the state, and you're a terrific mother."
She smiled. "Thanks. Anyhow, that's neither here nor there. Now, try to think about the carjacking from those guys' point of view. You don't have a vehicle that runs. You're wanted for armed robbery and possibly murder. You need another car right away. So, what to do? You hijack the first person who comes along, and that just happened to be you. Let's face it, Sal. You're a main attraction for criminals. They all seem to know right where to find you."
"You're doing wonders for my self-confidence. What do you think happened to the money they got from the robberies?"
"My guess is that they were involved in a drug ring with Damian. There must be a
ringleader they're reporting back to—someone who's handling all the dough. The two that accosted you sound like a couple of morons."
I mulled this over for a minute. It wasn't a bad theory. "Maybe the Jolly-less Santas are here at the mall. They might be trying to blend in with the other ones."
"That wouldn't surprise me, but I'm guessing that Brian—or Brian's coworkers—have already checked out the ones who work here," Josie said. "Why don't we plan to come back tomorrow after work, when we have more time to check them all out. How does that sound?"
"It's worth a shot." We rounded the corner, and the hair salon came into view on my right. I glanced inside the plateglass window and let out a shriek. A pretty blonde in her mid to late twenties was talking to a Santa Claus.
"Oh God," I whispered. "Could he be one of my assailants?"
Josie put an arm around me. "Sal, calm down. Like I said, this mall is full of Santas this time of year. You can't let every single one spook you."
How sad was it to be afraid of Santa Claus? With trepidation, I followed Josie, who held the salon door open for me. The blonde and Santa looked over at us. "Be with you in a sec," she said.
Santa put out his hand for the woman to shake and exited the shop. A thought occurred to me, but a second too late. The beard—was it cream colored? I hadn't gotten a good look at it. Damn! The baby kicked, and my abdomen tightened. I shut my eyes tight until the contraction passed.
"Sal?" Josie whispered in my ear. "Are you okay? Is it time?"
Dang, this kid was as stubborn as Mrs. Gavelli in search of a good fortune cookie message. "No, false alarm."
"Probably because you're stressed from seeing Mr. Ho Ho Ho," she said grimly.
The woman walked over to us. She was pretty in a delicate sort of way, her blonde hair cut in a pixie style and skin so pale it was transparent. Crystal clear blue eyes scanned us up and down. "Do you ladies have an appointment?"
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