by Eve Calder
It had been on the steel shelf, next to the red landline, when she left the bakery that fateful morning. She’d had no need to carry it. It didn’t work in downtown Coral Cay. And there wasn’t really anyone she wanted to call.
But it was gone when she and Maxi went through her room. Along with who-knows-what-else.
The police probably had it now. Ben, she hoped. She cringed at the thought of Kyle Hardy reading her texts. Going through her phone log. Calling Evan. Or Jeanine.
Could he do that? Would he?
Or worse, would he phone Evan’s mother? Amanda Throckmorton Thorpe definitely did not suffer fools gladly. So why did the thought of her ex-almost-mother-in-law verbally deflating a pompous Kyle Hardy make Kate smile?
The heck with it. She’d deal with it later. She only had two things to do now: find out who really killed Stewart Lord and jump-start Sam’s bakery.
Mmrowr. It came out as a cross between a whine and a question as Oliver’s tail dropped between his legs.
“OK, three things,” Kate said aloud to Oliver. “And the most important right now is making sure we get a nice walk.”
Ruff! Oliver’s tail wagging gained speed. Springing on the balls of his feet, the puppy practically bounced down the street.
“While we’re at it, let’s pick up lunch. We can take it back to Flowers Maximus and have a picnic on the porch.”
Was it her imagination, or did Oliver’s tail accelerate a notch?
As she passed a store window, something behind her caught her eye. Across the street. She turned. Along with the usual throngs of tourists, she spotted a familiar bulk in a lime and white swirled Hawaiian shirt with the same khaki shorts she’d seen him wear days earlier. Today he also sported a Panama hat with his big sunglasses.
Ball Cap Man!
This time, instead of a shopping bag, he carried binoculars.
Instinctively, she brushed the outline of her pocket. But she didn’t have her phone. And cell service was erratic, anyway.
Did he know that? Was that why he lingered downtown? Was this his hunting ground?
She glanced back again. He was gone.
Kate planted herself on the sidewalk and did a full 360. Nothing. Tons of people—mostly tourists, with a few locals mixed in—but the Panama hat was gone.
She could feel her heart banging in her chest. Someone knocked into her from behind. Kate whirled around.
“Sorry!” said a woman in a sundress with an impossibly large Birkin bag as she bustled past.
Behind them, a woman with a little boy stared at Oliver.
“Mommy, look at the cute doggie,” the boy said, pointing.
“Stay away, Neddie, you don’t know him. He could bite. And you’re allergic.”
“Aww, Mom! I am not! Jimmy has a dog, and we play all the time. I jus’ never tell you.”
“March, young man!” the mother said, giving Kate a sheepish shrug.
Kate reached down and stroked Oliver’s downy head. “You don’t bite, do you, sweetie?” she murmured. “Not unless they really deserve it.”
Oliver stepped closer to Kate, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Just touching his soft, fluffy coat made her relax. She stood and took another look in all directions. Nothing.
She thought about returning to the flower shop. But she didn’t want to lead the guy back to Maxi. Besides, Oliver needed a walk. And so did she.
What was it Peter had said? Trust your instincts and don’t go off alone. Well, no chance of that. Even on a weekday afternoon, Coral Cay was full of people. So she’d stick to Main Street, among the multitudes, and continue her outing. With Oliver by her side. And once she was reasonably sure Hat Man was truly gone—and not just playing hide-and-seek—she’d grab lunch and take it back to the flower shop.
Who was this guy? What did he want? And, in a place where she knew virtually no one, why her?
Chapter 21
For the first leg of the new Cookie House marketing campaign, Kate opted for two recipes that were old favorites with friends and restaurant customers alike: Toll House and (for those few curious souls who didn’t appreciate chocolate) rum butter cookies.
Kate figured she and Maxi could make the rounds in the morning. Each shop would get a dozen—half and half—in a bakery box with the Cookie House address and phone number.
Maxi had picked up stick-on labels and treat boxes from a party store off Main Street. And printed out the first batch of labels on her home computer. In light blue ink, they featured a line drawing of the Cookie House.
