The fact that I was excited about someone’s death wasn’t lost on me. Nor was the fact that the murderer might be Dylan’s grandmother. Especially that it might be Dylan’s grandmother. I wondered how I would break the news to him. Tactful wasn’t a word that would describe me. Maybe Janelle, the girl who packed those donuts a week before Lockwood’s death, had something to add and I hoped that that something wouldn’t point me to Esther Sawyer.
Janelle lived in an apartment complex on the edge of sleepy little Cedar Street. The street was a dead end with nothing but mountains and hiking trails behind it. The building was a popular one; units were often rented out short-term to tourists or temporary workers just passing through and planning their next adventure. A rusty red building with a black door that was gray at the bottom from all the mud being tracked in by hikers, the building had eight units. According to the address I stole from Allen earlier, Janelle lived in number eight.
I rang her bell. “Hello?” The voice through the intercom was muffled and slightly accented.
“Hi, Janelle. This is Lainey Boggins from The Aurora Heights Chronicle. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“About what?”
“About the incident with Mayor Lockwood last week.”
A long pause. She was probably mulling it over and I didn’t blame her. “Am I in trouble?”
“No. Not at all. I’m just curious about something. Please?”
The next pause felt like years. If I had almost accidentally killed the mayor, I would probably want to lie low, too. Then again, it might not have been an accident. I had no idea who this Janelle person was.
Finally, the buzz rang, and I opened the front door. The inside of the building was a hallway with two units opening on either side. At the end of the hallway was a steep staircase that led to the top with more units. The place was a little dank and smelled slightly of mold, but the laughter and thumping music from behind closed doors didn’t seem to mind.
I knocked on Janelle’s door. Behind it stood a small, skinny young woman with bright red hair. Freckles peppered her smooth face. She looked back at me with wild, green eyes. “You’re sure I’m not in trouble?” she asked me.
“No,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “I just want to talk.”
She opened the door wider, and I made my way into the tiny apartment. Clothes and shoes were strewn on an old couch in the living room. The coffee table was invisible under a mess of cups and pizza boxes. It almost looked like there had been a struggle. “Is anyone else living with you?” I asked.
“Just my friend, Aisha. She works at The Chippery. She won’t be home for another hour or so,” she said.
“The old fish and chip place. I used to work there in high school. How are the Hillhursts doing?”
“Fine, I guess. I don’t really know them,” she said, bluntly. She picked up a pile of clothes from the couch and threw them on the floor. “You can sit down if you want.” She pointed at the small space she had made.
I tiptoed around the clothes, trying not to get them dirty with my shoes, but it was no use. It was like she was using clothing as carpet. Easier to clean, I suppose. I slunk into the empty spot while she sat in an armchair.
“Is that an Australian accent I detect?” Her accent was a prominent one during tourist season in Aurora Heights. In high school, I used to try to imitate it with my friends, which was harder than it sounded.
“I’m from New Zealand. So is Aisha,” she said.
“How do you like Aurora Heights?”
“I love it. Hiking every day, rock climbing on the weekends. I’ve met some really great people out here. You’re lucky to live here full time,” she said.
“And the donut shop? Do you like working there?”
Her face melted from elation to dread. “Yeah, the donut shop’s all right.”
“That’s not very convincing.”
“No. I never was good with lying.” She let out a loud, sharp exhale and flopped back into her chair. “It’s only for a few more weeks. Aisha and I are going to Jasper after that. We’re meeting up with some of her mates from Auckland there.”
“Do you get along with Allen Bell?”
“He’s all right but so loud. And bossy. I’m not much of a donut maker, to be honest. Working in a bakery is really stressful. After that donut fiasco, I’m on thin ice.”
“Can you tell me what happened that day?” I asked. I took out my notebook and pen from my bag but shoved them back down. Janelle already seemed nervous about the incident. Maybe if I didn’t look reporter official, she would be comfortable telling me more.
