Gluten for Punishment

by Nancy J. Parra

  “They most certainly do,” Tim said. “You need a lawyer, little sis.” He sounded sincere. Tim was rarely sincere. He had always been the laid-back party guy who ran just this side of the law.

  “I don’t know any lawyers besides the one in Chicago who helped me set up the business.” It was an explanation, not a whine. At least, that was what I was telling myself.

  “For something like a search warrant, you need someone local,” Tim advised. “Someone who knows the county judges and the district attorney.”

  “You sound like you have some experience in this kind of thing.” I had to get my digs in where I could. No matter how lame they sounded at the moment. He was my brother, after all.

  “Look, do you want advice from me or not?” I’d hit a sore spot. Huh, I’d have to ask him about that someday when my life wasn’t on the line.

  “Yes, please.” I decided it was best to ask nicely or he might send me to someone who would torture me. Which could be just about everyone in town.

  “Call Brad Ridgeway. He’s the best in the county.”

  “Brad Ridgeway?” My brain perked up. Memories flashed through it. “As in Brad Ridgeway star basketball player two years ahead of me in high school? Mr. all-star-jock-voted-most-popular-male-student-of-the-decade?”

  “One and the same.” Tim sounded pretty sure he knew what he was talking about.

  “I thought he was in like Houston or New York or somewhere.” I sniffed again. Darn it. Did I even have a tissue in my pocket? I did. I pulled out a wadded-up but clean one and wiped my nose.

  “Brad went to KU, got his BA, his MBA, and went on to law school. He came back five years ago when his dad wasn’t doing well. Bought a house out by the country club and settled in.”

  “Huh.” Brad Ridgeway had been every teenage girl’s dream—tall, blond, gorgeous with sculpted jock muscles that went on forever. I sighed, remembering the huge crush I, and every girl within a five-year range and fifty-mile radius, had had on him.

  I did a mental shake. That was what, twenty years ago? He was probably bald, married with four kids, and fat. Right? “Text me his number.”

  “When you call him, ask him if there is any way he can get the cops to hurry up on their search of the house. I need to sleep before my shift tonight.”

  “Oh, yeah, Grandma told me you got a job at FedEx. Congrats.”

  “Thanks.” Tim sounded tired. “I hope to save up enough to move out in about a month.”

  “Really?” I did a silent happy dance at the news until I noticed people watching. I turned my back on the windows. “Text me the number, then go over to Grandma’s for some sleep. She’s here with me at the store. I doubt she’ll be home for a few hours.”

  “You are brilliant,” Tim said. “Tell Brad I said hello.”

  He hung up. I glanced inside the shop. Grandma Ruth was still hounding the CSU guys. Candy was gone—probably in the kitchen keeping an eye on Officer Emry. They might be doing it for selfish reasons, but I know neither Grandma nor Candy would let anything happen to my stuff. That at least was a relief. The crowd seemed content to eat pastries and drink coffee. Maybe they’d decide the food was great and make it a habit to stop in for a bite. A girl could hope.

  My phone vibrated. And there it was, Brad Ridgeway’s number. I did a quick check on the time: 9:05 A.M. His office should be open. I dialed the number, shivering a little while doing so, before I could chicken out. Yes, the idea of having his number made me feel fifteen years old all over again.

  “Ridgeway and Harrington Attorneys-at-Law, this is Amy, how can I help you?”

  The secretary’s voice was nice. I bet Brad was dating her on the side. No, wait, that wasn’t fair. As far as I knew he never ran around on his high school girlfriend, head cheerleader Sheila Hamm. “Um, yes, hi, this is Toni Holmes. I own Baker’s Treat.”

  “Oh, the new gluten-free bakery?”

  “Yes—”

  “I heard good things about your food. Can I ask, do you use peanuts in any of your baked goods? My son’s allergic.”

  “Oh, no. I am very careful not to use any peanut ingredients at the shop. I offer some peanut cookies online, but I bake those in my home kitchen. Cross contamination is such a big issue with allergies.” I watched a couple of cars crawl by the store. I waved at the drivers, who stared. That got them to speed up a bit.

