Gluten for Punishment

by Nancy J. Parra

  “Great!” Grandma hefted her bulk out of the kitchen chair. Cane in one hand, coffee mug in the other, she let me hold the back door as she ambled out. “I needed a cigarette. You certainly take your sweet time getting dressed for work. I’ve been dying for a smoke for thirty minutes.”

  “What time did you get here?”

  “Right before your alarm went off. Tim let me in. Did you know he got a job at FedEx filling trucks?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Tim was older than me, but he’d never settled down. Richard’s responsible streak had sent Tim in the opposite direction. While Richard worked hard, Tim glided through life. His tall, lanky body and scruffy dirty blond hair made him a favorite at the bar scene. Needless to say, Tim only came home to change clothes or to sleep. We might live in the same house, but we ran in different circles. “I haven’t seen Tim in days.”

  I loaded Grandma’s scooter into the van. Lucky for me, I had a ramp for the van and it was simply a matter of driving the scooter up into the back.

  “Probably because he sleeps while you work and vice versa.” Grandma took a long drag on her cigarette. “Like I said, he let me in. Told me he had just come in from work. You might know that if you answered your machine.” I took her chiding in stride and opened the van door for her. She frowned, then twisted the ash off the end of the butt and stuffed it into her coat pocket. “Waste not, want not.”

  I coughed and waved away the cloud of smoke as she settled into the passenger seat. “Someday you’re going to start a fire in your pocket from doing that.”

  Grandma grinned. “I’ll go down in the Guinness Book as spontaneous human combustion. Getting my name in there has always been a dream of mine, you know.”

  I rolled my eyes and closed her door. The walk around to my side was brisk. The air had the crisp scent of fall. People around town had already started putting out decorations of cornstalks, pumpkins, and scarecrows. Still it wasn’t Halloween until Mr. Peters, who lived two doors down, put up his annual graveyard display. A tiny shudder streaked down my back. Graveyards and skeletons hit a little too close to home at the moment.

  • • •

  Grandma Ruth made a regular pest of herself for the rest of the morning. She poked and prodded into everything I made. And she went out to smoke every five minutes, letting the cold air blow into the kitchen. I had to put my yeast goods in a proofer to prevent them from falling. Then there were the ashes, which fell off her every time she moved. I had to check each batch of dough to make sure nothing got into the food. I finally sat her down in my office and turned on the computer. She found a Scrabble game and I was home free.

  Until seven A.M., when I opened the front door to put up a go-around-back sign only to find Candy ducking under the crime scene tape. Rocky was right behind her with his camera in hand.

  “Hey.” I smiled at them and held the door open. “Come in, want some coffee?”

  “Oh, we’re not here for the coffee.” She took out her little recorder. “We came for your reaction.”

  “My reaction? To what? To the fact they haven’t taken down the crime scene tape yet?” I put the sign down and made my way around the counter to get coffee mugs. “Let me tell you, crime tape certainly isn’t good for business.”

  “Oh, no, dear.” Candy’s smile was darn right predatory as she leaned across the display case. “I take it you haven’t heard.”

  “Heard what?” I put two oversized coffee cups and saucers on the counter in front of them. “That my misfortunes are selling newspaper subscriptions? Yes, I’ve heard.”

  “No, not that.” Candy waved her hand. “I’m not talking about the increase in newspaper sales or my negotiations for a bonus.”

  “Then why are you here, Candy?” I stuck my hands in my apron pockets.

  “For your reaction, silly.” Candy picked up the cup. Her eyes sparkled.

  “Like I said, what reaction?” I felt like I was doing an Abbott and Costello routine.

  “She doesn’t listen to the local radio.” Grandma Ruth came out from the kitchen, moving quick for an old woman with a cane. She snagged the cup out of Candy’s hand, made a beeline for the coffee, and helped herself. “Let me guess,” Grandma said as she added generous amounts of cream and sugar. She drank her coffee beige. “They announced the dead guy’s identity.”

  “That’s right.” Candy was nearly breathless. Her lovely caramel-colored curls trembled with excitement.

