And Then There Were Crumbs--A Cookie House Mystery

by Eve Calder

  “He’ll stay for a while, just don’t expect anything permanent,” Maxi warned as they’d pulled into her driveway.

  “I just wish someone had told me the same thing about Evan,” Kate said with a smile.

  She devoted most of the afternoon and evening to baking for the book club. With a few extra batches thrown in for the family, of course.

  Besides, a certain amount of tasting was integral to the process, Kate reasoned. She had to make sure she hadn’t lost her touch.

  They’d packed their precious cargo into a collection of Maxi’s large Pyrex dishes with colorful silicone lids. “It’s the same stuff I use when we take food to Miami for family dinners,” Maxi confessed. “Plenty big.”

  Now, as Kate stood in front of Harper Duval’s palatial door, the butterflies in her stomach felt more like pterodactyls. She didn’t know any of these people. She was invading a stranger’s home to ask for a favor. A big favor.

  Then she remembered Sam. Sitting alone in that gray cell. He’d looked so hopeful when she’d volunteered to run the bakery. He was counting on her. Counting on them.

  Kate took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, stood up straight, and fixed a smile on her face. “Fake it till you make it,” one of her culinary instructors always said. Well, she’d fake it until they succeeded. Until they freed Sam.

  “Relax, partner, we can do this,” Maxi said as she pressed the doorbell.

  “Yup, we’ve got this,” Kate agreed.

  The man who opened the door was about four inches taller than Kate, though he probably had at least twenty years on her. His wavy light brown hair was thick and stylish, his clothes casual but expensive. He sported a blue blazer with white linen slacks. A lemon-yellow dress shirt, open at the neck, emphasized his tan.

  “Maxi, welcome!” he said, stepping back. “So glad you could come. And you’ve brought a friend—fantastic!”

  “Harp, this is Kate McGuire,” Maxi said, walking into the two-story foyer replete with marble floors, a gold filigree mirror, and an enormous crystal chandelier. “She just moved to Coral Cay from New York. She’s a pastry chef. Kate, this is Harper Duval, our host. He also runs In Vino Veritas, the best wine shop in Coral Cay.”

  “Of that I am guilty. And it’s the only wine shop in Coral Cay. But I’ll take my compliments where I can get them. And please, call me Harp.”

  “We come bearing cookies,” Kate added shyly, holding up the dishes.

  “Then by all means, please allow me to relieve you of your burdens, ladies,” the man said affably, lifting the containers out of her hands. “And your timing is perfect. We’re just opening the wine. Let me get you both a glass.”

  As their host turned to lead them into the house, Maxi and Kate exchanged glances. Maxi shrugged.

  “We’re set up in the wine cellar,” Harp called over his shoulder, his deep voice offering just the suggestion of a refined southern accent. “And I hope you’ve brought your appetites, because we’ve got quite the spread. Maxi, I procured a hickory-smoked artisanal turkey from Vermont that I think you’re going to love. And there’s a beautiful roast of Wagyu beef. So tender you can cut it with a spoon. And Annie Kim brought some delectable-smelling scallion pancakes.”

  They walked into a caterer’s kitchen. Kate scoped out the space and realized it was easily three times the size of the kitchenette in her Manhattan apartment.

  Harper Duval grabbed a carafe from the counter and poured three glasses.

  “See what you think of this,” he said, handing them each a glass of the ruby liquid. “A very nice Napa Valley Zinfandel. Goes well with red meat, smoked foods, and, in my humble opinion, just about everything. If such a thing were possible, I’d have it flowing from the taps like water.”

  “For me that would be coffee,” Kate said with a smile.

  “Oh, this is good,” Maxi said tasting it. “Muy delicioso.”

  “It’s lovely,” Kate said, taking a sip and feeling its warmth spread from her mouth down to her core. “Thank you.”

  “The least I can do. Besides, what good are the finer things without friends to share them?”

  Harp took another sip and smiled contentedly. Setting down the wineglass, he produced a large, round teak platter from the counter behind him. Opening each of the glass containers, he deftly arranged the cookies, adding layer on layer in a spiral until the result resembled a giant cookie flower.

  “These smell magnificent,” he said, stealing a glance at Kate. “Am I correct in assuming we have our new resident pastry chef to thank?”