“I’m not sure. I got a phone call about having a box of donuts delivered to the mayor’s office. Apparently, it’s a Monday morning thing. Usually Allen takes the order, but he was busy in his office, so I took the call and filled it. I’d been making a ton of mistakes since I started, and I was determined to redeem myself. I thought if I took initiative it would impress him. I really was trying, but he yelled at me for every little mistake I made.”
“Mistakes? What kind of mistakes?”
“I drop pans of donuts straight from the oven,” she said.
“People drop things all the time,” I replied with a shrug. That wasn’t a reason to fire anyone. Sure, Allen was loud and sometimes overbearing, but I didn’t know him to be that mean.
“It’s a daily occurrence for me, though. I get people’s orders wrong all the time. One time, I didn’t let the donuts rise enough, and I made an oily ball of mess out of everything. I knew that Allen was at his wits end with me so I thought if I did a good job with at least this one order, he wouldn’t fire me. I wrote down every donut order and I even read it back to them to make sure I would get it right,” she said.
“And they ordered two Peanut Perfection donuts?”
“Yes, and I swear the person on the other end said to make sure they were in the box, so I did. I put them in the same box as all the other donuts. I had no idea they were going to the mayor’s office. I didn’t know about the peanut allergy.” Her voice was strained, as if she still wore the weight of almost killing the mayor. “I must have misheard.”
“Do you remember who placed the order?” I asked. If it was Sarah, maybe I could corroborate Janelle’s story.
“Yes, I do. Her name was Esther Sawyer,” she said.
Chapter 16
If it hadn’t been for the open sign on the door, I would have thought the Cozy Cat Cafe was closed. The place was devoid of all human activity, except for Dylan at the front counter and one customer I couldn’t quite make out.
Fur Ball was ready to greet me with a hearty meow when I opened the door. Jake was sweeping an already clean floor near the small stage in the back. Dylan was at the counter. And so was April Lockwood. They were giggling about something. And leaning into each other. I felt my jaws clench and my heart quicken. Then I took a deep breath and reminded myself that I was being silly and had no reason to be jealous because Dylan and I weren’t anything. So there.
“Hey, Lainey.” Dylan waved when he saw me walk in.
April turned around, her long, golden hair swirling around her as she did. Her eyes brightened, and she said, “hey there,” with a big smile. Why did she have to be so nice?
“Hi. Am I interrupting something?” Because it looked like I was interrupting something.
“Oh no. I was just leaving,” April said and picked up her coffee cup from the counter. “Actually, I’m glad I ran into you.”
“Me?” I asked.
“Yes. That picture of my uncle?”
“Oh. Right. I totally forgot to send it. Why don’t I do it now?” I sat down at a table and pulled out my laptop from my bag. I connected to Dylan’s Wi-Fi and searched for the picture I had promised to send her. “I’m so sorry it slipped my mind.”
“It’s okay. It happens,” she said. “Can I ask you something?” Her voice was suddenly low and hushed as she leaned in. She smelled fresh, like very expensive soap from
Europe. I suddenly hated her.
“Sure,” I said.
“Do you know if Dylan is seeing anyone?”
A lump the size of a boulder formed in my throat. I tried to swallow it, but the damn thing wouldn’t go down. My face felt hot, and I was pretty sure I was clenching my jaw again. I became very focused on my screen. “I’m not sure.”
“And you two aren’t…”
“No,” I said with more sharpness to my tone than I had intended. “There. It should be in your inbox now.”
“Great. Thanks,” she said, flashing me her perfect smile. “It was nice seeing you again.”
“Bye, April,” Dylan called from behind the counter, flashing his bright smile. Those two would have the prettiest babies with the best smiles. Dylan’s gaze lingered after her through the window as she walked away. Figures.
“So…” I began as I made my way up to the counter for a coffee. He quickly looked my way, the smile still on his face. “How’s business today?”
His body sagged. “Maybe if people see you in here, they’ll be more inclined to come in.”
“Hasn’t picked up, then?”