  “Get on with it.” Grandma waved.

  “It’s George Meister.” Candy’s eyes were wide. She stuck the microphone under my nose to capture my thoughts.

  Only, I didn’t have any. Not intelligent ones, anyway. “George Meister?” I wrinkled my forehead, trying to place the name as Rocky snapped photos. “I know that name. Who was he, again?”

  “The protester,” Grandma informed me.

  “Oh.” I felt my expression freeze. My thoughts raced. Candy’s mic followed my every motion while Rocky caught every nuance of my expression on film. All I could think was oh, crap, but I didn’t expect those words would make a good caught-on-tape moment and I certainly hope it didn’t show on my face. I said the next thing that came to mind. “I guess that explains the paint can.”

  “Put that camera down,” Grandma ordered and shifted her weight onto the stool behind the counter. “How’d he die?” She took a sip of her coffee, but I could see the reporter in her thinking and thinking hard.

  I personally had my fingers crossed that he’d drowned. You know, drunk, accidental drowning. Or heart attack. Yeah, heart attack would be even better. Case solved. Crime scene tape gone. I looked at Rocky. His eyes gleamed. His hands were ready on his camera.

  “They’re calling it a homicide.” Candy’s eyes were alight with intent. “Toni, did you kill George Meister?”

  My mouth went dry. My jaw went slack. The camera’s flash kept popping, blinding me. “What?” I glanced toward Grandma for some help.

  “Don’t answer,” Grandma said sharply. She narrowed her blue eyes at Rocky. “I said, put that camera down or I’ll put it down for you.”

  He lowered the camera and held out his free hand. “Okay. I’m putting it away.”

  Grandma gave him her best evil eye until he tucked the camera into the bag strapped across his shoulder. Then she turned her attention to Candy. “What made you ask that question?”

  “Everyone knows George Meister was behind the flour bombing of your grand opening.”

  “They do?” I was confused. “I thought the chief said it was two joggers.”

  “Add the fact that George was vandalizing your store when he was killed,” Candy pushed on. “Then you yourself told everyone you were inside the store at the time he was murdered.”

  “I was? You mean he wasn’t killed before I got here?”

  “What time was he killed?” Grandma asked. She studied her coffee cup as if the pattern in the cream would give her the answer she wanted.

  “The county medical examiner estimates George’s time of death to be around 5:30 A.M.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose. “Oh, no, the noise I heard was a man being murdered?”

  “What noise?” Grandma asked, her fierce, intelligent gaze intent on my face.

  “There was a thud around 5:30 that morning. I thought maybe a bird had flown into the window or something. I looked out but it was too dark to see anything.” I tried not to imagine what would have happened had I actually stepped out to see what the noise was.

  “Honey,” Candy pushed, “noise or no noise, you had motive and opportunity. Did you do it?”

  “Seriously?” I asked her. Here I’d been ready to give her a free cup of coffee. Not anymore. I stepped back.

  “Did you?” Her hand wafted under my nose.

  “Of course not.” I pushed the mic away. “I wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Are you telling me it’s a coincidence you’re new in town and a man who attacked you at your ribbon-cutting ceremony gets murdered ou
tside your bakery?” Candy’s eyes glittered like a snake’s. Rocky glanced at Grandma and stayed out of the fray.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m not new in town.” I crossed my arms in front of me. “I grew up here. Are you saying any murders that happened while I lived here as a kid were my fault?”

  “No,” Candy said thoughtfully. “But it’s a good angle. I can check and see how the murder rate was when you lived here and what happened after you left.”

  “Stop it.” Grandma slapped her big square hand on the counter. “Toni wouldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Oh, really? Then why is the chief at the courthouse right now getting a warrant signed to search your home and your bakery for evidence?”

  I sat down hard at the word warrant. I think I wanted to throw up. No, I wanted to faint.

  “Put your head between your knees.” Grandma was beside me. Her sharp tone of voice combined with her palm on the back of my head had me doing exactly what she said. I had to admit, staring at the black-and-white tile floor was a bit more calming than looking at Candy. Her delight at my distress was unnerving.

