by Eve Calder
Kate shrugged. “You get used to it.”
Chapter 38
Kate burst through the door of Flowers Maximus. “Break out the champagne, and fire up the ovens—we passed!”
“We passed?” Maxi asked, astonished.
“We passed. Ninety-nine out of a hundred. We did it. All of us. The whole town. The Cookie House can open for business.”
“Oh, Sam will be so happy,” Tears welled up in Maxi’s eyes.
“I know,” Kate said, handing her a tissue. “It’s bittersweet. But we can make sure he keeps the bakery and has a good income. That way, he can keep fighting.”
Maxi dabbed her eyes. “You’re right. One battle at a time. And this we won.”
“Yes, we did, didn’t we, Oliver?” Kate said, rubbing his back, then scratching his belly as the fuzzy tail thumped happily. “Oh, you were such a good boy! Yes, you were. And the first thing that comes out of that kitchen will be a batch of your A-number-one ginger snaps. Because you were so good.”
“How about me?” Maxi said, hands on hips. “I did the smuggling and the hauling. And that little puppy is heavy. He’s been gobbling up the groceries, for sure.”
“Any treat you want, just name it.”
“I dunno, a few of those ginger snaps sound pretty good. Especially with a glass of lemonade.”
“That’s a deal. I’ll take lunch to Sam. Then I’m going to start baking. I figure, if I begin now, we can stockpile a supply for tomorrow. And maybe I can get the hang of the whole sourdough thing.”
“How’s that coming?”
“Burned one batch. Another came out OK, if you could get through the concrete crust. And a third one just wouldn’t brown. Maybe Francine misses Sam.”
“And maybe the Cookie House, too,” Maxi said. “Seriously, it’s got to be easier to bake that stuff in a professional oven. So maybe we should return Francine’s granddaughter to her real, permanent home?”
“Definitely,” Kate said. “But I think we should leave a bit at your house, too. Just in case.”
“You can’t really believe the burglar is Carl? That one, I don’t think so.”
“Honestly, me neither,” Kate confessed. “But this way, we have a little extra insurance. We protect Francine. No matter who it is.”
“Fine by me. But if Javie eats her, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
* * *
Twenty minutes and one wobbly bike ride later and Kate was sitting on a metal folding chair in front of Sam’s cell. Turns out riding a bike wasn’t exactly like riding a bike, she mused as she watched the baker devour his second lunch. And she had a near miss with a newspaper delivery van to prove it.
“I always got one hundred,” Sam said. “What happened to the other point?”
“We’ll get ’em next time,” Kate replied. “They’re promising a surprise inspection in the next couple of weeks.”
Sam nodded as he spooned some of Esperanza’s pork and pepper stew into his mouth and mopped up the sauce with a piece of roll. “Good yeast rolls.”
“We’re making them for Sunny’s morning classes, too. They seem to like them. She has some extra students during the summer, so she’s increased the order.”
He nodded again.
“About the sourdough,” Kate started. “I mean, I know it’s a very technical bread. Very unforgiving. I haven’t made any in years, but I’ve been reading up on the process. You know, brushing up on the finer points. I even hit a couple of the baking sites and picked up some good strategies. I want it to be absolutely perfect. But I was just wondering if you had any tips or secrets you could share?”
For some reason, in spite of her degree and eight years of experience, she felt like a gold-plated phony.
“Won’t be perfect.”
“Well, I know it won’t be as good as yours,” she said. “Everyone in town loves your sourdough. And mine’s not going to be exactly the same. But I’m striving to get it as close as I can. So the customers keep coming back.”
He slipped a crumpled piece of paper through the bars. A page from the crossword puzzle book. Down one side was a handwritten recipe. For sourdough.
“Make it every morning. Never exactly the same. Never perfect. Whatever that is. Wrote down the mix, best I can remember. No secrets. Just love it.”
She looked at him, perplexed. Had she heard him right?
He paused.
