Assaulted Caramel

by Amanda Flower

  “It shows a pattern, a violent pattern, might I add. Tyson tried to break into the candy shop or force his way in . . .” He trailed off.

  “That’s not what happened.” I felt dizzy.

  “Then tell me why your fingerprints were the only ones found on the murder weapon?”

  It felt like all the blood drained from my face. “I don’t know. My fingerprints are on the chocolate knife because I used it earlier in the day to cut fudge. Maybe whoever killed Tyson wore gloves. Don’t most murderers know to wear gloves?”

  “It seems rather convenient that you were using the knife before the murder.”

  “It’s not convenient, it’s true!” I cried, finally losing my temper. “Deputy Brody saw me with the knife when he came into the candy shop to pick up fudge for his mother’s quilting circle.”

  The thin brow went up again. “I know. The deputy has already shared this with me. All it proves is that you cut chocolate with the knife. It does not mean you are innocent of killing Tyson.”

  I jumped out of my chair. “I’m telling you I didn’t do it! You’ve wasted so much time on me today when you could be out there finding the real killer. You could be talking to his son, who unlike me, is a viable suspect in his father’s murder.”

  “Have a seat.” His voice was cold.

  I didn’t move.

  “Have a seat.”

  This time he said it with so much force, I fell into my chair with a thud.

  “Let me tell you something, Miss King. Everything and everyone around Colton’s death has a part to play in the story of this case, and you have a history of reacting violently when threatened. Do you expect me to ignore that?”

  “Someone was trying to rob me!”

  “Was the money he planned to steal worth being shot over?”

  I clenched my hands together in my lap until the knuckles turned white. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But I would imagine if you reacted that strongly to someone trying to steal from you, you’d react even more violently when someone you care about as much as your grandfather was threatened.”

  “I didn’t kill Tyson Colton.” I tried my best to keep my voice even.

  He closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. It squeaked under the strain of his shifting weight. “Here’s my theory. You went downstairs to check your cell phone messages, as you have already said, and caught Colton breaking into the kitchen through the back door. You thought he was going to hurt you or your grandparents. You grabbed the closest weapon you could find, which just so happened to be the curved chocolate knife that you used the day before. Colton lunges toward you, and you stab him in the chest. I suppose if you come clean, you can claim self-defense. There are no other witnesses to corroborate that, but I think you have a good shot. Colton must have outweighed you by eighty pounds at least. The jury will be sympathetic, I wager.”

  “That’s not what happened.” At this point, I didn’t even know why I was wasting my breath arguing with him. In his mind, my guilt was certain, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying, “The last time I saw the chocolate knife, it was on the counter in the front room of the shop. I never even used it in the kitchen, so it would not be a convenient weapon to grab in the heat of the moment.”

  He leaned forward. “If you didn’t put the knife in the kitchen, how did it get there?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to any of this.”

  “I don’t believe you. You think just because you are from New York City that you can be slick and get away with murder.” He smacked the metal table with so much force, I was surprised there wasn’t a dent in the surface. “Not in my county. No one gets away with anything in my county.”

  “If you are so sure, why don’t you arrest me then? Don’t you have enough evidence to do that?” The moment I asked that question, I regretted it. There was nothing I could do to help my grandparents or find the real killer if I were in jail. I would be completely useless there.

  “Let me lay it out straight for you, Miss King. You had means—the knife, motive—your grandparents’ business, and opportunity—you were in the building when Tyson was murdered.” He glared at me. “Oh, I will arrest you, Miss King. I promise you that, but not until I can make it stick, which I will. Trust me.” He stood up and walked out the door. “Don’t even think of leaving town. It wouldn’t hurt to put a call into a fancy city attorney either.”

  I stared after him, unable to breathe.

  Chapter 22

  I pressed a hand to my chest and forced myself to take in a big gulp of air. This wasn’t happening. Less than forty-eight hours ago, I was at JP Chocolates putting the final touches on a chocolate showpiece for a Wall Street gala, and today, I was sitting in the Holmes County Sheriff ’s Department being accused of murder. This couldn’t be happening.

  There was knock on the door. It was Aiden. I let out another breath. I was so relieved to see him rather than Deputy Carpenter or the sheriff. I didn’t think I could face either of them at that moment.

  “You’re free to go,” Aiden said. “I can take you back to the shop.”

  My knees shook as I struggled to my feet. My body quivered from my toes to the hair on the top of my head as the enormity of my predicament sank in.

  Aiden’s forehead creased in concern. “What did he say to you?”

  “That he’s going to arrest me but is waiting until he can make the charges stick,” I said, proud of myself that I had been able to control the quaver in my voice.

  “But you are free now. He would arrest you if he could. He told me that.”

  My stomach turned. Was the comment supposed to make me feel better? “What exactly did he say?”

  Aiden glanced over his shoulder at the cracked open door. “We shouldn’t talk here. Let me take you back to Swissmen Sweets.”