  “I thought we were friends, Candy,” I muttered to the floor.

  “We are friends, honey.” Candy came around the counter and squatted down to peer at me. “That’s why I came here before the chief did.”

  I turned my head in uncertainty. “You came to warn me?”

  “Good friends hide the body, honey, remember?” Her gaze took on a warm and concerned look. I wasn’t sure if I should believe it.

  “I don’t have anything to hide,” I insisted.

  “Don’t talk to her,” Grandma chided. “She might be your friend, but she’s also a reporter. Everything you say is on the record.”

  “Is it?” I sat up and narrowed my eyes at them both. Grandma nodded and did a half wink. Candy tried to look innocent. Good lord, they both wanted the story.

  I covered my face with my hands. Crap.

  The door opened, jingling the bells. I peeked between my fingers to see John and the nurses come in. Thank God, customers. Yes! The crime scene tape wasn’t stopping people from shopping. I glanced at the sign I’d made to tell people to go around back and shrugged. Too late now, I thought and ignored the echo of Officer Emry’s warning that people crossing the crime scene tape could get me into trouble with the law. At this point, what’s a little more trouble?

  “Hi guys, what can I get you?”

  “Oh, I’ll take a blueberry muffin and a coffee,” Kay said. Today she wore light blue scrubs and a navy blue jacket

  “Make mine a pumpkin muffin and coffee,” Judy said. She had on matching scrubs but a pale pink sweater instead of a jacket.

  “Customers,” I hissed and waved Candy and Grandma out from behind the counter. I filled the nurses’ orders and went to bag them when Kay spoke up.

  “Oh, we don’t need them in a bag.” She tilted her head and batted her brown eyes at me.

  “No?” I wrinkled my forehead.

  “We don’t want them to go. . . .” Judy stated.

  I felt confused, but went ahead and took out plates and ceramic coffee mugs. “Don’t you have to work today?” I placed their muffins on the plates and handed them off. I mean, they had their uniforms on, why wear them if they didn’t have to work?

  “Oh, yes, we have to work, but we got permission to hang around.” Judy pulled her muffin-filled plate and cup and saucer toward her.

  “You got permission?” I rang up the bill. My thoughts whirling. “Why?”

  “We’re here to see them serve the warrant.” Kay and Judy sent each other looks as they reached into their purses and paid. “Everyone at work wants to know what happens when the police come.”

  Crap. Really? They walked off and settled into a nearby table facing the door.

  “Gawkers should have to buy more than a muffin and coffee to get the good seats,” Grandma muttered from her seat on the stool near the coffee bar. I sent her a look. She returned it with a smile.

  “John?” I asked, waiting for him to change his usual order and goggle at me and the cops like everyone else.

  “Make mine the usual,” he said. “Sarah’s waiting.” He leaned against the counter and seemed uninterested in gossip.

  I blew out a breath. “Thank you.” One sane person in the whole town . . .

  The doorbell jangled again and I jumped.

  It wasn’t the police. It was half the town coming in for coffee and a pastry. Crap. The crime scene was trampled. I glanced at the sign and wondered if it wasn’t too late to put it up and lock the door before Officer Emry got here.

  CHAPTER 10

  Apparently humiliation was profitable, too.

  My small shop was standing room only. I’d refilled the coffee twice and sold nearly all the breakfast baked goods before the police car showed up. The blue-and-red lights reflected in the shop window and everything grew still. People held their breath for what they clearly hoped would be a good show.

  I took the bull by the horns, pushed through the crowd, and met Officer Emry at the door. “Hello,” I said as he walked up. “Did you come to take down the crime scene tape?” It was silly to have it still up since everyone had ducked under to come inside, including Officer Emry. I’d be sure to point that out should he decide I’d somehow been ruining his crime scene.

  “Ms. Toni Holmes, I have a warrant to search the premises.” Officer Emry’s voice cracked. He hitched up his gun belt then sniffed and handed me a piece of paper folded in thirds.