“Francine knows,” he said finally. “The dough knows. If you love it. If you want to be there. Baking. If you do, you’ll do fine. Rest of it is nonsense. Buncha noise.”
With that, Sam resumed eating.
Galvanized, Kate felt a spark of hope. She just might be able to pull this off after all.
Chapter 39
On the bike ride home, Kate decided it was time to go native. At least until she got steadier on her wheels she was sticking to the sidewalks. While that wasn’t quite cricket in many parts of New York, it was totally legal in Florida.
She’d finally collected her phone and the charger from the police. It was—no surprise—completely dead. And she wasn’t in any hurry to charge it.
Riding through downtown, Kate planned her first baking session in the Cookie House. In honor of Ginger—and Oliver and Maxi—the first batch would be ginger snaps. Then she’d follow up with a couple of the classics: Toll House and peanut butter.
She was contemplating the merits of tossing a few chocolate chips into one of the batches of peanut butter cookies when she rounded the corner and passed a familiar stocky figure. Ball Cap Man.
Today’s ensemble: pale green Hawaiian shirt, tan cargo pants, and a straw hat. With the same humongous sunglasses. Instead of a shopping bag, he had a gray fanny pack. The “I’m just another tourist” look.
Kate wheeled straight past, like she hadn’t even seen him. But instead of making for the Cookie House or the flower shop, she turned the corner and headed for Oy & Begorra. Ben hadn’t been at the station. And anything before two o’clock was still technically lunchtime. Besides, if she could track him down herself, what did she need with a phone?
As Kate hopped off the bike, she spotted Ben coming out of the pub.
“Detective!”
“Ms. McGuire. Nice ride. Claire?”
“Kate. And yes.”
He shook his head. “Sooner or later, that girl will make converts of us all.”
“I saw him. Ball Cap Man. He was standing in front of Coral Cay Books. He’s wearing a mint-green shirt, big sunglasses, and a straw hat that looks kind of like a bucket. And tan shorts, with a fanny pack.”
“I’m on foot. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”
Kate handed over the bike and watched him cut smoothly out into the street and pedal up the block. Even wearing a blazer and a walking cast—and with a bike that was clearly much too small—the detective made it look easy.
Kate fast-walked in the same direction. If the guy ran from Ben, she’d chase him. And tackle him, if necessary. With a sidewalk full of tourists and a cop on a bicycle, she was feeling brave.
As she retraced her route, semi-jogging, she saw Ben. With Ball Cap Man.
Caught!
While the detective was placid, the man was using agitated hand gestures. Even without hearing their conversation, Kate knew he was upset.
About time.
“Hey, Kate, I’d like you to meet Manny Stenkowski. Mr. Stenkowski is a private detective.”
“A totally respectable profession,” the P.I. said. “And legal.”
“Stalking isn’t,” Kate spat.
“She’s got you there, Manny,” Ben said. “You want to press charges, Kate? If you do, we can haul him in.”
“Oh man, that is bull,” Manny said. “You can’t do that! I have a license. I play by the rules.”
“I’d rather know who he’s working for,” Kate admitted.
“I can’t tell you that. I took an oath.”
“Yeah, Manny, you’re a regular priest.”
“I tell you
and I lose a client. And if they talk, I lose all my clients. I got two ex-wives and a beagle, and they depend on me.”
“That thing with the beagle, that’s good,” Ben said. “Here’s the deal. You tell us, I don’t arrest you for stalking, loitering, littering, and wearing those shorts, what, every single day this week?”
“It’s not the same pair. I’ve got five of ’em. Wash and wear. They have pockets that hold all of my stuff, and they’re tan, so I don’t attract attention.”
“Should have gotten yourself a whole suit made of the stuff,” Ben said. “Then maybe we wouldn’t be standing here. So what’s it going to be?”
“I have an ethical duty to uphold the canon of my profession.”
