by Eve Calder
Kate sighed. At least she no longer had to worry about a stalker. And Manny definitely wasn’t the burglar. He didn’t smoke. She doubted he even owned a pair of hard shoes. And his cologne of choice was Old Spice. With a side of garlic pizza.
Kate walked into the fridge and grabbed a bag of lemons and a gallon of cold water.
When she looked up five minutes later, Oliver—who’d been charging around since daybreak—snoozed where he’d finally dropped: in a sunny spot in the front of the shop. Every once in a while, she could hear his soft breathing.
She set the pitcher on the tray with a stack of paper cups and opened the door to the backyard. “Hey, guys, how about some fresh lemonade?”
Instantly, she was surrounded by a gang of thirsty teenagers and twentysomethings. Along with a few spry retirees.
“Nearly done,” Carl pronounced. “Touching up a little of the trim and that’s the whole shebang.”
Kate stepped back and took a good long look. The whole house was a soft, barely there pink. Against that, the clean white gingerbread trim and shutters popped. It looked like a dollhouse come to life. Like it had been frosted with buttercream and powdered with sugar for a child’s party.
“It’s perfect,” she said quietly. “I can’t believe what you guys have done. This is … it’s beautiful.”
To a one, the crew members grinned.
“How about some more of those cookies?” Justin asked. “I don’t know about anybody else, but that’s why I signed on.”
Another guy, about the same age, punched him on the arm.
“You got it,” Kate said. “First batch should be coming out of the oven in about forty minutes. Think you can hold out that long?”
“Oh, we’ll still be here then,” Carl replied. “We’re racing the sun today, but we’ll get there. Even if I have to come back next week and touch up a few spots.”
“Don’t forget,” Kate said, “when we reopen the bakery tomorrow, it’s all about sharing bread and cookies with the whole town. No charge. As a way of saying ‘thank you.’ You guys are the ones who deserve it the most.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” Carl said, refilling his empty cup. “But I wouldn’t mind maybe putting a small sign on the front lawn—with the name of the hardware store and our phone number. For referrals?”
“Absolutely,” Kate said, topping off cups as the kids clustered in front of her. “That’s more than fair. I can’t believe how great the place looks.”
“Yeah, it really did need a coat of paint,” Carl said. “‘A little TLC’ is what my Minette called it. And she was right about that.”
“Sam’s going to love it,” Kate said quietly to Carl. “It’s gorgeous. And the fact that you guys got together and did this? It’s going to make him so happy. I can’t wait for him to see it.”
Carl turned abruptly, grabbed a nearby ladder, and rattled it loudly. “OK, kids, break’s over! We’ve still got work to do and not a lot of time to do it!”
The crew members, looking puzzled, drained their cups, dumped them into the garbage can, and wandered back to their stations.
Kate was equally perplexed.
“Cookies in about forty minutes,” she called cheerily. But her voice fell flat on the breeze.
True to her word, she rolled the first baking rack laden with trays of ginger snaps out of the big commercial oven just thirty minutes later.
The bakery smelled of ginger, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Kate rolled the second commercial rack—stacked to the top with trays of chocolate chip cookies—into the big oven. It had been at least three years since the Cookie House ovens had baked actual cookies. What on earth would Sam think?
Pulled by the smell—and the clatter—Oliver appeared beneath the swinging doors to the kitchen.
“Have a good nap? You’re just in time, but we have to let these cool a little first. Otherwise, someone will burn his tongue.”
Oliver cocked his head and looked first at the cookies, then at Kate. As if he was actually considering her words.
“It’s worth the wait,” she said, walking over and bending to scratch him under the chin. “I promise.”
A phone rang. For a minute, Kate couldn’t fathom where the sound had come from. It rang again. She loped to the counter and lifted the handset off the wall. “The Cookie House. This is Kate.”
For a moment, there was only a garbled, incoherent sound. Then a familiar voice. “Kate, it’s Maxi. You need to come to the flower shop now. Rápido! It’s Sam!”
Chapter 42
Barely remembering to shut off the oven, Kate dashed out the front door of the shop with Oliver on her heels.