  “Perfect. How do you feel about kid’s birthday parties?”

  “I love to cater kid’s birthday parties.” Which was true. You could be much more inventive with kid food. It brought out the artist in me. “In fact, I have several birthday selections including cake, cupcakes, giant cookies, you name it.”

  “Awesome, are you free to cater on November fifth?”

  Okay, weird, right? I mean, I’d called her and she was acting like she’d called me. Who was this chick? “Um, I don’t have access to my datebook right now. I’m kind of in a bit of a bind what with the murder and all. But I can get back to you as soon as I’m able.” The wind picked up and brought along the scent of fallen leaves and oil refinery. Had to love Oiltop; it was the only town boasting an oil rig behind the Pizza Hut.

  “Oh, oh, my, I’m terribly sorry.” Amy did sound sorry and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Does this mean you can’t cater on that day?”

  If anyone had been watching I’m sure my astonished expression was hilarious. Whoever Amy was, she simply wasn’t understanding that this call was about me, not her. “I’m sure I can cater. I would love to cater your son’s birthday party. Can I call you back once I have access to my calendar?”

  “Oh, certainly, but I’ll need to know soon. It’s only three weeks away, you know.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Let me give you a tip . . . a good smartphone would give you access to your calendar right from your cell. All the new technology these days is great, don’t you think?”

  “Right.” My head had started to hurt a little. “Um, before you hang up, could I speak to Brad Ridgeway, please?”

  “Oh, oh, did you call me?” There was a small pause and I didn’t know quite how to fill it. “You did call me. Sorry, one moment and I’ll send you over to Brad.” She must have put me on hold because I heard soft rock tunes playing in the background.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. My head started to pound. I couldn’t tell if it was from standing out in the cold or from Amy’s crazy conversation. Still, a sale was a sale, and I shouldn’t complain but . . . really?

  “This is Brad Ridgeway, how can I help you?”

  Oh man, his voice was still sexy. Good thing I’d sworn off of men or I might be more breathless than I was already finding myself.

  “Hello?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” I said weakly as I forced myself to breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m Toni Holmes. My brother is Tim Keene. He said I should call you.”

  “I see, Ms. Holmes, how can I help you?”

  “Well.” I glanced at the police cars and tried to sound rational and coherent as I explained, “I own Baker’s Treat, the gluten-free bakery here in town. George Meister was murdered in front of my store yesterday and now I’ve been handed a search warrant for my business. Tim says they are also searching my home.”

  “You need a lawyer.” Brad was the master of understatement.

  “I know. They kicked me out of my own business and I’m hanging out on the street.”

  “I’ll be right there. You’re at the bakery on Main?”

  “One and the same. You’ll know it by the surrounding crime scene tape. And the cop cars.”

  “Don’t say a word to anyone until I get there.” I heard him get up and put on his coat. “And most important, don’t worry. I’ll see you’re fully protected.”

  I bet he got a lot of girls with that line.

  CHAPTER 11

  "I came as soon as I heard.” Tasha scooted under the tape. She wore a jazzy sweater set, tailored pants, wool trench coat, and shoes to die for. I envied her a little. I was dressed in my
standard chef gear of black pants, white shirt, white apron, and my blue jacket. My hair whipped around in the wind while hers looked naturally gorgeous. I didn’t want to even think about my red nose and the tissues I needed to blot it every two seconds.

  I gave her a quick hug. She smelled of expensive perfume. “You can join the crowd. Everyone in town’s here.” I motioned toward the standing-room-only group assembled in the bakery.

  “Yikes.” She rubbed my arm. “Maybe you should tell them all to go home.”

  “Oh, no, after yesterday, I’m serving every customer I can get. Grandma Ruth is inside manning the register. Hopefully the coffee won’t run out. Apparently I’m not allowed inside while they search.”

  “I can go in and take care of that.” Her gaze was filled with concern. “Are you all right?”

  “Truth? I’m not sure. I called Tim and he said they also had a warrant for the house.” I rubbed my arms to ward off a shiver. The reality of what was happening was sinking in.

