Croissants and Corruption: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery

by Danielle Collins

  The sickening feeling in her stomach was back. She knew that what he said was true. But still…

  “Why? Everything you’ve told me seems extremely weak when were talking about murder. What motive did anyone have for killing Marco Rossario?”

  “We don’t know enough about him yet, but believe me, we’re working on it.” He shifted his position slightly closer to her, looking down with intensity. “Look, I’m doing everything I can—my whole team is. You know it better than most—it takes time and hard work. I’ll give it my all, I promise you that.”

  Warmth spread through her at his words, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the chill that was slowly taking over her heart. It was going to be a long process and a messy one for Taylor, and Margot had a feeling that more skeletons would come to light before this whole thing was over.

  Rosie burst into the kitchen, her robin’s egg blue apron tied snugly around her large hips. “Honey, you best be headed out if you’re going to make it in to see Taylor.”

  Margot knew the woman was right and she wanted to go, but her mind was lost in thoughts of their own. She couldn’t stop thinking about her conversation with Adam last night.

  No evidence of Taylor’s presence was found at the crime scene—Miller’s Bridge—but her fingerprints were on the murder weapon. That seemed like a very thin case, then again, fingerprints were a rock solid piece of evidence, weren’t they? Where had the knife come from? What type was it? If Margot knew, it could help her discover some way the girl’s prints had gotten on the knife other than during the murder of that poor, albeit misguided, boy.

  “Hello to Mrs. Durand,” Rosie said, waiving a hand in front of her face.

  Margot blinked back to the present to see Rosie’s smile, her white teeth shimmering against her creamy chocolate skin.

  “Well, there you are. Happy to have you back. Now go.” She put her hands on her hips and gave a look that would have halted the Terminator.

  “All right, okay, I’m going,” Margot said. “Just let me finish this.”

  Rosie eyed the counter and nodded once. “I’m only letting you finish those because I intend to eat one—maybe more—and it would be a shame for them to sit there unfinished. But then you go.” The woman bustled back to the front and she heard her loud greeting, “Welcome to the bakery, folks! Ready to taste the best French pastries this side of the Atlantic?”

  Margot chuckled to herself, unsure where Rosie came up with half the things she said, but loving her all the more for them.

  She turned her attention back to the task at hand as she whipped up the pastry cream to fill the last batch of éclair’s. Her mind snagged on the evidence again. Miller’s Bridge wasn’t far from her shop. It was a short walk down the river walk pathway. Maybe…

  She could envision the bridge, but for some reason she felt the need to see it in person. Maybe it would help her clear thoughts from her head. Maybe it would put more in. She wasn’t sure. Either way, she felt the need to go.

  Finishing off the pastries, she said good-bye to Rosie and pulled the small handmade satchel her friend Tamera had crafted onto her shoulder. She let herself out of the back door and walked down the stone pathway toward the bridge. If she timed it right, she could walk past there, get to her car, and make it to the courthouse in time for Taylor’s bail hearing.

  The back of her bakery looked out over the Potomac River, as did all of the shops along this stretch of riverfront property. They were situated high up on an old stonework wall lined with wrought iron fencing that added to the charm. She passed the small café situated next to her shop. The bright yellow umbrellas that covered the outdoor seating in the back mimicked the sun even if wasn’t quite warm enough to be outside yet.

  Then she passed the antique store that housed more than its fair share of Civil War history and paraphernalia. Then the pet shop, shoe store, and paper goods shop where she often bought her packaging materials for the bakery. At the end of the row was Tamera’s craft boutique. Margot smiled, thinking of her friend on her honeymoon right now in Hawaii. She had met and married the man of her dreams at age fifty-two, giving all women hope that maybe good things did come to those who waited.

  Once Margot was past the last shop, she took the pathway that diverged to the right and stayed level with the river. The breeze was stiff and the river looked more choppy than normal, but the sun helped balance out the cold.