When she walked into Flowers Maximus, there was no sign of Maxi. Then she realized the form hunched over on the small settee was Maxi.
“Maxi? Honey, what happened?” she said, sitting down next to her friend as she tried to quell the panic in her own head. As she reached out to touch Maxi’s trembling shoulder, she noticed her own hands were shaking.
“Sam,” the florist mumbled. “He’s never getting out. They charged him with another murder. They charged him with killing Muriel Hopkins.”
“No!” Kate’s hand flew to her mouth.
Maxi nodded mutely as tears poured down her face.
Kate got up and snatched a box of tissues from the florist’s desk, along with the top sheet from the message pad by the phone. With a fresh phone message, now forgotten. Maxi might need it later.
Kate placed the tissue box gently in front of Maxi on the small sofa and sat down again.
“Are you sure?” Kate knew it was a stupid question, but she had to ask. It just didn’t seem possible.
Maxi nodded, grasping a handful of tissues and taking a deep breath. Trying to speak.
“Peter called me. I think he knew it was coming. For days. But he hoped,” she said haltingly. “That the evidence. The autopsy. That it would explain. That it would point to someone else.”
“Why do they think Sam killed Muriel? He didn’t even know her.”
Maxi shook her head. “It makes no sense. Nada. But what killed her—it was the same drug that killed Stewart Lord. They’re saying Sam was trying to kill Lord and got her by mistake.”
“Could it have been suicide? Muriel, I mean?”
Maxi shook her head again. “They think the drug was in some chocolates. Hidden. She ate them, and she died. Like Lord with the sweet rolls. The state attorney is calling it murder. Premeditated. He says if Sam confesses and tells why, they’ll give him life in prison.”
Maxi doubled over, sobbing silently.
Kate was numb. She felt like she’d been gutted. She studied the phone message. Doodled hearts. With Peter’s name. Then, at the very bottom, a long phrase that made no sense. A chemical name. She stuffed it into her pocket.
“And he can’t confess … because he … didn’t do it,” Maxi squeaked between sobs.
This couldn’t be happening, Kate thought. That sweet old baker wasn’t some Machiavellian murderer, scheming and plotting and targeting victims. He just wanted to be left alone to bake bread and do a little beachcombing. And half the time he forgot to eat.
“What did Peter say?” Kate asked as Maxi sat up and wiped her face with another wad of tissues.
“It’s bad. The assistant state attorney wants to move Sam. Out of the Coral Cay jail to the mainland. He thinks they’re being too soft. Too kind.”
“Oh jeez,” Kate said. She remembered what Sam looked like when he’d first landed in the local jail. Before his friends and neighbors started visiting. Like a hurt, confused child.
“Was Peter able to tell you anything? Can we fight this?”
Maxi shook her head. “Not much. He’s working behind the scenes. To try and keep Sam here. But it’s not his case. And the other attorney’s so angry. And he knows Sam’s a friend of ours.”
Oliver, who had crawled onto the sofa next to Maxi, put his head in her lap. Absentmindedly, she stroked the soft cream-colo
red hair.
Suddenly Kate remembered her odd encounter with Carl in the backyard. His attitude had changed right after she’d mentioned Sam. When she’d remarked how much the baker would love the new paint job when he finally got to see it with his own eyes.
Carl knew. The ex-cop had already heard about the second set of charges. And he didn’t believe Sam Hepplewhite would ever see the Cookie House again.
Chapter 43
Kate tried to push past the ache and think. The grand reopening was tomorrow. Should they still do it? And with the owner of the Cookie House charged in two murders, would anyone show up even if they did?
She felt one thing in her bones: If they didn’t open tomorrow as scheduled, the Cookie House would never open again.
If she was going down, she was going down swinging.
“Maxi, I think we need to put the word out. That we’re opening tomorrow on schedule. Can you call the Coral Cay Irregulars?”
Maxi looked up blankly, blotting her face.
“If there was ever a time we needed our friends around us—and around Sam—it’s now,” Kate explained. “You know how to reach them?”
Maxi nodded. “I have everyone’s phone numbers.”
