Jeremy was cheerful, his wide grin and laughing eyes brightening Clementine’s kitchen. But every now and then, the smile dropped away, and he looked troubled. Erin could see the concern in Vic’s eyes for her brother, but neither of them demanded an explanation. If he was comfortable with them, then sooner or later he would tell them what was going on.
Vic leaned back in her chair, sighing with satisfaction. “Now. What’s the scoop on Don Inglethorpe? What are we going to do about him?”
Erin raised her brows, surprised. “Well, since he’s dead, there’s not much we can do to help him.”
“Except bring his killer to justice. Isn’t that your other specialty?”
“No, absolutely not. I told you, I’m not a detective. Leave the investigating to Terry.”
“Terry’s not going to be able to investigate it. Not when you were discovered standing over the body with the murder weapon. He’s going to have to bow out of this one too.”
Jeremy looked back and forth at them, as if watching a tennis game. “Uh, exactly how many murder investigations has he had to bow out of because you were a suspect?”
“Only one!”
“He investigated the previous ones,” Vic said, “since they weren’t a couple yet for those ones.”
“This sweet thing?” Jeremy gestured to Erin. “What is this, a Steven King novel? The baking serial killer?”
“I didn’t kill anyone. I was just… suspect for reasons beyond my control.”
“Why did you pick up the rolling pin?” Vic demanded. “That seems like just about the stupidest thing you could have done. You know not to touch evidence.”
Erin felt her face flush. “I wasn’t exactly thinking. I’d gone there to get the rolling pin, and when I got there, I was so shocked, I couldn’t really understand what was going on, and I just picked it up automatically. It wasn’t even conscious, really.”
“You’re lucky you do have friends in the police department, or you would have spent the night in a jail cell for sure.”
Erin frowned, but she wasn’t thinking about spending the night in jail. “Whoever did it must have gotten blood on them. There was…” she choked, “a lot of blood on the scene.”
“I thought he was beaten,” Jeremy said.
“Yes… but there was a lot of blood.” Erin swallowed and tried not to think too much about the scene she had stumbled into.
“Head wounds always bleed like the dickens,” Vic said. “The scalp has lots of blood vessels close to the surface. I would guess something like a rolling pin would break the skin pretty easily.” She cut her eyes toward Erin. “I don’t know whether he was just hit once, or more than that.”
“It’s a marble rolling pin,” Erin told Jeremy, not answering Vic’s implied question about how many times Inglethorpe had been hit. “It’s heavy and hard and the ends have sharpish edges.”
She could see him revising his opinion. Not just a light wooden or plastic rolling pin. An implement that could do some real damage. A deadly weapon, wielded by the right person. He nodded seriously.
“Yeah, okay, I guess I can see that.”
Vic leaned forward. “But who do you think did it? You think it was Charley?”
“I… I guess that must be what everyone is thinking, but what motive would Charley have to kill him?”
“It was in her shop. Who else had access?”
“The back door was unlocked. Just like ours was. Anyone could have walked in. Someone stole my rolling pin, and someone walked into The Bake Shoppe and killed him.”
“You make it sound like a frame-up,” Jeremy contributed. “Do you think someone was intentionally trying to implicate you?”
Vic frowned and nodded. “Yeah, why else would they bother to take a rolling pin from our kitchen? Why not just use a frying pan or something else handy at The Bake Shoppe?”
Erin hadn’t thought about that, but they did have a point. “Unless it was Charley who stole the rolling pin, like we originally thought, so it was handy at the scene.”
“Where did Charley go? Why wasn’t she there? I would think that with the grand reopening, she would have been busy baking and getting everything arranged.”
“I don’t know. No idea where she went. The police were looking for her. Maybe they’ll know something else by morning.”
“You don’t think anything happened to her?” Jeremy asked. “That she was kidnapped, or she was hurt too?”
“Charley can take care of herself,” Erin said, hoping it was true and looking at Vic to see what her thoughts were. “She had a gun and she knew how to use it.”