  A few more minutes of walking and she turned the bend to see Miller’s Bridge above her. It stretched out across the river and was tinged with a green patina and looked more industrial than anything else. It was functional, but not for cars—not anymore. Now only foot traffic, bikes, and the occasional mother with a stroller used it to cross over to the small island in the middle of the Potomac. The bridge had once continued across the river to another peninsula that looped back up into northern Virginia, but that bridge had long since been taken down and now only this small portion of it remained.

  Yellow police tape snapped in the wind, closing off the path for everyone and screaming that something bad had happened here. From her low vantage point she could see that no one was at the scene, then again, she hadn’t really expected the police to still be there, had she?

  She looked across the railing sections, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Looking down and out across the river, some of the rocks were visible above the waterline. She knew many more lay just beneath the surface as well. To someone living, they would have been perilous.

  Margot shivered at the thought, reaching up to wrap her arms around herself to ward off the chill, but it went deeper.

  Seeing all that she could from the path, she took the steps that led up to the bridge’s entrance from street level. The bright yellow tape warned her to stay off of the bridge and she obeyed it, but she could still see well enough to the middle of the bridge from her vantage point.

  The railing was tall, at least waist-height if not slightly taller, depending on a person’s height. She envisioned Marco from the night before, trying her best to distance herself from what had happened. She assumed the railing would have hit him in the middle of the back.

  She used her phone to snap pictures of the bridge from several angles for later observation and checked her watch. It was time to get to the courthouse.

  Reaching the tall building, she ran up the steps and made it through the meager security with plenty of time to spare. As she sat in the courtroom and her clock ticked five minutes past the hearing time, she frowned. She was in the right room, wasn't she?

  Then a thin clerk with mousey brown hair and a low and tight bun stepped onto the floor. “The bail hearing of Miss Taylor Garvey will be postponed until tomorrow afternoon.”

  Margot felt her pulse spike. Postponed? Why? What was going on?

  She picked up her satchel and rushed out of the large double doors and straight into Adam’s solid chest. He reached out and steadied her. “There you are.”

  “Why is it postponed?”

  He blinked, catching up quickly. “Judge Castor is sick and Judge Pellenworth couldn’t spare time for another case. It’s been a madhouse.”

  “So my niece has to stay another day in jail because someone is sick? This is ridiculous.” Margot heard the desperation and anger in her tone, even felt the gazes from many in the echoing atrium where they stood, but she didn’t care. This was Taylor they were talking about. What happened to ‘innocent until proven guilty’?

  “Come on,” he said, as if sensing her meltdown. “I’ll get you in to see her.”

  Chapter 7

  Margot felt the chill enter her the minute she stepped into the jailhouse. She hated knowing that her niece was staying there and she hated the fact that she hadn’t told her sister yet.

  Adam helped her sign in and then she walked down the hallway toward the holding cell. Taylor looked small, dwarfed by the orange coveralls she wore. She sat on the bed, knees to her chest and looking forlorn. It tugged at Margot’s heart and she fe
lt like a failure.

  How had she allowed her niece to be arrested for murder? Julian would have done something—could have…what? Foreseen that this would happen? No. As good of a detective as Julian was, there was no way he could have prevented this. Maybe she shouldn’t have agreed for the girl to come out to visit. Then again, did Marco’s death have something to do with her niece or was it a case of mistaken identity or being in the wrong place at the wrong time?

  Those excuses both felt flimsy even as she thought them. Fingerprints on a murder weapon didn't just happen. They were either left by the killer or planted there.

  That thought churned her stomach even more. Was her niece being framed for the murder of some part-time waiter? Or had she really been involved?

  “Aunt Marg,” Taylor said, standing up so fast she nearly fell over.

  She rushed to the bars and Margot could see tears in her eyes, which made her appear even younger. No, this little girl didn't have any hand in murder. She may be nineteen, but she was innocent. Margot felt it in her gut—something her husband had said was a good indicator.