“Call them. I’m going back to the shop. I’m going to be baking nonstop most of the night just to get ready for tomorrow morning.”
“After I close tonight, I’ll come over and help. But do you think we should still open? With all this?”
“We have to. Especially with all of this. Face it, if the shop doesn’t open tomorrow morning as planned, people will start avoiding it. And that gets easier with every passing day. We have to open like nothing ever happened. Because this second set of charges is just as ridiculous as the first. And we have to broadcast that loud and clear.”
“What if no one comes?” Maxi asked.
“They might not,” Kate said, shaking her head. “We might have to donate every single cookie and roll and bread loaf to a soup kitchen and close up for good. But right now, in this moment, we still have a shot. For Sam, and for Cookie, and for us, I say we take it.”
Maxi took a couple of deep breaths and dried her face with tissues. “I have the phone numbers in my address book. I’ll start calling people now.”
Kate had another idea. But she didn’t want to raise Maxi’s hopes.
“I’m heading back over to the bakery. I just put in a batch of chocolate chip cookies. And I promised the crew some ginger snaps.”
When she walked through the door, the first thing Kate reached for wasn’t the oven. It was the phone.
One call later, she crossed her fingers. With any luck, maybe they could at least help Peter in his efforts to keep Sam in Coral Cay.
Ginger snaps or no, Oliver had stayed behind at the flower shop. With Maxi. Kate sensed that somehow the puppy understood. He knew Maxi needed him.
Kate quickly set the oven and restarted the cookies, hoping that the interruption hadn’t caused any damage. She’d never halted a batch mid-bake.
She grabbed a white china platter from the cupboard. With a spatula, she gently loosened the ginger snaps from one of the trays. She lifted the cookies carefully onto the platter. Instinctively, she plucked one from the top and tasted it.
Sweet with that spicy ginger bite. And the texture was crispy and perfect. And it was a lot easier here than in Maxi’s home oven.
She tackled a few more trays, until she had a respectable pile of cookies. Then she carried it out to the painting crew. But not before pasting a smile on her face.
I’m running a bakery, everything is normal, and I don’t have a care in the world, she reminded herself.
But at the same time, Kate wondered: Just how many customers would they have tomorrow? Or was she running the only bakery in the world that couldn’t attract customers even if they gave away cookies for free?
Chapter 44
Kate was awakened by the sound of someone banging on the front door. Followed by a dog barking. Loudly.
“Wake up, baker-girls! Big day ahead!”
“That’s Peter!” Maxi said, rubbing her eyes. “And Oliver! Ay, what time is it?”
Kate sat up from the kitchen table where she’d inadvertently dozed off. “Six a.m.! Oh my gosh, it’s six a.m.! I have to get yeast rolls in the oven for Sunny! And we have to open in two hours! I’m so not ready.”
Maxi stretched like a cat as she headed for the front door. “It’s like Christmas. It comes whether you’re ready or not. But in this case, we’re ready.”
“I don’t have any sourdough yet. Lots of cookies and plenty of other breads. But no sourdough. That’s Sam’s signature. I’ve been too freaked out to even attempt it.”
“So we go without sourdough,” the florist said, smiling. “Look at this place. We’ve got enough stuff to open a bakery.”
Kate looked around, amazed. There were racks lined up cooling. And almost every available inch of counter space was covered with breads, rolls, and cookies. It had taken the two of them working flat out all night. But Maxi was right. Except for the sourdough—and Sunny’s rolls—they were all set.
“How’s my girl holding up?” Peter asked, handing Maxi a large paper cup as Oliver rushed past them.
“I think I slept sitting up,” Maxi confessed. “I haven’t done that since Elena was teething. Oh, is this what I think it is?”
“Esperanza’s special double-strong mocha espresso with lots of cream and sugar. Brought one for each of you. Figured you could probably use it. Along with some bacon and egg sandwiches. Got a suitcase with fresh clothes in the car.”
“Mi amor, right now I’d marry you all over again.”
“That’s just the caffeine rush talking. Oh, and I promised Javie I’d relay a message. ‘What does a baker have in common with his dough?’”
