by Maymee Bell
While she did that, I stood in line to order a couple of cups of coffee. I needed to wake up and get my mind into thinking mode. The same girl from yesterday was at the cash register.
“You were in here yesterday, right?” She asked, snarling from behind her register.
“Yes. Two coffees, please,” I simply stated.
Her head tilted. Her eyes drew down my body and flew back up again. She turned around and poured the two coffees.
“Here you go.” She pushed them toward me while I dug in my bag to get my wallet.
“How much?” I asked, and unsnapped the snap to retrieve my money.
“Free for you.” She seemed irked.
“Excuse me?” I asked, ducking my head forward.
“Sheriff said that if you came in this morning to put it on his tab.” She stared at me with a blank stare.
“He did?” I smiled. Instead of pulling money out of my bag, I pulled out his business card. Holding it between my fingers, I used my other hand to put my wallet back in my bag. I slipped his business card into my back pocket and took the coffees. “Please tell him thank you.”
“He said you’d say that and that if you wanted to thank him, you should do it yourself.” Her eyes glanced over my shoulder. “Next!”
Madison was still giving her sales pitch about how convenient some house was to somewhere, so I headed over to the only empty table in the corner. I set the cups down and took my phone out of my pocket along with Carter’s card. I sent him a quick text thanking him for the coffees. No sooner had I tucked my phone and the card back in my purse than my phone rang.
A slight smile crossed my lips when Carter’s number scrolled across my phone.
“Good morning.” I wasn’t sure what to say. It felt really intimate telling him that, but it’s something I’d have said to his face if he were standing here.
“Is this really Sophia the baker?” was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Yes.” I thought it was weird for him to ask that.
“Wow.” There was a joking tone to his voice. “This is a nice side of you. Brett called me last night after he’d gotten Charlotte calmed down, and he was still mad about you accusing him of killing Emile.”
“I didn’t accuse him of anything. I was simply asking questions that might’ve been overlooked,” I protested.
“Overlooked by me?” He questioned back.
“I’m not saying that.” This was definitely not how I had thought this phone conversation was going to go.
“What is it you do for a living?” he asked, as if he didn’t already know.
“You know what I do. I’m a pastry chef.” I knew what he was about to say and prepared myself for it.
“A fancy term for baker.” There he went. “I’m the lead investigator on this case and you are baking the wedding cake for my best friend’s wedding. Why don’t we keep those lines separated?”
“Fine.” I wasn’t going to really agree to anything, but I knew he was going to keep using this line of reasoning with me if I did protest. “Anyways, I wanted to thank you and a simple text could’ve done the trick. You are the one who called me.”
“It was the only way I could get your phone number without having to call Bitsy and get into a lengthy conversation with her. You didn’t give us your phone number when we were taking your statement at the RCC concerning Emile’s death,” he stated matter-of-factly. “We need your signature for your statement and your fingerprints. Do you mind heading down to the station sometime within the next couple of days?”
Everything stopped around me. At least I felt like it stopped around me.
“You mean to tell me that you bought me a coffee because you knew I’d call you to thank you?” I was trying to wrap my head around this warped sheriff ’s mind.
“And it worked.” His southern drawl dripped through the phone, smooth as silk in my ears.
“Yes. Bitsy did teach me good manners that I pride myself on. Just like I called Charlotte this morning and thanked her for having me over last night.” I made a mental note to shoot Charlotte a quick text to thank her just in case Officer Know-It-All decided to investigate. At this point I wouldn’t put it past him.
“I’ll leave it at the front desk so you just need to give the clerk your name.” He was all business.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I hung up the phone right before Madison walked over. I pushed the cup across the table. “Compliments of Sheriff Carter.” I dragged my paper cup up to my mouth and took a sip.
“Really?” she asked with excitement and looked around. “I don’t see him.”
“He just wanted to be a good sheriff and make sure I come down to the office and sign off on my statement.” I lifted my brows and took another drink.
“Speaking of statement.” She looked around before leaning over the table. She whispered, “Let’s go so we can talk about the case.”
We got up and I stopped, looking back at the counter of Small Talk. There were egg sandwiches and the typical southern food but nothing like a muffin or a doughnut, which would really go well with my attitude and I knew I didn’t have anything in my bag to munch on.
“What’s wrong?” Madison tugged on my sleeve.
“I was looking to see if they had something for me to grab to eat, like a doughnut.” I shrugged.
“I told you that with Ford’s shut down, the only place to get a doughnut—if you want to call them that—is down at the Piggly Wiggly.” She snorted and walked around the car.
Before she unlocked the doors, she stared at me from over the hood. It was long enough for me to notice.
“What?” My eyes narrowed as I wondered what was in her head.
“Nothing,” she quipped, and jumped in the driver’s side, leaning way over and pulling the lock up to unlock my door.
Madison drove the car in silence on our way down Main Street toward the business district. It looked pretty much the same. There was a medical building where most of Rumford’s medical professionals had their offices. I could still remember the smell that hit you as soon as you opened the door. The combination of the dentist, the ophthalmologist, the dermatologist, and the family physician wasn’t a smell that I’d ever want to be bottled.