  Adam had remained at the entrance, promising to wait for her while she spoke with Taylor, but now she wanted to simply sit on the floor and wait with her niece. It wasn’t possible, of course, but it felt so wrong knowing that she would have to leave the girl behind.

  “They canceled your bail hearing for today,” she found herself saying.

  “I know.” She dropped her gaze, her slim fingers gripping the bars. “Someone came in and told me. I—I guess I have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said, wishing she could wrap her up in a hug. “I’ll be there at the hearing tomorrow. I’ll post bail and we’ll get you out of there, all right?”

  She nodded, tears filling her eyes again. “No matter what they said—” Her voice broke. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know, Tay. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that.”

  She dropped her gaze, her knuckles turning white on the bars. “I wouldn't kill anyone.”

  “I need to call you mother—”

  “Please,” she interrupted. “Please don’t call her. Not yet. I…I want to be the one to tell her. I’ll be out on bail tomorrow, right? I can call her then.”

  Margot felt like she was betraying her sister, but Taylor was also an adult and she couldn't force her. Then again…

  “If you don’t call her tomorrow, I will.”

  Taylor met her gaze for a moment then finally nodded. “Okay.”

  “Ma’am,” an officer said, coming down the hall, “I’m afraid that’s all the time you have.”

  She nodded then looked back at Taylor. “Stay strong, sweetie. I'm going to find out who did this.”

  Taylor looked shocked by her words, but Margot didn’t take them back or provide any explanation. She just knew that she would do anything to help this wide-eyed young girl whom her husband had written letters to. This young woman who had her life ahead of her.

  Forcing her own tears back, Margot squeezed Taylor’s fingers through the bars then turned to be escorted out. Her heart ached at leaving her niece there, but she knew she could do far more good tracking down who had framed her niece for Marco’s murder, because at this point, that was the only plausible reality.

  “Can I take you to lunch?” Adam asked when they were back outside and she could feel the freedom to breathe again. The air of the jail had been stifling.

  She considered the fact that she was hungry, but also the reality that she needed time—and distance—to think about her next move.

  “Not today. I’m sorry, Adam,” she said, shrugging. “Another time?”

  “Of course. Sorry—bad timing.”

  “I’ll see you later.”

  He looked at her through narrowed lashes, the dark fringe making his hazel eyes appear mysterious. “You’re not going to do anything…foolish, are you?”

  “What do you mean?” Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

  He considered her, his hands casually resting in the pockets of his light gray slacks. “I know you, Margot. Julian talked to me about you and he said that, on more than one occasion, you got in over your head in following along with his cases.”

  She feigned ignorance. “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

  “Ah, but you do,” he said, pointing a finger at her. “See—that look right there. It tells me that you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  She stared him down. If he wanted her to say she wouldn’t try and clear her niece’s name, then he was the foolish one. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’d pegged her.

  “Just…be careful.” The pleading in his tone surprised her, but she tried not to let it show.

  “I’m a baker, Adam. How dangerous can that be?”

  He shook his head, a small smile slipping onto his handsome features. “Right.”

  She headed for her car, her mind scattering to a million different things. Where she should go next. Adam’s warning. The look on Taylor’s face. Adam’s invitation to lunch—

  Her stomach grumbled. Lunch wasn’t a bad idea. Turning the car on, she contemplated where she should go to grab a quiet bite. Her gaze trailed the distance then dropped in front of her. The receipt in the middle console caught her attention.

  Antonio’s.

  “Of course!” she said to the empty car.

  It was a short and familiar drive to Pane Dolce and, before she could think past what she would say to her favorite Italian restaurant owner on the death of one of his employees, she was asking for the secluded corner booth and to see Antonio when he had a spare moment.

  The large, usually jovial man joined her at the table, sliding in across from her with a heavy sigh.

  “Mia bella, what is this world coming to? Eh?”