“Mmmmm, I don’t know,” she said, sipping happily. “What does a baker have in common with his dough?”
“Both have to rise early in the morning,” he finished, shrugging. “I swore to him I’d tell you that, so message delivered.”
“That’s awful, truly awful,” she said, “but this coffee is wonderful.”
“So are the sandwiches. Made ’em myself. The secret is extra butter on the toast.”
Kate slid two trays with Sunny’s yeast rolls into the small oven. As she turned from closing the door, Oliver jumped up and put his front paws on her knees. His curved, fluffy tail seemed to have a mind—and rhythm—of its own.
“I missed you, too,” she told the puppy softly, stroking his flanks and scratching him under the chin. “But I know you had fun with Michael and Javie and Elena. Yeah, that’s my guy!”
She grabbed a ginger snap from the counter, placed it on her palm, and held it in front of him. Nimbly, he lifted the cookie gently into his mouth and crunched it. Kate could have sworn his black eyes twinkled. She palmed another ginger snap and presented it.
The puppy took it carefully from her hand, leaving nary a crumb. Or even a drop of moisture.
Strolling out from the kitchen with Oliver, Kate reached into the brown lunch bag on the bakery counter and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in wax paper. “I love the idea of eating something I didn’t actually have to make first.”
“Got some news that might improve your appetite, too,” Peter said, grinning at Maxi.
Kate held her breath.
“Sam gets to stay in the Coral Cay jail,” he announced. “At least for the time being.”
“Oh, Peter!” Maxi said, kissing his cheek. “That’s wonderful. How did you do it?”
“I can’t take the credit. This was Doc Patel. And Annie Kim.”
“How?” Maxi asked.
“Doc evaluated Sam late yesterday. And submitted his recommendation that Sam Hepplewhite needs to stay where he is. For medical reasons. And Annie let us review the pharmacy records for Sam and Ginger without a subpoena. Practically begged us to, in fact. She even helped Ben and one of the investigators from our office sort through th
e records most of the night, just so they’d understand what they were reading. Basically, Sam didn’t have access to the drug that killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. It’s not something he or Ginger had ever taken. And it’s not exactly easy to get, lemme tell you. You need a prescription, and it’s pretty tightly controlled. Granted, that isn’t much. We still have to figure out if Sam could have picked it up online or through the black market or from a less-than-scrupulous pharmacy. But this is the first thing that’s broken in Sam’s favor. And his lack of access to that drug—together with the medical eval—was enough to convince a judge to issue an emergency injunction. So, for now at least, he stays put.”
Maxi kissed him again. “You’re brilliant.”
“Much as I’d like to take credit for it, it wasn’t me. Well, the medical eval was. But don’t tell anyone. The assistant state attorney is hopping mad. The official story is that Sam’s lawyer demanded it. And that’s true. Even if I might have dropped a bug in his ear. But Annie? She called us. Persistent as all get-out. Wouldn’t get off the phone until someone agreed to look at what she’d discovered. No idea how she found out exactly which drug killed Lord and Hopkins. But she’s Sam’s pharmacist, and she really did the legwork.”
Kate smiled and polished off what was left of her sandwich, surreptitiously slipping a slice of crispy bacon to Oliver.
Maxi had never mentioned the name of the drug that had killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. But she had written it down. Out of habit, the florist jotted down names and numbers from phone conversations—usually floral orders—in case she needed to refer to them later.
But Maxi had been in such a state after Peter’s call yesterday that she’d never even realized she’d done it. Much less that Kate had pocketed that little piece of pink paper.
Chapter 45
As the skies darkened, Kate locked her bike to a nearby rack and walked through the front door of Sunny’s yoga studio. Dubbed simply “The Studio,” it always reminded her of Sunny herself. Clean lines, classic, and welcoming. Cream-colored plaster walls with simple molding surrounded wide-plank honeyed oak floors. Abundant skylights normally flooded the place with lots of sunlight. But today, between the early hour and the approaching storm, soft lighting did the heavy lifting. The place held the bare minimum of furniture. And the few existing pieces looked like pricey antiques. Pared down and elegant, but with a definite energy. Exuberance.