  “I thought Chief Blaylock would be here.”

  “What gave you that idea?”

  “Never mind, come on in . . .” I waved him toward the door and held it wide, exposing the crowd inside.

  “I’m afraid I have to ask you to step out while we search,” he said, unmoving.

  “Really? The place is full of customers.” I pointed at the crowd in case he hadn’t noticed.

  “I’ll man the registers,” Grandma Ruth piped up.

  “Works for me,” Officer Emry said, his head bobbing up and down.

  “Fine.” I stepped out into the brisk fall air. “Can I at least take a cup of coffee with me?”

  “I’ll bring one out,” Candy called from inside.

  “And a jacket?” I rubbed my forearms. It was probably fifty degrees, but fifty degrees could get cold if this took any length of time. Thankfully, my storefront was small.

  “You got it, honey,” Candy called then disappeared into the crowd.

  Two of yesterday’s crime scene techs went inside the bakery with Officer Emry. They carried dark, fat briefcases full of who knew what. Candy came out with my jacket and a tall cup of coffee. The small smatter of freckles across her pert nose glistened in the morning light.

  “I gave you a generous amount of cream.”

  “Thanks.” I put on my coat, then took the coffee and gave it a sip. “Perfect. Now what? Am I the only person not allowed inside?” I studied the small crowd as they watched the cops check out the front of the shop before disappearing in the back.

  “You see, if you’re guilty, you know what to hide. Therefore, yes, you’re the only one not allowed.” Candy put her hand on the door.

  “This is nuts.”

  “But it makes for great news copy.” She smiled her dazzling smile and scooted inside where it was warm.

  I leaned against the wall, wishing I’d put the café tables and chairs out on the walk like I’d intended to do in the spring. Then I’d have someplace to sit and put up my feet. As it was I was left huddling next to the door like the Little Match Girl. I looked around. Cars drove by slowly. There were two cop cruisers with lights flashing in front of the store. The street was fully packed. Yellow crime scene tape blocked off my business. The trough itself still held slimy water. I shuddered at the thought that it was the last thing George Meister breathed in.

  I turned my back on the trough sculpture. Maybe when this was done I’d petition the city council to have it removed—out of resp
ect for George, of course. I watched through the glass as the crime scene guys dusted the door and countertops for fingerprints. Every single customer must have touched something. Did they plan on fingerprinting the entire town? What were they looking for?

  Evidence George had been inside the shop, I figured. But he hadn’t, so good luck to them on that. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and sipped nervously at my coffee until the cup was empty. I wanted more, but I wasn’t allowed to refill my own mug.

  Sighing, I set the empty cup on the ground and prayed Officer Emry wouldn’t fine me for ruining his beloved crime scene. With nothing to do but wait, I decided to kill time by reading the warrant. After all, they had to have probable cause to issue a warrant, right? What was their cause?

  The legalese made my brain go numb. Well, crap. I was a baker and a businesswoman. I didn’t know very much about law. Why did they think I could read this? I should probably call a lawyer or Grandma Ruth. She’d know what the heck the document said. I peered through the window and tried to catch her eye. No dice. She was busy chatting up the cops.

  I frowned. The only attorney I knew was a corporate lawyer who had helped me set up my business and ensured I had all the proper licenses and inspections. My only other option was my wild brother, Tim. He had had a few run-ins with the law as a teen. If anyone knew the county law system it was him. I pulled my cell out of my pocket and punched his number. He picked up on the first ring . . . not a good sign.

  “Hey.” Tim sounded put out. “What the hell did you do to have the cops issue a search warrant?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I rolled my eyes. Brothers—they always assumed the worse. “What did you do?” There, that would get him.

  “My name isn’t on the search warrant.”

  Right. I jiggled from foot to foot in an attempt to keep warm. My nose was red and starting to run. “They have one of those warrants for the house, too?” I knew Candy said they did, but I didn’t believe her. After all, she would say anything to get a story. I sniffled.