  “Absolutely,” Maxi said. “Her cookies are fantastic. She’s staying with us, and my kids are ready to adopt her.”

  Kate felt a blush spreading on her cheeks. She hoped it wasn’t noticeable. “Nope, I had a lot of help with these. We wanted to make enough so that everyone could have a few,” she explained.

  “That’s very generous. And we have a full contingent tonight. I think you’ll get a kick out of it. Do you enjoy Agatha Christie?”

  “I love her, but I have to admit, it’s been a while.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you appreciate good food and a good mystery, you’ll do just fine.”

  Harp picked up his glass in one hand and balanced the platter in the other. “Well, ladies, shall we commence to the cave?”

  Chapter 16

  If Kate hadn’t known better, she’d have sworn they were standing in an actual cellar. Only steps from the caterer’s kitchen, the Duvals’ wine cave lived up to the name. The walls were plaster, the floor stone. The room was crafted with the kind of roughhewn handiwork that required piles of money to achieve. And it was cavernous. Truly a cave. Kate estimated at least a dozen guests, yet it didn’t seem crowded in the least.

  Wooden racks loaded with bottles lined the walls. Some were actually set into the walls. And while the wood glowed with polish and care, many of the bottles bore a light blanket of dust.

  The air was chilly. The climate control that Maxi had mentioned? And there wasn’t a single window. The only thing missing from a true cellar was a set of stairs.

  Even with the abundant size of the room, Kate felt the same tingle of claustrophobia that had always shadowed her in Jeanine’s dusty basement.

  Fake it till I make it, fake it till I make it, she chanted silently in her mind as she took another sip of wine.

  “Kate, this is Sunny Eisenberg,” Maxi said. “She runs the yoga studio just off Main Street.”

  “We met at the bakery,” Sunny said, clasping Kate’s hand genially. “But you still haven’t accepted my offer of a free class.”

  “Be careful,” Maxi warned. “If anybody can get you hooked on yoga, it’s Sunny. I drop in a couple of times a week.”

  “One of my prize pupils,” Sunny said with a grin. “Horrible about the bakery. Word around town is they’ve arrested Sam? What on earth are they thinking? That man’s no more a murderer than I am.”

  “We feel the same way,” Maxi said, nodding. “In fact, we’ve promised to help him keep the bakery going until this mess gets straightened out.”

  “Good for you girls! Just let me know when you reopen; I’ll stop by to pick up some goodies. Don’t tell anyone, but I think Sam’s yeast rolls are the real reason people show up for my six a.m. class. I put out a little spread afterward with local jam and butter. The students think I don’t hear them, but they call it Stretch and Starch. And they pick the platters clean.”

  “Can a pastry chef make yeast rolls?” Maxi stage-whispered as Sunny moved out of earshot.

  “Yeah, although I’m going to need to run a few practice batches of my breads. It’s a lot more humid here.”

  “That matters? I thought that was—what’s the phrase?—an old wives’ tale.”

  “It matters like you wouldn’t believe. But I know how to adjust. I’ll just need a few run-throughs.”

  “My kitchen is at your command.” Maxi giggled. “And I call dibs on any flop cakes. Oh, good. Rosie and Andre are
here. You’ll love them. They run an antique store. There are a couple in Coral Cay, but theirs is the best. As Time Goes By. Some really expensive stuff, but some bargains, too. Beautiful things you can really use. Not old tchotchkes. Oh, and some very nice jewelry.”

  Kate looked across the room and spied a handsome couple. Both looked to be in their mid-thirties. She was willowy and beautiful, with mocha-colored skin, close-cropped hair, and—at least to Kate’s eyes—not a hint of makeup. Her husband was just as tall, olive skinned with a stocky build and a dark, slightly receding hairline. Each with a glass in hand, they leaned toward each other, laughing. A private joke. An intimate moment.

  Kate smiled. “Do they know Sam?”

  “Everyone here knows Sam. But yeah, they like him. And he’s helped them out a couple of times. You’ve met Carl Ivers, right?” Maxi said, eyeing the ex-cop talking with Amos Tully and a statuesque African-American woman in a yellow watered-silk dress.

  “Yeah, he changed the locks on Sam’s doors after the break-in. Is that his wife?”