“A gun isn’t always a protection,” Jeremy said.
“Why would anyone do anything to hurt Charley?”
“Why would anyone do anything to hurt Don Inglethorpe?” Vic countered.
They were all silent. Erin had to confess she didn’t know too much about Inglethorpe or who would have a motive to kill him.
“Who was he?” Jeremy asked, in the dark about Bald Eagle Falls affairs.
“A lawyer, like most of the Inglethorpes,” Vic told him. “Old money. Lots of history in these hills. He was one of the lawyers who made the decisions on Trenton Plaint’s estate, right Erin?” Vic looked at her for confirmation.
Erin nodded. Jeremy would know who Trenton Plaint was, since the Plaints and the Jacksons were cousins.
“The Bake Shoppe was part of the estate,” Vic resumed speaking to Jeremy. “The estate hadn’t been settled or distributed or whatever you call it yet, so these lawyers were the ones who decided what to do with the assets until it was.”
“It was to be split between two people,” Erin supplemented. “When Trenton died, that just left his brother Davis, but if it can be proven that Davis conspired to kill Trenton, he won’t be able to inherit it. But then we discovered Charley Campbell, a sister neither of them knew they had. Charley is the one who was living in Moose River and working for the Dysons, not knowing she was actually born into the Jackson clan.”
“So there is a connection between Inglethorpe and Charley.”
“Yes, but…” Vic looked at Erin. “Originally, the lawyers said that Charley couldn’t reopen Aunt Angela’s bakery. They were just going to hold it as an asset until who was going to inherit the estate was settled. But Charley wanted to open the bakery.”
“She said it was losing value if it just sat there closed,” Erin agreed, “and eventually, she managed to convince them.”
Vic drummed her fingers on the table. “Don Inglethorpe was the swing vote.”
“What does that mean?” Jeremy asked.
“He originally voted against opening the bakery. So, it was two-one against. But Charley was able to talk him into changing his vote. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t have been able to open the bakery again. It would have just sat there empty, waiting for some resolution of whether Davis could inherit from the estate.”
“Then she wouldn’t want to kill him. He did what she wanted him to.”
“Yeah.” Vic’s eyes flashed to Erin.
Erin understood the look without Vic voicing it. “But if there was a business that might be damaged by The Bake Shoppe opening, then that business owner would have reason to be upset about Don Inglethorpe changing his vote,” Erin said for her.
Jeremy look from one of them to the other. “You mean you. You’d have motive to kill him. And you had the weapon and were at the scene. That doesn’t look good for you, Erin.”
“They haven’t arrested me yet,” Erin said blithely. But there was a knot in her stomach. She could see how the police investigation would go. Terry and Sheriff Wilmot might not think she was involved, but when the evidence started to pile up, they’d be forced to act on it…
“Killing Inglethorpe might not change the way the trustees vote, though,” Vic said. “Now it will be deadlocked, but Charley has already been given permission to open and has been getting everything in place so that she could. They won’t be able to reverse their deci
sion unless they both come down on the same side or they get a new tie-breaker who votes against reopening The Bake Shoppe at the eleventh hour. Charley is still going to be able to open the bakery, whether Don Inglethorpe is alive or dead.”
Erin blew out her breath. “Yeah, you’re right. Me killing him wouldn’t change anything.”
“Unless you just wanted revenge,” Jeremy suggested. “You were mad at him for changing his vote, so you killed him, even though it wouldn’t change anything.”
“I wouldn’t do that!” It occurred to Erin belatedly that she hadn’t said earlier that she wouldn’t kill Inglethorpe to keep The Bake Shoppe closed either.
“We know you didn’t kill him,” Vic said firmly. “We’re just talking about the evidence. Somebody killed him. He didn’t bludgeon himself to death.”
“The police will sort it out,” Erin said. She wasn’t going to get involved. She was just going to let justice take its course and not interfere. She wasn’t going to get in the way of the investigation or put herself or anyone in her circle of friends into harm’s way.