“Maxi, these look great,” Kate said, clearly impressed.
“Part of being a small-business owner.” Maxi patted the monitor. “This old girl helps me with invoices, stationery, marketing, and, in a pinch, those little cards that go with a delivery. When you run your own shop, you learn to do a little bit of everything.”
“I figured I’d start on Sunny’s rolls tonight and we’d deliver the first batch the day after tomorrow. That way, I can proof the dough a couple of times.”
“I feel like the Easter Bunny,” Maxi said with a grin. “All I need are some of those plastic ears.”
The front door slammed.
“My guy,” Maxi declared, getting up. “I can’t believe he had to work through dinner.”
Peter Buchanan appeared in the kitchen, his face serious. “Hey, we need to talk,” he said quietly.
“I’ll join Oliver and the kids in the yard,” Kate said, moving toward the back door.
“No, you need to hear this, too.” He turned to Maxi and guided her to the kitchen table. “Baby, you want to sit down.”
Kate’s heart dropped. Sam. It had to be Sam.
Peter set his briefcase by the bar and dropped his suit jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. “There’s no easy way to say this.…”
Maxi’s hands flew to her face. “Peter, just tell us,” she pleaded.
He nodded. “Carl came to our office this morning. He actually called last night, but that’s another story. Anyway, he’d heard that someone else connected with Lord had died recently. Died the same way Lord did.” Peter stopped, taking a deep breath.
“Muriel Hopkins,” Kate said. “His assistant. We heard about it at the book club meeting yesterday.”
“She had heart problems,” Maxi said. “For a long time.”
Peter nodded. “She did. Her doctor said it was a chronic condition. But she was managing it well. She watched her diet, took her meds, walked regularly. Bottom line, he was surprised when she died so suddenly.”
“Rosie said it was from the stress,” Maxi said. “Working for Stewart Lord.”
“Yeah, the doctor mentioned that. He was also afraid he might have missed something in her last exam. Some complication related to her health. And that’s been weighing on him. He’s truly convinced that she shouldn’t have died so young.”
Kate felt a thudding in her own chest. Maxi had gone silent, her eyes wide and worried.
“The bottom line is, after talking with her doctor, the assistant state attorney handling Lord’s murder believes that Muriel Hopkins’ death deserves a second look. And, unfortunately, after hearing the facts, I agree with him. The office is going to move to have her body exhumed. There’s a chance that Muriel Hopkins might have been poisoned. It’s possible she might have been murdered by the same person who killed Stewart Lord.”
Chapter 22
Kate punched the dough, flipped it, and hit it again. Then she started pummeling it.
“If you’re not careful, those rolls are going to have you arrested for assault,” Maxi said.
“Haven’t you heard? We pastry makers are a violent bunch. We beat eggs and whip cream. But don’t tell Kyle. Seriously, what are we going to say to Sam?”
“Peter’s idea is to say nothing,” Maxi said, sipping coffee out of a tiny cup. “Not yet. And I think he’s right. We don’t know anything yet. One doctor feels guilty because maybe he missed something. And maybe he did. Or maybe he didn’t under
stand just how awful it was to work for Stewart Lord. All the hours. All the pressure.”
“Or maybe Muriel wasn’t being as good with her diet and exercise routine as she told her doctor.”
“That too. Until they do tests, there’s nothing to tell Sam. He’ll just worry. And that will hurt him.”
“But you know Coral Cay,” Kate said, cleaving the doughball in two, placing each half in a separate mixing bowl, then deftly covering them loosely with plastic wrap. “That little piece of bad news is going to be the talk of the town, literally, before the week is out. And Sam is sitting right there in the police station jail. Gossip central. He’s going to hear something.”
“I wonder if this will maybe help him. Help his case.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked, pushing the bowls up against the far side of the counter—well out of the reach of curious little hands.
“Well, Sam knew Stewart Lord. And really didn’t like him. So someone could say that he had a reason for that one. Even though we know he didn’t do it. But Muriel Hopkins? I don’t think he even met her. So why would he kill her? And how?”