  “Minette. She’s a hoot. And a great cook. If you’re lucky, they’ll invite you for dinner. She brought a mac-and-cheese dish tonight that will make you cry. She crumbles crispy bacon over the top. And there’s another flavor I can’t place. It’s the best. Anyway, Carl is gonna be primo for our mission. If we can get him on our side…,” Maxi added, letting the thought hang in the air.

  “For what it’s worth, he was decidedly unimpressed with Kyle’s investigation of the break-in.”

  “See? That’s a good sign.”

  “I hesitate to even ask, but is Kyle Hardy a member of your group?”

  “Uh-uh. We have a strict ‘no bobo’ rule. Written right into the bylaws. Seriously, I don’t think that boy is much of a reader. Ben drops by sometimes, when he can. But with everything going on in town, I don’t think we’re gonna see him for a while. And I’m kinda relieved.”

  “How come?”

  “I don’t think he’s happy with Kyle, either. But he’s very loyal. And he might feel he has to stand by the department. Whether he agrees or not.”

  “Who’s the man talking with Harp?”

  “That’s Dr. Patel. Rakesh Patel. He’s our town G.P. It would really help to get him on our side, too. He’s super logical. What’s the word Peter used?… ‘Methodical.’ And see the woman adjusting the dishes on the buffet table? That’s Annie Kim. Her parents own the drugstore, and she joined them as the pharmacist a couple of years ago. She’s also killer on a surfboard. That girl can dance on waves. She’s won a couple of competitions. Huge Agatha Christie fan. In fact, she suggested tonight’s book. It was Christie’s very first.”

  “That’s why it sounded familiar. I know I’ve read it. But it’s been years.”

  Across the room, Harp smiled and raised his glass to them.

  “Uh-oh, somebody likes you,” Maxi said under her breath.

  “He’s married. And that’s definitely not my type.”

  “I’m not saying he’d actually try anything,” Maxi intoned, barely above a whisper. “But in the kitchen? He was looking at you like you were one of those bottles of red wine he likes so much.”

  “No, I think he was just being a good host,” Kate protested. But the knot in her gut told her otherwise.

  Harp was handsome. And he definitely had charisma. But the notion filled Kate with dread.

  Truth be told, she still loved Evan. She’d left him. She’d put fourteen hundred miles between them. And she wasn’t going back. But she still loved him.

  Besides, the last thing she needed was another playboy.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, inclining her chin toward the buffet table, where Annie was chatting with a solidly built woman with short salt-and-pepper hair.

  “That’s Barb Showalter. She owns the bookstore. Coral Cay Books. This club is her baby. Even though Harp is the host, she’s the leader. La presidenta. And that young couple over there talking with Gabe? You definitely want to meet them. They run a really popular local pub. Right on Main Street. Oy and Begorra. One of Sam’s biggest clients.”

  Gabe spotted Kate and Maxi and waved. Kate smiled and returned the gesture.

  “Oy and Begorra?” Kate asked.

  Maxi noticed her friend’s puzzled expression. “Bridget O’Hanlon and Andy Levy. Newlyweds. Their restaurant is great. Like a real Irish pub and a great Jewish deli. All rolled into one. Peter and I eat there all the time. The brisket melts in your mouth. And it’s affordable. Not like those places in resort town. The coffee’s good, too. Not as good as mine. But close.”

  Kate took a deep breath, trying to release the tension she felt. What if they couldn’t do this? What would happen to Sam?

  She followed up with a small sip of wine.

  Maxi patted her arm and smiled. “It’s gonna be OK. These people are friends. We’re just gonna share some good food and chat.”

  Kate nodded, repeating the mantra in her head.

  “All right, ladies and gentleman,” Harp intoned to the group. “The buffet line is officially open. Please help yourselves to this delicious repast.” He held a half-empty carafe aloft. “And as you undoubtedly know already, around here the bar is never closed.”

  There were titters from the guests. Maxi and Kate exchanged a knowing look.