“Nope. I was going to host a singer-songwriter night to try to get people out here, but nobody wants to sign up.” He pointed at the sign-up sheet hanging over the counter of tiny packets of sugar and honey and plastic lids for people to help themselves to. “I think people believe I killed Mayor Lockwood.”
“Nobody believes that,” I said, although I wasn’t sure how reassuring I sounded. Sure, officially the whole thing was an accident, but people in small towns like this talked. That note on that brick that flew through his window said what everyone thought.
“Well, I’m glad to have you here. It would be nice to have more company than just grumpy old Jake over there.”
Jake was making a huge production of cleaning the tables, probably for the hundredth time that day. He slowly waved a cloth over the tops of the tables, taking care to get every square inch. He looked like he would rather be doing anything else.
He looked at his watch and decided that it was time for a break. “Going for a smoke, boss,” he bellowed from across the cafe. He didn’t even wait for Dylan to acknowledge him. He slipped off his apron and lumbered outside.
“You and April are the only ones who come by,” Dylan said. Whether he heard his employee or not, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps he just didn’t care.
“Not your mom? Or grandmother?” I asked, but I already knew the answer. Still, he gravely shook his head. “So, you and April seem to be getting friendly,” I said, changing to a topic that shouldn’t have been on my mind.
“Yes. She’s really nice,” Dylan said. His eyes sparkled just a little at the sound of her name. That lump was back in my throat. When I swallowed, it landed right on my heart. I didn’t want to tell him I didn’t fully trust her; that being the beneficiary of her uncle’s fortune made her a prime candidate for murder. She was nice and very fancy with her big city clothes which made her the least likely to commit a crime—the perfect cover. She admitted to being at the cafe on opening day and…
I shook my head of thoughts of April Lockwood. There were bigger fish to fry. Focus, Lainey. “I went to city hall today. I got an interview with your grandmother,” I said.
“And you’re still alive? You’re even tougher than I thought. And I thought you were pretty tough to begin with,” he said. My cheeks burned with heat at the compliment. At least I took it as a compliment.
“If I’m tough then your grandmother is literally made of steel,” I said.
“That is the general consensus. What do you think? Murderer?”
My voice caught in my throat. I thought of my own grandmother and how important she was to me. She helped raise me. She took care of me. Even now, when I was pushing thirty, she took me back into her home when I needed a place to go. She spent so many nights holding me while I bawled my eyes dry about some jerk who cheated on me. I couldn’t imagine accusing my grandma of murder. And yet, Dylan seemed so nonchalant about pointing the finger at his. My heart broke for him a second time.
“It’s okay,” Dylan said, as if reading my thoughts.
“She didn’t seem all that sad about Mayor Lockwood dying. In fact, Sarah, her assistant, said that she loves being in charge. And, get this,” I said, dropping my voice down. Even though we were the only ones in the cafe, it felt like the gossip could go running out the door and spreading itself if we weren’t careful. “Allen Bell at The Donut Jam said that she ordered two peanut donuts from his bakery last week and the Mayor bit into one by accident.” I told him the rest of the story, about Sarah saving his life and about Janelle’s mistake. Finally, when I told him about my conversation with Janelle, he raised his eyebrows.
“Lainey, what if it wasn’t an accident? What if that donut was intended for Mayor Lockwood all along? What if that was an assassination attempt gone wrong?”
“That’s what I thought, too. Do you think your grandmother is getting others to do her dirty work? I mean, it’s possible, right? Mrs. Cruikshank was here on opening day. Your grandmother could have taken his Epi pen and Mrs. Cruikshank could have slipped something like peanut oil into his coffee when you weren’t looking.”
“I’d hate to think I was so careless. Still, she was really upset that she lost the last election. I hate to say it, but it’s believable,” Dylan said. He didn’t even attempt to argue for his grandmother. I hated to think what kind of family life he truly had.
“What kind of relationship did she have with David Minetta?” I asked.