“You’re right. If it turns out she was murdered and we can show Sam didn’t do it, that should go a good way toward proving Sam didn’t kill Lord, either.”
“It also means the bobo has to leave you alone and find another suspect,” Maxi said.
“What do you mean?”
“From what Rosie and Andre said, she died a month ago. You were still living in New York then, right?”
“Oh yeah. With an apartment and a job and a fiancé. I wonder when she died?”
“Well, let’s fire up my old girl and ask,” Maxi said, walking into the living room and sitting down at the computer. “M-u-r-i-e-l and H-o-p-k-i-n-s. I’m gonna put in ‘Florida,’ in case there’s more than one.”
“Add ‘obituary,’” Kate suggested. “That should narrow it down.”
Maxi hit “Enter,” then scooted back in her seat. “Oooh!”
“What?”
“This is from the Hibiscus Springs newspaper. It says Muriel F. Hopkins, fifty-two, administrative assistant at Lord Enterprises Limited, died of a heart attack.” She paused, scanning the text. “On the sixteenth of last month.”
“Whoa,” Kate said.
“That mean something?” Maxi said, looking up.
Kate shook her head. “Remember how I told you I lost my job, my apartment, and my fiancé all on the same day? That was the day. And if this doesn’t make me stop feeling sorry for myself, I don’t know what will.”
Chapter 23
The next morning, Kate and Maxi hit downtown armed with cookies—and the news that the Cookie House would be reopening with an expanded menu.
“About time!” Amos Tully declared as they shared coffee out of paper cups in his storeroom. “That old fool was tying his hands behind his back. What’s a bakery without sweets? Really like these. What did you say they’re called again?”
“Rum butter cookies,” Kate said. “Similar to a traditional butter cookie, but with a kick.”
“Heh! Don’t want to let Sam get too close to these. That man likes his rum. Well, gotta get back to the store. Lemme know when you girls are open again. We’ll order up some more of these. And the chocolate chip, too.”
As Kate, Maxi, and Oliver walked the block in the cool morning air, Kate realized she recognized many of the faces. Even if she didn’t yet know their names. More often than not, folks waved or nodded. And were usually greeted with an enthusiastic wave or “Hiya!” from Maxi.
But the town was strangely devoid of tourists.
“Too early,” Maxi explained. “This is what we call local hour. Although it’s really more like two. Tourists don’t show up much before ten.”
Overhead, Kate heard the scream of seagulls on the briny breeze, as the sweet scent of tropical flowers mingled with the aromas of food—coffee, bacon, onions—from shops and restaurants prepping for the day. She felt a tingle of excitement.
“Let’s hit the pharmacy next,” Maxi said. “Annie’s researching Lord’s family tree to see if anybody interesting falls out. I’m curious to see if she found anything that could help Sam.”
“Any word on Lord’s will? There could be a few clues there.”
“Peter swore me to secrecy. So you can’t say anything. But they can’t find one.”
“You’re kidding. A guy with that much money? That doesn’t make sense.”
“They’re still looking. Could be they just haven’t found it yet. But Lord’s personal lawyer says he never made one. At least, not that he knows. And the guy who heads up his company’s legal department says Lord had one, but that he’d never actually seen it. It’s all a mystery. That’s why I want to find out what Annie discovered. But remember, the stuff Peter tells us we can’t share. At least, not yet.”
Kate mimed locking a key over her mouth. “I swear, on three dozen of my best cookies. Especially the Toll House.”
“Yeah, well a couple of those ‘dozens’ were nearly a few cookies short. I caught Javie and Michael trying to sneak some out of the boxes this morning. Peter had to have a little talk with them about respecting other people’s property. That big legal degree of his comes in handy sometimes.”
“Well, we did put cookies in front of children. That’s basically entrapment.”
“That’s what Peter said. Something called ‘attractive nuisance.’ Of course, he had chocolate chip cookies on his breath when he said it.”
A little bell tinkled as they opened the door to Kim’s Drugstore. Annie popped out of the storeroom. Her shoulder-length hair was damp.