Not this time.
Chapter Twelve
E
rin was back at Auntie Clem’s bright and early as usual the next day. She knew she was going to have to deal with an increase in gossip and curious questions for a few days. Until some other news took over, like an engagement or elopement. In the meantime, it would bring her an increase in revenue, as people had to cover their curiosity with purchases from the bakery. No one would want to look like the only reason they had gone to Auntie Clem’s in the first place was just to gawk at the murder suspect.
There was a method of increasing revenue that Erin hadn’t considered when she was making her lists. Putting herself at the center of yet another murder investigation. If she kept doing that every few months…
Erin chuckled.
Vic glanced over at her with an eyebrow raised.
Erin shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”
They had everything freshly baked and out in the display case when it was time to turn the sign to ‘open’ and unlock the front door. As usual, there were a few customers already outside, ready to get their morning muffin or Danish on the way to work. Early mornings were one of the busiest times of day.
Erin was surprised to see Mrs. Foster with Peter and the young girls as part of the morning rush. Usually, Mrs. Foster dropped the older children at school first so that she only had to deal with little Traci while she was at the bakery. The Foster children were normally well-behaved while at the bakery, but were always excited and eager to get treats, and Mrs. Foster was much more relaxed if she didn’t have to deal with all of them in the chaos of the morning rush.
Erin was trying to deflect questions from a couple of other regulars about the Don Inglethorpe situation. Mrs. Foster’s eyes widened as she took in the questions. It was obvious she hadn’t yet heard of the murder and was not one of those who had come for the sole purpose of getting the latest gossip and talking to the prime suspect. Erin saw Mrs. Foster’s panicked look at her children. She couldn’t clap her hands over the ears of all of them at once, and there was no way she was getting them back out of the bakery once they were in. Not without their cookies.
“Uh…” Erin fumbled to dam the flow of the conversation. “It’s really not the best time.”
Mrs. Urquhart looked at Erin with a frown, not understanding why Erin was trying to stop them from talking. “Whatever do you mean? I was just asking—”
“Little pitchers,” Vic interrupted. She made a nod toward the children. “Li’l pitchers got big ears.”
Mrs. Urquhart turned around slightly and saw Mrs. Foster’s little brood. She patted at her cheeks. “Oh, dear. Of course.” She gave Erin a little nod. “We will have to talk later,” she said conspiratorially.
She and the other ladies quieted to whispers and the children waited impatiently for their turns at the counter without being any the wiser. As they discussed the options with each other, pointing and pressing their noses and fingers to the glass of the display case, Mrs. Foster gave a relieved nod to Erin and Vic.
“I had no idea,” she whispered.
“Sorry about that!” Erin apologized.
“No, it’s not your fault. I just don’t want them hearing…” She looked at Peter in particular, Erin’s best and most loyal fan. Erin got the feeling that not only did Mrs. Foster not want the children to hear any of the grisly details of Inglethorpe’s death, but she didn’t want Peter to hear that Erin was a suspect in the murder. He would find out soon enough that his heroes were not perfect.
“Mom, can I have two things?” Peter asked hopefully.
“No, Peter, you know better. Just one.”
“I was just thinking that since I’m sleeping over at Bobby’s tomorrow night, maybe I could have a muffin for breakfast. Bobby’s dad usually makes pancakes, and they won’t be safe for me.”
Peter was an expert negotiator, and it wasn’t long before he’d talked his mother into a cookie, a muffin, pizza shells for their dinner, and bagels that had something to do with a social studies project at school. Erin couldn’t help grinning as Vic rang it up.
Mrs. Foster rolled her eyes. “That boy will be the death of me!” Then she flushed. “Oh! I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry…”
As she herded the children out of the shop, Erin could hear Peter demanding to know what she was sorry about.
Later in the morning, Vic had whispered to Erin that Charley was back in town, but they didn’t see her until it was almost closing time. After the after-school and supper rush had faded to a trickle, Charley slipped in the door, looking up in irritation at the jingle of the bells as if they had just announced her visit to the whole town.