Rumford First National Bank was on one corner of the four-way stoplight. The thrift shop was on the opposite corner. The insurance agent was on another.
When we pulled into the medical building parking lot, I broke the silence.
“Where we going?” I asked, a wee bit nervous.
Childhood memories of Bitsy taking me to the dentist weren’t very endearing, and I’d taken great measures to forget them.
“I was going to take you to one of my houses, but I got a different idea when we were at Small Talk, so I wanted to stop by the real estate office and grab a set of keys.” She slammed the car into park. “You can hang tight here.”
“Where is your office?” My nerves calmed.
“We are in the old medical building.” She pointed.
“What happened to the doctors?” I asked.
“They built that annex hospital on the outskirts of town. Instead of traveling to the city for an emergency, they added a hospital annex and a new medical building.” With that, she got out of the car and darted up the steps in front of the building.
In no time flat, she jogged back down the steps with the keys dangling from her fingers.
“I’ve got two places to go.” She put the car in gear and we headed out of the parking lot. “We’ve got a house near Charlotte. It’s darling. My target market for that area are people our age. The up-and-coming entrepreneurs. These little redone Cape Cods have been so popular. This is the last one, and I think it hasn’t sold because it hasn’t found the right buyer.”
“You make it sound as if the house makes the decision who its buyer should be.” I laughed at the thought.
“And shouldn’t it?” she asked.
I looked over at her and she was serious.
“I d
o believe that a house speaks to the soul of the buyer. The house has the magic that makes the buyer fall in love. This will be one of the houses that you will bake your Crunchies in on Monday. And it won’t be on the market for long.”
“Funny, because I think the perfect dessert speaks to the intended customer.” An image of the guests at Charlotte’s wedding enjoying the cakes took over my thoughts. Some of the guests even asked for a business card.
“We are heading back to Charlotte’s neighborhood.” Madison brought me out of my daydream.
“Speaking of Charlotte, have you heard from her?” I asked.
“Last night after I got home, I decided to call her and feel her out on what she knew about the case, just in case Brett had said something to Carter.” That was a smart move, I thought. “Brett told her that it wasn’t looking good to have their wedding and reception at the RCC because Carter didn’t have any suspects other than Evelyn and Mayor Pickering is breathing down his neck to get it solved. Saying something about the townfolk calling at all hours of the night and how the RCC brings in a lot of revenue for Rumford.” She turned the car into the driveway of a house catty-corner to Charlotte’s. “Apparently, the members are too scared to come to the club and are looking to see how they can transfer or sell their membership.”
“That’s awful.” It suddenly hit me that it was now more important than ever to get Evelyn off the hook. More than just to make sure Charlotte’s wedding went off without a hitch, it was to save the beloved RCC that was so dear to my heart.
“Right?” She jerked the keys out of the ignition. She motioned at the house. “Let’s go in.”
Both of us grabbed our coffees.
“It just seems so obvious that Evelyn would be the suspect.” I had to think out loud. It was how I created my best recipes, and I was hoping it’d do the same for these new-to-me sleuthing skills that I so desperately wanted to have.
“They did have a big blow-up the night before, according to Charlotte, and it wasn’t pleasant.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and held it up to the big, door-knocker-looking keypad attached to the arm of the front door handle. “New way of doing things. It’s like Apple Pay, only for realtors instead of having to get key codes.”
“That’s neat.” I was impressed—not only by the new technology but also by the look and feel of the entryway when we stepped in. “This is a great house.” I looked around. “I thought for sure it was going to look like the inside of Charlotte’s, which I love, but it’s nothing like it.”
“That’s one really cool thing the architects came up with when Brett had taken on the neighborhood. Of course, the Beautification Committee about had a fit when he said he wanted to come in and buy up all the run-down houses that were getting ready to be used for government housing. Luckily, he was able to strike a deal and give them a substantial amount up front. And with each sale, the city of Rumford gets a percentage.” She shut the front door behind us.
“I love that nook!” I squealed and took a left into a room that we’d used to call a living room. In the south, it was considered to be the room where you’d entertain guests, and no one was allowed in there unless there was a special occasion.
“The architect said that in the original design of the house, there was a window bench. Over the years the owners had it torn out. This particular house was actually stripped down to the bare studs and brought back to the way it was when it was first built.” She pointed out the chair railing and the thick crown molding that today’s new houses seemed to lack.
“I’ve always loved how old and charming the houses in Rumford are.” I put my hand out. “Not that I don’t love my parents’ house. It’s just a bit too modern for me.”
“What about your apartment in New York?” she asked, and sat down on the blue, thick cushion that fit perfectly in the little nook. She patted the space next to her.
I picked up the blue-and-white-striped pillow and hugged it to me when I sat down, easing myself back on the white pillow with the blue diamonds.