“Hey, guys! Anything new on the Stewart Lord case?”
“We were gonna ask you the same thing,” Maxi admitted, presenting Annie with a box. “But we’re reopening the bakery this week, and we brought a little sample of some of the new stuff.”
“Cookies! Oh, this is great. I just got back from the beach, and I’m starving.”
“Two kinds,” Kate said proudly. “Chocolate chip and rum butter.”
“These are heaven,” Annie said, happily munching one. “Hey, how about some tea? Moms made a whole pot before she took off. Nokcha—green tea.”
“I’d love that,” Kate said.
“And I have a few treats for you, big guy,” Annie said, bending to scratch Oliver’s ear. “I can’t believe how fast he’s growing.”
In the back room of the pharmacy, Annie motioned them to a beautiful low teak table with matching chairs. Complete with a red area rug bearing a gold and blue geometrical pattern, the setup could have been straight out of a comfortable living room.
Annie saw Kate taking it all in and grinned. “We spend so much time at the shop, it pays to make it homey and comfortable. But you’ll discover that soon enough.”
She unrolled a straw mat onto the table, set out three delicate blue and white china teacups, and filled each from a pot of the same design.
“It’s the weirdest thing,” Annie said, putting the cookie box in the middle of the table. “I haven’t been able to find a thing on Lord before he came to this country. I mean, the last few years, all kinds of stuff in the papers. About him and his company. Most of it good, oddly enough. The business press loved him. And so did the banks. But nothing from his earlier life in London. Or the U.K., period. Did you guys manage to learn anything about Lord’s will? That might give me a few other names to search. Especially if he mentioned family members.”
“Nothing yet, but I’m hoping to hear something soon,” Maxi said quickly.
“What about the poison that killed him? Any idea what it was?”
Maxi paused, clamping her lips together. “I don’t have a copy of the report from the exam … the autopsy,” she said slowly, clearly caught between her conscience and her desire to clear Sam. “Not yet. But from what I hear—from a very good source—it was a drug, like you thought. A heart drug.”
“That would make sense,” Annie said matter-of-fact
ly. “In the right circumstances, they calibrate heart function. In the wrong ones, they can wreck everything.”
“Someone at the book club said Lord starting popping up in the headlines around here about five years ago?” Kate asked.
“Yeah. South Florida got hammered during one really bad hurricane season,” Annie said, setting a bowl of water on the rug in front of Oliver, alongside three bone-shaped treats. “It was just one storm right after another. That’s about the time he moved in and started buying big. Before that, I found just a few scant references to him here and there. Mostly in business journals. He was part of some group that bought a couple of hotels. He had a minor partnership in a Missouri casino. Very minor, from the sound of it. He and a bunch of other investors bought and sold a few resorts and some condo buildings out west. But about five years ago, he went big-time. Buying on his own, instead of going in with other people. Putting his name out there. And that’s about the time he seemed to discover South Florida.”
“How old was he?” Kate asked.
Annie smiled. “I can’t even get a straight answer on that one. Some of the stories say he was forty-five or forty-seven when he died. Others, fifty or fifty-three. And I saw one blurb from years ago that, if you do the math—and I did—would have made him about fifty-seven. I never actually met him, so I have no idea.”
“No way he was forty-five,” Maxi declared.
“Yeah, from the view I had that one time at the bakery, I’d have said your fifty-seven was closest to the mark,” Kate said. “I wonder why the discrepancy?”
“Vanity,” Annie countered. “Plus, I hear the corporate world’s almost as bad as Hollywood. Once you hit a certain age, if you haven’t made your fortune a lot of doors close.”
“And fifty-seven is a little late to be the next wunderkind or hot new flavor of the month,” Kate mused.
“How’s Sam doing?” Annie asked quietly.
“Better,” Maxi said. “Now that he knows people are behind him. He has hope.”
“Moms and Pops are going to stop in and see him this afternoon. Moms wants to take him a home-cooked meal. She makes a ground-beef rice bowl that’s heaven. And she’s also fixing him some of her glazed chicken wings. Those things are seriously sick.”