“Charley! How are you? Is everything… okay?”
Charley’s usually fresh face was drawn with fatigue. “Ugh. I just spent most of the day talking to your beloved and the rest of the police department. I wouldn’t recommend it as entertainment, by the way.”
Erin’s face heated at the mention of Terry in such a flippant way. She was surprised that Terry would be involved in the investigation in any way with Erin as a potential suspect. She wouldn’t have thought he’d be questioning Charley. Maybe that meant that they had ruled Erin out as a suspect, so Terry was not conflicted.
“Well, they didn’t put you in jail,” Erin said. “That’s a good sign, right?”
“They didn’t put you in jail either, and you were the one who was caught with the murder weapon in your hand. They tried ten ways to Sunday to stick a motive on me, but I didn’t have any reason to kill Don. Having someone killed in my store doesn’t mean I’m guilty.” She looked at Erin. “As you well know.”
“No, of course not.”
Charley sat down in one of the chairs at the front of the shop. “I don’t suppose you could bring me a cookie and a cup of tea, could you? I’m just so wiped out.”
“Sure, of course,” Erin agreed. “Chocolate chip?”
“Molasses?”
Erin nodded and got a cookie out for Charley. The teakettle was warm, so it didn’t take long for it to come back to a boil. A few minutes later, Charley was sipping her tea. Erin suspected that Charley wanted her to sit down for a chat, but she didn’t have time so close to closing. There were always a few last-minute customers who were trying to squeeze their errands in before closing time. Then Vic and Erin would need to clear out the display case, wipe everything down, and clear the till.
Vic was already in the kitchen preparing batters and doughs for the next day’s offerings. They would turn out better if allowed to soak overnight and it would help them get the baking in the oven more quickly in the morning.
Erin served the final stragglers and turned the door sign to ‘closed.’ Charley was still at the table. Erin didn’t rush her out. If she needed to talk about what had happened, Erin was curious enough to listen.
“You want to come to the back while we finish up?
Or do you just want some quiet time to think?”
Charley got up, picking up her teacup to return it to Erin. “If you want to talk,” she said, as if Erin were insisting upon it. She sighed loudly when she chose one of the kitchen stools and sat down.
“You’re okay?” Erin asked, not sure where to start.
“Yeah, of course, I’m made of pretty stern stuff. But it was just a bit too much like being questioned after Bobby died… I kept thinking they were going to put the cuffs on and take me away. I’ll tell you, I did not enjoy my time in those lovely digs.”
Charley had only been jailed for a few days before bail was granted, and she had never said much to Erin about what it had been like.
“Well, you’re still free, so at least I don’t have to look after Iggy.”
Charley’s pet, Iggy, was not a cuddly kitten or puppy, but a chameleon. While Erin was impressed with how quickly he could tongue-zap a cricket, he still gave her the willies. Bugs and lizards were not her thing.
“I’ll give him an extra big worm for you,” Charley teased, her mouth quirking up slightly.
“Grrreat. Tell him it’s from Auntie Erin.”
“Why did you call your bakery Auntie Clem’s instead of Auntie Erin’s?”
“It was left to me by my Aunt Clementine. I just thought… it was a good way to honor her.”
“Oh,” Charley nodded. “Makes sense.”
“You didn’t want to change the name of The Bake Shoppe to something else?”
Charley grunted. “The trustees didn’t think it was a good idea. Goodwill already established under the old name, people would be confused, blah, blah, blah.”
“Maybe they’re right. You want people to associate it with Angela and the bakery they were already used to going to, instead of thinking you’re a brand-new start-up.”
“If I can ever get it opened.”
“You will. This might be a bit of a setback, but you’ll still be able to open it.”
“The other lawyers won’t return my calls. I’m thinking that means I’m out of luck. They’re going to change their minds and either liquidate it or just leave it sitting closed until it’s not worth anything anymore.”
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