“It’s industrial. Noah loved it, and I was willing to go wherever he wanted.” I hugged the pillow tighter to reel in the hurt feelings that still seemed to linger. They definitely weren’t as strong as they’d felt before. Maybe they were even a little different. The fact still remained that there was a part of me that wasn’t healed. Maybe spending another week in Rumford wouldn’t be so bad. “But this place is really nice and cozy. Something I’d definitely buy if I lived in Rumford.”
“I can see you here.” She pointed up to the jeweled chandelier over our heads that made the space even more adorable.
“Don’t be getting any ideas,” I teased her, though I could see myself sitting here.
“Fine. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen where I’m going to have you bake the Crunchies.” Her brows did a wiggle dance.
There had been no expense wasted on the house, that was for sure.
“This is really nice.” The kitchen had modern gas appliances that any pastry chef would love. There was white subway tile along the backsplash. The white kitchen cabinets were nice and deep. The window over the farm sink was the perfect touch, allowing the natural light to flow into the space.
“These are marble countertops.” She continued to make the loop around the kitchen and stopped at the island. “They decided to use butcher block on the island to tie in with the other wood elements of the house.”
The open shelving in the kitchen was beautiful. Madison had done a great job staging the house with the wood bowl accents stacked on the white plates. Even the light-blue Kitchen Aid mixer seemed right at home.
“This is really a neat house, but your keen eye really sets it apart,” I said as I turned to Madison. “Does the furniture and all the decorating come with it?”
“We have a price sheet that lists all the items.” She opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out some sales sheets. She pushed one across the island.
I sat down on one of the steel island stools and glanced over the list. There was a sales price for the house, a sales price for the house as is with the furniture, and a breakdown of all the items she’d decorated with along with their prices.
“When I first told my boss what I wanted to do with the houses, he scoffed at me. He said it would never work,” she said.
“And?” I asked.
“I don’t know. This is the first house I did it to.” She cackled. “That’s why it’s important to get you in here and bake for me. Which brings me to the next stop, which we have just enough time for before the Garden Club meeting.”
I followed her out of the house, but not without thinking again how adorable and pretty perfect it was.
“Where to now?” I asked after I got in the car and fastened my seat belt.
She turned the engine over. “Ford’s Bakery.” She threw the car in gear and zoomed out of the neighborhood. “It’s going to be a great space for you to bake Bryce’s cake.”
“I can’t do that.” That seemed so illegal to me.
“Why not?” she asked, but didn’t let me answer. “I have full control over the kitchen, according to the contract. I have no way of knowing if the appliances and equipment works to even tell potential buyers. I don’t have the knowledge that a real baker like you’d have. So you are going to be my expert.”
“Really?” It just all sounded too good to be true.
“Really.” Her voice rose excitedly. “They even have some stocked pantry items they said were still good to use.”
My head bobbed back and forth. The idea of me having a place to escape to for the next few days did sound enticing. It being a real bakery was even better.
“Deal?” she asked.
“Yes. Deal.” I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Then we don’t have to run by there. We are running thin on time anyway. I don’t want to be late to the Garden Club meeting now that you and I are on the case.” I rubbed my hands together.
“Don’t get too ahead
of yourself there, Agatha Christie,” she joked.
Chapter Eleven
“That’s just hearsay, Dolores. Natalie and Arnold are just fine. So fine that he came down to the jewelry store and bought her a diamond the size of your head,” one of the members of the Garden Club was saying as I eavesdropped on their conversation through the fake potted plant separating us. “Besides, what on earth would a strapping young man like Emile want with a wrinkly old woman like Natalie Devin?”
“I’m telling you, I walked in the RCC after a late night of tennis, and the two of them had their heads together,” another woman said. “I saw it with my own two eyes through the swinging kitchen window. I was going to get a glass of water because I was so parched. I stood there for about five minutes trying to process what I’d seen. The giggling and the low murmur. There was definitely chemistry.”
“Dear”—the other woman’s voice dripped with skepticism—“Emile flirted with anyone in a tennis skirt. Trust me.” There was a pause. “Look at these old legs.” She giggled. “Once he commented on how in shape I was, and he made me feel like a young schoolgirl. I blushed in places I shouldn’t’ve.”
“There you are.” Bitsy nearly scared the bejesus out of me, almost causing me to knock the plant over.
“Mama, stop that sneaking up on me.” I held my hand up to my heart and straightened my back.
“I was doing no such thing, Sophia Cummings.” She held out the plate of Blueberry Buckles. “I’m sure you want to do something with these before I ruin them.”
I took the plate from her and headed over to the table Catherine Fraxman had unfolded for the Garden Club to use for food.
“Hi, Catherine.” I greeted my old high school classmate with a smile.
She’d not changed too much since school. Her long black hair was pulled back in a side ponytail and fishtailed into a braid that hung over her shoulder. She’d always been tall and graceful. Her hips tapered into long, straight legs, something I’d always been envious of. She’d been the go-to gal if I ever needed help with history or writing a paper. She was so smart.