  Since I wanted to get as far away from the sheriff’s department as possible, I didn’t argue.

  The deputy opened the heavy metal door wide, and I followed him through the winding halls back to the reception area. We didn’t run into a single person as we left the building, and that was how I liked it.

  Outside the station, I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air, and I was even grateful for the cold bite in the fall wind. There were a few moments inside the station that I was certain I wouldn’t be leaving, maybe ever. I wouldn’t take being free for granted, and I wouldn’t waste my freedom. I had to find out who was really behind Tyson’s death.

  I would start with the Amish he’d bought property from. There had to be a reason that so many Amish sold out to him all at the same time. Their businesses had been in their families for generations—why sell now? Knowing what I knew about the culture, I couldn’t believe that all of them had made the decision for the money. Maybe some of them had, but not all. There had to be another reason, one worth killing for.

  I gave the deputy a sideways look as he opened the passenger door of the cruiser for me. He was another puzzle to solve. Why was he helping me? Or was he just trying to make it look like he was, so I would let down my guard?

  After I was seated in the cruiser and Aiden climbed into the driver’s seat, he started the car and said, “The sheriff is playing a game. As long as he’s enjoying the game, you will be free.”

  I gripped my seatbelt. “What?”

  He gave a sigh. “I’ve seen him do it before on other cases. He enjoys the thrill of the chase before making an arrest. If he arrested you now, the fun would be over. He’s not ready to do that yet.”

  “That’s horrible. I’m not a toy to be played with.”

  “I know that.” His voice was sad. “But at least it means you are free now, and we have time to find out who really killed Tyson. So, view the sheriff’s behavior as a blessing in disguise.”

  “We are going to find the real killer?”

  He glanced in my direction. “We, as in the sheriff’s department, not we, as in you and I. You need to go back to the candy
shop and worry about the desserts for the Hutton wedding tomorrow. Leave the investigation alone. You’ll only make it worse for yourself in the long run.”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t just sit by and watch what happens when my entire life is on the line, or when my grandparents are at risk. If I’m arrested, that might be the final act that will stop my grandfather’s heart completely. I can’t let that happen.”

  He gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly. “I was afraid you would say that.”

  Maami and Daadi came to mind. I imagined Maami pacing in the front room of Swissmen Sweets wondering what had become of me, and Daadi clenching the arms of his walker in worry. When I’d left that morning to handle Eileen’s tasting, I’m sure neither of them thought I would be gone so long. “My grandparents must be out of their minds with worry.”

  “They’re fine,” he said confidently.

  “Fine? How would you know that?” I asked.

  “I called them and told them you were with me.”

  “You didn’t say I was at the sheriff’s department, did you?”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t think it was necessary to worry them. I only wanted them to know you were safe. That was the important thing. I told you I want to help and find the real person behind Tyson’s murder.”

  I studied his profile. Behind him the sun was setting, and it cast the nearer side of his face into shadow. “Why are so sure of my innocence?”

  “I’m not sure of anything.”

  I shook my head. “Then why do you want to help me? I have a right to know why I have a champion in the sheriff’s department when even I can see that all the evidence is stacked against me.”

  He didn’t reply.

  “You must have a reason.” I wasn’t going to let him get away with any more vague answers.

  “I owe it to your grandparents.”

  I stared at him. “Why? Because they took you and your mom in?”

  He ran his hands up and down the steering wheel. “Because I have a debt to repay, and this is my chance to do it.”

  I waited.

  He took a breath. “I was born in South Carolina. You may have noticed my mother’s accent.”

  I nodded, still not saying anything. The tension in the car was suddenly ramped up. I found myself gripping my seatbelt as if I needed something to hold me in place.

  “When I was seven, my mother and I ended up here in Harvest. We were running away, you see. It’s the usual story.” He kept his eyes fixed on the road. “My father drank. He hit her. One day, he hit me, and we left while he was passed out on the floor. We never looked back.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Usual or not, it’s still horrible.”

  The car was silent for a long moment, and finally, I had to know the rest. “What does that have to do with my grandparents?”

  “When my mother and I stumbled into Harvest, Swissmen Sweets was the first place we went. We had been on the road for a week at that point. We moved from motel to motel, using a new fake name at each one. She was always afraid that my father would come after us.”

  “Did he?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

  “No.” His answer was tight, and then he took a deep breath. “When we arrived in Harvest, I begged my mother for a piece of candy from your grandparents’ shop. We didn’t have the money for even for the smallest piece, but she agreed. We went inside. We were the only customers. I don’t know what the Kings saw in us, but before we knew it we had a bed for the night, and I had all the sweets I could eat. They gave my mother a job, and we lived there for a few months until we had saved enough for our own apartment in town.”

  “I didn’t know any of this,” I said.

  He smiled a half smile. “How would you?”