  “This is ridiculous. I’m going to go in there and give those cops a piece of my mind.”

  “I wouldn’t.” Brad’s deep voice shocked us both into whiplash-evoking head turns.

  “Oh, hi, Brad.” Tasha smiled and did a little hand wave.

  “Hi, Tasha, how’s Kip doing?”

  “He’s good. Great, in fact.” Tasha flipped her hair and I think my jaw fell open. I elbowed her. “What?” she hissed.

  “Hi.” I held out my hand and pretended to be a professional. “I’m Toni Holmes.”

  Brad encased my icy hand in his warm one. “Yes, I remember. You were two years behind me in high school, weren’t you?”

  “You remember me?”

  “I remember Tim.” Brad pulled his hand away. “He played on the basketball team with me.”

  Of course he did. Sigh. I pushed the stray hair out of my eyes and wiped my nose with the tissue.

  Brad looked into the windows. His handsome face and square jaw held interest. Thick blond eyebrows raised a fraction. He still had a full head of wavy, blond hair. “Did they give you a copy of the search warrant?”

  “Yes.” I held up the paper. “Although I don’t know why. They didn’t need it. I’d have let them look at anything if they’d asked.”

  “That’s not a real good idea,” Brad’s tone chided me.

  I stuck my chin out in response. I hated to be chided.

  “May I see it?” he asked and held out his hand.

  I handed him the paper and shoved my hands in my pockets to warm them. While Brad perused the paper, I took the time to peruse him. He was still extremely tall, maybe six-foot-five. I was five-foot-seven and had to look pretty far up to see his electric blue eyes. His broad shoulders were encased in a standard black wool trench coat, which hung open to reveal a smart suit in some dark pinstripe, a dress shirt in a coordinating blue-and-white stripe, and a red silk tie. The man was a walking GQ billboard. What was he doing in Oiltop, Kansas?

  “I can’t figure out what they are looking for,” I said. “They have to have probable cause, right?”

  “It lists you as a person of interest.” Brad turned his electric-blue gaze on me. In high school, the rumor was he wore contacts to make his eyes that particular color, which was fine by me. “The warrant says you had motive because George assaulted you at your grand opening. When his body was found, there was a paint can nearby and evidence he’d started to paint something on your storefront.”

  “And they got a warrant because of that? That shouldn’t be enough of a reason.” I stomped my foot, which tingled from the cold. “For one, I didn’t know he was behind the flour bombs. Last I heard, the chief said it was a prank. Two, I didn’t even know George was out here until I opened my door at seven A.M., nearly two hours after he . . . died.”

  Brad glanced at the papers. “It says here you admitted to being in your shop at the time of the murder.”

  “Behind a locked door.” I waved my hand at the glass door now covered with fingerprint dust. “Who knows who was on the street at the time? It could have been anybody.”

  “I agree,” Brad said after studying me for a full breathless moment. “Their cause is weak. You should have called me the minute they asked you to go in to be fingerprinted.”

  “Which, by the way, was humiliating.” I pursed my lips and frowned. “And should have ruled me out as I hadn’t touched anything at the crime scene.”

  I saw movement in the window and noted the CSU guys were carrying my computer out of the back room. “Hey, is that my computer? They can’t take that. More than half my business is online.” I grabbed the door handle to storm in but Brad’s hand covered mine and stopped me.

  “They can take anything they deem evidence.” His deep voice soothed me but his words frustrated me.

  I was even too mad to notice how long it took him to remove his hand from mine. “I have customers who depend on me.” I glanced at Tasha. “People with kids who require routine.” I grabbed Brad’s coat sleeve. “My baked goods are part of their routine. I have to have my computer.”

  “I’ll go in and see what’s what. You stay out here.” He pulled open the door and went inside.

  “Wow, if I didn’t have Craig in my life I would totally want to be you,” Tasha said watching him move toward the cops on my behalf.

  “What?” All I could think about was how much I hated to be told what to do. Plus, my life was disintegrating before my eyes. Why would Tasha want to be me? I mean, look at me.