“Cannon? I loved that show as a kid. Now there’s a private eye.” He grabbed a pair of cuffs from the back of his belt and flashed them in front of Manny. “You, my friend, have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”
“Evan Thorpe! I was hired by Evan Thorpe.”
Kate’s mouth dropped open. Ben looked at Kate and gave a small nod.
“Evan? Why? What were you supposed to do? Scare me? Make me run back to New York?”
“No! Nothing like that. The guy is worried about you. You never answered your phone. Then you just up and moved. He’s really sweating it. I mean, I think he wants you back. But all I was supposed to do was trail you and make sure you were OK. Nose around and see what you were up to. See if you needed anything. If you did, he wanted to help you, what’s the word? ‘Discreetly.’”
“How did he even know I was here?”
“He tracked your phone as far as the mainland, then to the resort area. That’s when he knew he needed a pro. So he hired me,” Manny finished proudly.
“Don’t think so,” Ben said.
“OK, he hired a buddy of mine. But his wife went into labor, so I caught the case.”
Ben nodded.
“Do you smoke?” Kate asked.
“Uh-uh, no way! But what’s that got to do with the price of rice?” Manny asked, puzzled.
Ben shrugged.
“You’re local?” Kate asked.
“Out of Orlando,” Manny said. “But we cover the whole state. Are we square?” he asked Ben.
The police detective nodded.
“But we’re not,” Kate said, making a snap decision.
“Wait, what?”
Ben shrugged.
“He promised not to arrest you,” she said, pointing to the police detective. “But the first thing I’m going to do is call Evan and tell him exactly how I discovered he hired a P.I. And just how furious that’s making me.”
“Aw, lady, you can’t!” he said. “I’ve got—”
“Yes, I know—two ex-wives and a beagle,” she said, smiling. “Lucky for you, I think we can come to an arrangement.”
Chapter 40
Kate wheeled her bike up the steps onto the front porch of the Cookie House, wrapped the plastic-encased chain carefully around one of the side columns, and locked it.
As she did, an oatmeal-colored streak charged across the lawn, raced up the steps, and threw himself at her legs.
“There you are, Oliver,” Kate said, rubbing the puppy’s flanks and ruffling the top of his downy head.
“What is that?” Manny asked.
“This is Oliver. Believe it or not, he’s just a puppy. About half-grown now.”
“He’s gonna be a big one,” the P.I. said.
“Come on in, I’ll make you some coffee.”
Manny followed them into the kitchen. “Hey, this is nice. You running the place now?”
“For a friend. Just temporarily.”
“Yeah, I heard about that. The guy who owns it poisoned somebody.”
“He didn’t, actually. And he’s been accused, not convicted.”
“You a lawyer and a baker?”
“I’d offer you some cookies, but we’re fresh out at the moment,” she said as Manny settled on a barstool near the counter. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll be giving them away. Literally.”
“For real?” he asked as Oliver politely sniffed the detective’s knees, then his shoes, before curling up beneath the barstool.
“Tomorrow’s our grand reopening,” Kate explained. “It should be fun. And you don’t have to sneak around anymore. If you want to know something, just ask me.”
“OK, so how come you left Thorpe? The guy’s loaded. And from what I hear, he looks like some kinda movie star.”
“That you’ll have to ask him.”
“Blonde, brunette, or redhead?”
“Blonde. His real estate agent.”
“Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s OK. I’m happy here. And I hope he’s happy there. And that’s the way we’re going to keep it.”
“I don’t think he is happy. With her, I mean. You don’t hire a P.I. when you’re happy. We’re kinda like cops. People only call us when something is wrong. Really wrong. I get the feeling he looks at you as the one who got away.”
“I did. And I’m not going back. You like cream?”
“Only if you have it. A little sugar, too, if that’s OK. I know I’m supposed to drink it black, but the stuff they make today? Too strong. If you don’t water it down a little, it’s like battery acid.”
He reached down and gave the pup a scratch behind one ear. “Wow, his fur’s really soft.”