  She offered him a sad smile. “I’m sorry about Marco.”

  “Pfft,” he said, waving a hand at her. “I am as shocked as you are—and dare I say, as unaffected.” He looked apologetic. “I mean, I feel bad for the boy…to go in such a way.” He made a face of disgust. “But some would say he had it coming to him.”

  “What do you mean?” she said, trying not to sound too interested.

  “He was a—how do they say? Playboy. I hired him, as I told you, because of Lorenzo, but if I hadn’t let him go that night you were here, I would have let him go soon. He wasn’t a good worker. Flirting with all the women. And he was late. Whew, late all the time because of his ‘errands’.” He made a motion of air quotes and gave her a knowing look.

  “Errands?” she repeated. “What do you mean?”

  The man shrugged, motioning a waiter over. “Margot Durand, meet my nephew Lorenzo.”

  She looked up at the dark-haired boy with tan skin and striking blue eyes. He was handsome in a model-looking type way, but he looked less sure of himself. Unlike Marco, he barely made eye contact with her, only muttering an obligatory greeting.

  Antonio ordered for her without even asking, telling his nephew to put a rush on it, then turned to look back at her.

  “I am not sure of these errands…” He arched his eyebrows at her. “But the car he drove and the clothes he wore on his days off—you know, when he’d come in to pick up his check—they were fancy. Too fancy for what I was giving him.”

  Margot nodded, trying to piece things together in her head. A rich, playboy-type who ran suspicious errands on the side.

  “Drugs?” she asked.

  “No!” Antonio shook his head violently. “None of my employees use drugs. I do the tests and make it all legal.”

  She smiled to assuage him, but in the back of her mind she was thinking of all of the ways Marco could have passed the test without actually being drug-free. Then again, Antonio would have noticed in his behavior if he’d been a user. Maybe a dealer then? But why have the job at Antonio’s?

  “There you are,” came a syrupy voice attached to a lithe figure clad in impossibly tight work
out clothes. “Antonio, you simply must agree to cater my party. I won’t take no for an answer. Oh, hello, Margot.”

  Margot looked up to see Mrs. Penberthy. Her fake smile matched her clothing choices—plastered on.

  “Oh, Kim, nice to see you,” Margot said through a forced smile of her own.

  “But really, Antonio…” She paused to type something out on the cell phone that was permanently attached to her hand. “I need to hear a yes out of you. Just one simple word. Come on now. You know I get what I want.” She leaned forward and placed a finger on the side of Antonio’s round face, tapping to accentuate each word. “Just. One. Word.”

  Margot resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Kim Penberthy was over-the-top in every sense of the phrase. Maybe it was something that worked well for her station as wife to the mayor, but in small company—or really any company—it was too much in Margot’s opinion.

  “Ah, my dear Mrs. Penberthy. You flatter me,” Antonio said, eating up the attention. “You have persuaded me. I shall be happy to cater your party. My assistant will set everything up for you. I shall do my famous lasagna, no?”

  “Uh, no,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I love it, don't get me wrong, Tony, but this needs to be…stunning.”

  “Stunning?” he repeated, looking confused.

  “I’ll do some research and get back to you. It’ll be a party like no one has seen before. Ta ta,” she said, tossing a hand over her shoulder as her long blonde ponytail swished about her shoulders.

  “Stunning?” Antonio said, looking back at Margot. “Is my lasagna not stunning?”

  Fighting back a smile, Margot reassured him with a pat on the hand. “It is.”

  Her lunch arrived and Antonio stood, wishing her a good day and a happy lunch—on him. She shook her head but he insisted before chasing after a waiter who was apparently taking a plate to a table without the proper garnish.

  Margot ate the pasta dish while her thoughts centered on Marco. He had money. He was often late. He ran errands. It didn't mean anything other than the fact that there was much more to Marco Rossario than she had first expected. And that information could hold the key to his murder.