  “I’m sure my father would have said something if he knew that someone was living with my grandparents. I doubt my parents would have purposely kept that from me. I know I would have overheard him and my mother discussing it.”

  “You were what, six or seven at the time? They might not have wanted to talk about it because of the circumstances with my father.”

  “But my grandparents never talked about you living here. It was such a wonderful thing they did, why wouldn’t they share that story with me?” I asked. “Maybe they didn’t tell me because I was so young at the time, but why didn’t they tell me later? I was in high school before I stopped spending my summers with them.”

  “That tells me that, although Amish blood runs through your veins, Bailey King, you don’t know much about your heritage.” He was smiling now, and some of the tension in the car fell away. “The Amish don’t brag about the good they do. That is not the Amish way. They don’t do it for praise or recognition. They do it because it’s what God wants from them. I think many Englishers like us could learn a lesson or two from them about humility.”

  That sounded just like my grandparents.

  My face grew hot. Would I have done the same thing? Taken in a mother and child like that if I had the chance? I thought about life back in New York, where all I seemed to care about was being made the head chocolatier of JP Chocolates and keeping my relationship with Eric Sharp a secret. I let Eric whisk me around the country on his private jet, but what was it all for? I couldn’t remember a time I’d truly helped someone like my grandparents had helped Aiden and Juliet. They’d saved them. The only person I’d ever worried about saving was myself.

  Aiden and I were both silent for the remainder of the ride back to Swissmen Sweets.

  As he shifted the car into park, I said, “Now that I know why you are helping me, I’m even more grateful for your help, but you don’t have to, you know, not really.”

  “I have to repay the debt.”

  “Maybe you don’t understand the Amish as well as you claim either, deputy. Because I’m sure that my grandparents don’t believe there is any debt to be repaid. There never was.”

  He chuckled, and the cloud that hung over the car seemed to lift as his laughter filled the space. “I suppose that’s the core of the reason I could never be Amish, and why I chose to be a cop.”

  “You thought of being Amish?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “Not seriously, no. I admire their way of life, but it’s not for me. To my way of thinking, there are checks and balances, debts to be paid, and scores to be settled.” He lowered his voice. “Justice to be had.”

  “I hope there will be justice in this case,” I said, remembering the sheriff’s threats.

  “Me too,” he said.

  Chapter 23

  Aiden’s radio crackled. “Deputy Brody? Please come in.”

  Aiden lifted the radio from the dashboard. “Brody here.”

  “The sheriff wants you back at the station. Now.”

  “I’m on my way.” He set the radio back on the dash.

  “That was probably about me,” I said.

  He paused at the intersection of Apple Street and Main Street, where I had parked my rental the day before. It still sat under the apple tree. He sighed. “Colton’s isn’t the only case we have in the department.” After a beat, he said, “But yes, that probably was related to this case.”

  “You can just drop me off here,” I said. “If you have to get back to the station, I don’t want to hold you up.” I put my hand on the door handle.

  Aiden looked at me. “This will get sorted out, Bailey. I won’t let the sheriff send an innocent person to jail.”

  After what seemed like a moment too long to be decent, I tore my gaze away from him. “Thanks, but just know that I won’t sit by and wait to be arrested. I need to do something.”

  “I’m learning that.” His voice was softer than it had been before.

  I opened the cruiser door, jumped out, and gave the deputy a final wave. Aiden drove away, and I waited until his taillights had disappeared around the corner before I turned up Main Street in the direction of Swissmen Sweets.

  My shoulders sagged. I
was exhausted from the events of the day. I had been up since one in the morning, when I’d discovered Tyson Colton’s body in my grandparents’ kitchen. But sleep wasn’t an option. I still had to make desserts for one hundred and fifty-four people. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d pulled an all-nighter over chocolate, and there was no way I would let my grandparents stay up and help me. They both needed their rest.

  I straightened my shoulders and lifted my gaze up from the sidewalk and saw a woman dressed all in black, from her well-cut trench coat to her pointy boots. Purple bangs that were longer than the rest of her black pixie-cut hair fell over her eyes as she struggled to pull an enormous suitcase over the uneven sidewalk.

  I blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, and the vision wasn’t a figment of my imagination. “Cass!”

  The woman fighting with the rolling suitcase looked up and squealed. She dropped the suitcase, allowing it to crash to the concrete sidewalk with a thunk, and ran at me full tilt.

  The impact was reminiscent of a time when I was hit in the chest with a punching bag during a kickboxing class. The kickboxing class had been Cass’s idea to help me with my pent-up aggression after the incident with the robber and the chair in JP Chocolates. I hadn’t lasted long in the class. Cass was smaller than the punching bag had been, but she put a lot of force behind her leap.

  “Bailey! I can’t believe I’ve finally found you!” She stepped back. “You will not believe what I have been through to reach you. If I knew that this assignment would be so arduous, I never would have taken it. You know I love you, but, girl, I have limits, and I passed those hours ago.”