“Oliver’s a poodle mix. He actually has hair instead of fur.” Kate looked up and smiled. “He seems to like you.”
“He probably smells John Quincy.”
She put the tray down between them on the counter. Manny pulled out his phone, touched it a few times, and held it aloft. “Here.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“This is John Quincy. Officially, John Quincy Adams Stenkowski. My dog. I wasn’t lying.”
Kate squinted at the picture. Manny, kneeling on the grass in what looked like a park, with his arm around a bright-looking beagle.
“This is him asleep on the couch,” he said, flipping photos.
“He’s adorable,” Kate said. And he was. Cuddling what looked like a football.
“Used to be a cadaver dog. His original name was Quincy. After the TV coroner? A whole year of training. Found two bodies, right off the bat. Great nose. But when they took him out the third time, he wouldn’t get out of the truck. Just put his head on his paws and sighed. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play with his toys. Didn’t even want to run with the other dogs. Trainer had never seen anything like it.”
“What was wrong with him?”
“He was depressed. Trainer knew my ex. Told her they were gonna take old Quince to the pound. Of course, that’s all she needed to hear. Margot’s a cop. Hard head, soft heart. She brought him home that night. Renamed him right off. John Quincy Adams, after the sixth president. She wanted to keep it sorta the same, so he wouldn’t be confused. Now he’s the happiest little guy you’ve ever seen. And his face lights up when I come through the door at night. Love that. Margot and I split. But we share John Quincy.”
Kate doused her coffee with milk and took a long, satisfied sip. Manny dumped in three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and followed that with enough milk to turn the coffee a light tan color. It matched his shorts.
“I need your help,” she started. “The man who died? His name was Stewart Lord.”
“You mean the guy your friend killed?”
Kate pulled back and glowered.
“OK, OK,” Manny said, putting his palms up in surrender.
“He was a real estate developer,” she continued. “And let’s just say he was ethically challenged.”
Manny smiled.
“He wanted to buy Coral Cay.”
“What part?”
“All of it, apparently,” Kate said as Manny’s eyebrows jumped. “The man had absolutely no problems in the ego department. But he seemed to be focusing on downtown, to start. The business district.”
Manny nodded.
; Kate took a deep breath. “And it’s not as outlandish as it sounds. Lord’s specialty was buying up property that had suddenly bottomed out in value. He’d come in after natural disasters. Pay cash, but only the bare minimum. Or target owners with personal or financial troubles,” Kate added, remembering Sam and Harp.
“From what I’m hearing, Lord believed that the property values in downtown Coral Cay were going to take a nose dive in the not-too-distant future. And he was poised to take advantage of that. But you can’t create a hurricane. Much less predict it.”
“You think he had something planned,” Manny said.
“I do. And I’d like you to find out what.”
“Gee, you don’t ask for much.”
“Look, you don’t have to work for free. Keep billing Evan. You said he wanted to help me discreetly. You’d be doing exactly what he asked. So discreetly that even he doesn’t know about it.”
“OK, I’m pretty sure that’s not what he meant,” Manny said, shaking his head. “Besides, I’m supposed to be feeding him information on you.”
“I’ll give you information on me. Heck, I’ll even pose for some of those ‘candid’ telephoto shots,” she said, using air quotes. “But what I really need—what everybody in this town needs—is to find out exactly what Stewart Lord set in motion. And whether that plan is still chugging along without him.”
Chapter 41
After Manny left, Kate prepped the kitchen for her first project: cookies.
But after hauling umpteen heavy bags down from the storeroom, she was ready for a break. On the bright side, between the bags and the bike, who needed yoga?
After Kate washed up and treated herself to a second cup of coffee, she mulled over the conversation with Manny. The guy had a good heart. And he’d agreed to help.
For a while.
Sooner or later though, they would run out of new details to feed Evan about her life in Coral Cay. Or Evan would lose interest. Either way, she hoped the P.I. was better at gathering information on Stewart Lord’s business plans than he was at tailing her.