  “Between Sam Greenbaum and Brad Ridgeway, you’ve got a whole lot of hot testosterone in your life.”

  I could not believe her mind had gone there. My life was falling apart, and she was busy playing matchmaker? I shook my head. “I told you, I’m not interested. Besides, my hands are full with my own problems. I don’t have time to add someone else’s to the mix.” I blew my nose. “And I need my computer.”

  “Brad’ll get it back for you.” Tasha had awe in her eyes.

  “What if he can’t?”

  “You have a library card, right?”

  I frowned. “Yes . . . why?”

  Tasha shrugged, her attention on the men inside. “Go to the library and use its computers.”

  “Wait, what? No! Some rush orders come in late at night.”

  She looked at me funny. “You check your orders late at night?”

  I tilted my head, my eyes wide. “It’s how I get things shipped on time.”

  Tasha pursed her lips. “Point taken. Okay, the library is out.” She looked down at her watch and sucked in air. “I have to run and check on the maid. We’ve had a few issues.” She slipped a key off her key ring and handed it to me. “Brad’ll fix everything eventually. Until he does, you know where my office is. Feel free to use my computer anytime, day or night.”

  “Thanks!” I clenched the key in my hand and hugged her tight. “I think you just saved my life.”

  “That’s what friends are for.” One more long look at Brad through the window and Tasha took off for work.

  • • •

  The police finished their search right after noon. Candy and Rocky left to file yet another front-page story. The crowd dwindled off, and I was left with a shop covered in black fingerprint dust. Grandma Ruth left to write her blog about the oppressions of a police state and to go see Mike Smith, the Oiltop Times editor, to see if the increase in sales meant he would hire her back.

  Without my computer, which Brad said they could keep for at least forty-eight hours, there was little I could do but clean up.

  Fingerprint dust was difficult to get off. It took all afternoon scrubbing to get the place clean. I washed the windows three times before the streaks went away. Then I took pictures of the spray paint and set to work scrubbing the bricks with a wire brush and soap.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” Sherry Williams warned me as she stepped under the crime scene tape. Her perky Miss Kansas hair and put-together outfit made my back teeth ache.

  “
The marks are bad for business,” I said, pointedly looking toward the empty shop. “Something about graffiti scares people away. I thought you, being convention and tourism bureau manager, would know that.”

  “Au contraire,” she said with a perfect French accent. “This outdoor crime scene is just the thing for tourism. People love all that CSI stuff. And later, we can do walking ghost tours. People will pay to simply walk by your shop and touch the trough.”

  I tossed the wire brush into the bucket of suds and stared at her. “It’s morbid.” My hands were cold even wearing thick pink rubber gloves.

  “That’s the tourism business.” She smiled. “So stop what you’re doing. Besides, I think the only way to really get it off is to paint over the bricks.”

  “That’s a job for my landlord.” I stood and brushed off my knees.

  “Exactly.” Sherry took my arm. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I want to talk tourism and ghost tours.”

  I let her drag me inside especially since she was going to buy coffee.

  “You see,” Sherry said, as she sat across from me at a table, “the whole thing requires you to sign a waiver allowing me to use your bakery’s name and image. But here’s the good part—it’s great publicity. People will stop by to see if they can see George’s ghost and then we’ll file inside for warm drinks and tasty treats. What do you think?”

  “I think I’d be profiting from a man’s death.” I made a face. “Is that legal?”

  “Very legal.” Sherry nodded, her eyes wide, her plaid wool jacket complementing her skin tone. “Pete’s talking about adding brass crime scene tape to the trough.” She leaned in until her dark green silk top fluttered above her coffee cup. “People love a juicy murder.”

  “I don’t know.” I sat back and warmed my fingertips on the sides of my cup. “It sounds creepy. . . .” I wondered what the police would think about me actively using the murder to drive sales. They’d probably think it added to my motive. Not good.

  “We’ll start with a memorial service this Friday. We want you to cater, of course. People can leave flowers near the trough, and we’ll get a whole crowd into your bakery.”