  As the club members milled around the buffet table, Kate stepped back and appraised it from a food professional’s point of view. The selection was dazzling. At least four kinds of meats and an equal array of imported cheeses shared space with a bountiful selection of chutneys, mustards, relishes, and pickles. Guests had also loaded the table with offerings, including Minette Ivers’ famous mac and cheese, two different kinds of quiche, and an enormous pan of fragrant lasagna. There was also a variety of potato salads, cold salads, and slaws. A drinks table sagged under the weight of pitchers of lemonade, iced tea, and sangria and several bottles of wine. An ice chest beside it on the floor held a treasure trove of imported beer.

  “Puts a Tudor monarch to shame, no?” Gabe said, handing her a white china plate. Today the mechanic was wearing a sky-blue Hawaiian shirt and pressed chinos. The reflective sunglasses were perched atop his head.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it outside a restaurant or a hotel,” Kate admitted.

  “Harp doesn’t do things halfway. And he uses these events to publicize products from his shop. That way, it’s a write-off, too,” he said, shrugging. “You settling in OK? I heard about the thing with Sam.”

  “I’m fine. But I am worried about him. And he’s more concerned about the bakery than anything else. Maxi and I promised we’d run it for him temporarily.”

  Gabe smiled. “That sounds like the Sam I know. And I’m glad you guys are keeping it going. In the interim,” he added quickly. “But you’ll have your work cut out for you replicating his sourdough. Oh, and by the way, Gwendolyn is just fine. Coming along nicely, in fact.”

  It took Kate a few seconds to remember: Gwendolyn was what he’d nicknamed her ailing car.

  “You’ve been working on it? Her?” She didn’t know whether to be grateful or horrified. She wanted her car. Needed it, in fact. But she had no money, and her only prospect for a paycheck was sitting in the local lockup.

  “Nothing big. Just flushing some of the systems and removing a bit of the gunk. In my spare time and off the books. I can’t run a bakery. But I can help someone who’s helping a friend.”

  “Wait, you already knew about that?”

  He grinned. “This is a very small town. The cell service might be iffy, but we’re wired in other ways. Look, if I can assist Sam in any way, just say the word. That guy is like his sourdough: crusty on the outside, soft and warm on the inside. But I never said that.”

  Kate relaxed. Maybe this would be all right after all.

  She smelled the food and, for the first time all day, was genuinely famished. She recalled a foodie friend’s sage advice on buffets: Skip the bread basket and sample a tablespoon of e
verything. Then double back for seconds of the really good stuff.

  Eyeing the table, Kate suspected it was all really good stuff.

  When she caught up with Maxi, her friend had snagged seats next to the Armands.

  “Rosie, Andre, this is Kate McGuire. Kate, this is Rosie and Andre Armand. They run As Time Goes By. Kate’s a pastry chef. She’s moving to Coral Cay, and she’s probably going to need to pick up a few things.”

  “Oh, decorating a new place is always fun,” Rosie said, smiling. “Where are you moving from?”

  “New York,” Kate said. “Manhattan.”

  Andre smiled at his wife. “We’ve had some great buying trips in the five boroughs,” he said with a slight French accent. “Last year, we even got last-minute tickets to Hamilton. Have you seen it?”

  “My fiancé and I—my ex-fiancé and I—went last spring. It was fantastic.” It had been a magical night, Kate remembered with a familiar pang. All the more luminous because she and Evan were just falling in love.

  “So are you decorating a house or an apartment?” Rosie asked, slicing off a bite-sized piece of lasagna with her fork.

  “A room, actually.”

  “She’s bunking at the bakery until she can find a place,” Maxi explained. “Sam’s letting out a room upstairs.”

  “We heard about the incident with Stewart Lord,” Andre said. “How is Sam?”

  “About as well as you’d expect,” Maxi said. “He’s worried about the Cookie House. He asked us to keep it open. Just until he gets everything straightened out.”

  “Good,” Rosie said emphatically. “There’s no way Sam would hurt anyone. Not even Lord Stewart Lord.”

  “The man was a snake,” Andre said, his mild French accent catching on the last word. “He wanted to turn this town into some kind of vacation playground for the very rich. People who live and work here? He wants us gone. Zap! No place in his plans for the likes of us.”

  Rosie patted her husband’s arm reassuringly. “One of our customers worked for him. Muriel Hopkins. Did you ever meet her?”

  Maxi shook her head.

  “Let’s just say she shared a few stories,” Rosie drawled. “That man was an ogre. The way he treated his employees? Forget humane. He wasn’t even human.”