“The Police Chief? I’m not sure. Why?”
I told him about the Police Chief’s lack of investigation into this death. “Could she have paid him off to look the other way?” I asked.
“At this point, I’d believe it.”
The Sawyers were one of the most prominent families in Aurora Heights. Legend has it—and by legend, I mean rumors and hearsay—that their lineage traces back to the original town settlers. They’re wealthy and educated, not to mention all very good looking.
Growing up, his brother, Dalton, made all the girls swoon with his musical talent while all the guys pined after his younger sister, Daisy. All three had the same sandy hair, emerald eyes and brilliant smiles that could bring kings to their knees. I didn’t know what became of them after high school, but I had no doubt they were off living fantastic lives in places that mattered. Now, seeing Dylan ready to accuse his grandmother of murder brought a whole new spin on things.
“So, with Mayor Lockwood out of the way, your grandmother gets to be Mayor and Mrs. Cruikshank and her Historic Society get those building projects halted. But we need proof,” I said. Any good journalist knows that you can’t just go around making accusations; a minefield for lawsuits. No, we need concrete evidence tying these together.
“How are we going to get proof?”
“Aside from a flat-out confession? I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Maybe I can have her over for dinner and get her so drunk she confesses,” Dylan said.
“Really? She doesn’t seem like a drinker to me.”
“She’s not. I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.” Dylan busied himself by making a latte. I watched as he poured things here and there and made the heavy machines buzz and whirl. He picked up a metal spoon without even looking for it. It was like an effortless dance—just him and the coffee machines. Finally, he handed me a latte with a perfect heart drawn into it with foam.
“Thanks,” I said. I reached into my bag and took out my wallet. Dylan placed a hand on mine before I could take out cash.
“Please, it’s on me,” he said. I felt my heart hammer. I suddenly forgot how to breathe. I smiled an awkward smile and slipped my hand from his before my heart literally exploded in my chest.
“No, please. I want to support your business. I’d hate to see this place close,” I said and shoved the cash at him.
“Thanks. And thanks for believing me about Ma
yor Lockwood’s death when everyone else thinks I’m crazy,” he said, reluctantly taking my money.
“Everyone? Even April?”
“I haven’t mentioned it to her. She’s already dealing with a lot, I’m sure.” He took the cash and slipped it into his register as I put my wallet back into its designated pocket in my bag. Right beside my phone.
But when I reached in, I didn’t feel my phone. It wasn’t in my bag, not in my pocket, not anywhere. “I think I left my phone in my car. I’ll be right back,” I told Dylan.
Sure enough, I had left my cell on my dashboard. I grabbed the phone and was about to close the car door when I noticed a small white square on the passenger’s side of my windshield. It looked like a note. I pulled the paper from under the wipers and sure enough, it was a note. No, not a note.
A hastily written warning. Leave the Lockwood thing alone if you know what’s good for you.
Chapter 17
The next day, Bob Starsman sat squinting at the white note. He looked at it as if it held all the answers to life’s questions, if only we could unlock it with the right key.
That note freaked me out, and I had no idea what to do. Someone must be on to us about our little investigation. Dylan gave me a bewildered look when I showed him the note. He suggested calling the cops, but I didn’t want David Minetta on our tails. Bob was the next best thing, so the next morning, I showed him the note.
“And explain again why you think this was left on your car,” he finally said after a silence that felt like a hundred years.
Until now, I had kept everything vague. I told him I thought it had to do with the story about Mayor Lockwood’s building projects. Now, I blurted everything out. Everything. From Mayor Lockwood’s suspected murder to the tie-in with Esther Sawyer and Mary-Anne Cruikshank and the Epi pen fiasco. I was frazzled. No. I was scared. This note was a threat.
“I see,” he growled. He leaned back in his chair as he squinted at me now. “So, you think Esther Sawyer had Mary-Anne Cruikshank assassinate the mayor by putting something peanut into his coffee and paid off the chief of police to look the other way?”
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