Chapter 8
Margot checked her text messages as she walked back to her car, the memory of the brief encounter with Marco and Taylor that night coming back to her and momentarily distracting her. Something about it felt off—why had he risked coming outside to see Taylor? Obviously, he was either very much besotted with her niece or…there was something else behind it. What had he said? Something about wanting something?
Slipping into the sun-warmed car, Margot felt the affects of her less than restful night’s sleep. Her brain felt foggy, her memory compromised. How was she supposed to rest comfortably knowing that Taylor was in a jail cell?
She stifled a yawn and looked down when her phone vibrated in her hand. It was a message from Bentley asking her to come to the senior center. After a quick call to Rosie to make sure everything was running smoothly at the bakery, she put the car in gear and drove to the dilapidated building.
She found a parking spot near the lot and jogged up the steps to the center’s entrance. Gone were the few decorations that had been put up for the World Dinner Night. The main area of the center looked as drab and worn down as she felt from lack of sleep, but she pushed past it and headed for the perpetually filled coffee pot.
Fortified with liquid energy, she headed to Bentley’s favorite spot. There was a small reading nook located at the back of the building. Since the center was situated on the side of a hill—like most of the town—the view was spectacular. It looked out over the town and to the river. On clear days like today, you could see boats and all manner of seagulls dotting the horizon.
“There you are,” he said, putting down the large novel he was reading. Probably something by Grisham, she thought. Bentley seemed to worship the guy.
“Hey, Bentley,” she said, leaning to kiss his cheek. “Got your text. What’s going on?”
He shifted over and she joined him on the window seat. “I’ve got a bad feeling.”
“Is this about what you were telling me last night? I really don’t think—”
“Oh, you poor dear.” Margot and Bentley turned to see Lynellen standing there, hands clasped together in front of her bosom, eyes almost teary. “I heard what happened. You must be beside yourself, you poor dear.”
Without warning, Lynellen came toward Margot with outstretched arms and suddenly Margot was encased by the scent of baby powder and a cheap knock off of Chanel No. 5.
“I—I’m,” Margot coughed. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
Lynellen shook her head, the sheen of tears unmistakable at this close distance. “That poor, sweet, innocent—or not—” She glanced to the side with a worried look. “—niece of yours. Struck down in her youth.”
“She’s not dead, Lynellen,” Bentley was quick to correct her.
“No, but she might as well be for the world of trouble she’s in.” Lynellen shook her head. “I’m so sorry to hear about all of the problems our youth get in these days. Just the other day, I was telling my grandson that—”
“Lynellen,” Bentley interrupted, “I know it’s tragic and all, but I’m having a chat with Margot here.”
“Oh. Yes.” Lynellen nodded emphatically, “Smart, consulting a lawyer and all. Though don’t you think you should get one who still practices?”
Margot shot Bentley a surprised look but he was too busy convincing Lynellen to leave them alone. When she’d finally wandered off Margot folded her arms and met Bentley’s gaze.
“You were a lawyer?”
He shrugged. “I did my time as a defense attorney back in the old days. But that’s not why I have you here. Though it is a shame to hear about Taylor. I don't believe it for a second. And know that I wouldn’t be bothering you at such a time, but…I’ve just got this feeling.”
Margot took a moment to take in an image of Bentley in a suit arguing at trials—it explained the Grisham obsession. She blinked. Right. She needed to finish up this conversation and then move on to her next step in helping Taylor, even though she wasn’t sure what that step should be.
“What is it?”
His furrowed brow deepened. “It’s about what I told you the last night. Someone is stealing money from our fundraisers. I’ve thought about going to the police, but all of the papers we have show that my gut is wrong…but I feel it, here.” He tapped the middle of his chest. “Something is off.”
Margot blinked. Could this in some way be connected with Marco’s murder? It was a stretch—no, it wasn’t even that. It was pure conjecture and guesswork, something Julian had told her never to do, but she couldn’t ignore the timing of it all. Could she?
“Margot?”
“Sorry. I was lost in the land of what if.”
“Well, come back to the present,” he said gruffly. Bentley was more ornery than usual. “I'm sorry,” he said, shaking his head, “I just can’t believe that anyone would have the gall to pull a stunt like this. We just want our lodge—what’s so bad about that? But everyone else on the committee swears things are in order.” He tossed up his hands. “It’s like I'm talking to a bunch of sheep, I tell you. You’d have to be a heartless fool to target senior citizens, wouldn't you?”
It was a valid question. Was someone stealing money to benefit themselves or was it actually a roadblock to the lodge’s construction?
“I don’t know, Bentley. It does seem like a cowardly thing to do.” If it’s happening. She hated the hint of suspicion in her thoughts.
“I need you to do something for me.”
Margot felt wariness creep up on her. She was someone who often had trouble saying no—to anything—and the look in Bentley’s eyes told her she wouldn't be able to turn him down either.
“What?” she said, letting out a sigh.
“I need you to go to the mayor’s office tomorrow to see if you can talk to Eve, the mayor’s assistant. I can’t be sure, but I think she knows something about all this.”
“What do you expect me to do?” Margot said, laughing. “Barge in there and give her the inquisition?”
“I’ve got a theory.” Bentley leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially, “I want you to tell her that you’re interested in doing a fundraiser to, I don't know, add on to your bakery or something, and see how she responds.”
Margot was already shaking her head. “Bentley, that is ridiculous. One, I have no space to expand and everyone knows that, and two, what do you think she’ll do? Open up and tell me she’s got a great way to make money—stealing from senior citizens?”
“No. Not at all. See, that’s the beauty of it. She’ll just know about the scheme and we’ll see what goes on from there. Word has it she was the one who recommended the kid who does our finances.”
Margot fought to keep up. “Wait, you think Eve is in on this?”
Bentley leaned back, his frown deepening. “I think she might be.”
Margot nearly laughed. “Eve is one of the sweetest people I know.”
“Margot,” Bentley said admonishingly. “Julian taught you better than that. She may look innocent, but that doesn’t mean she is.”
Margot had a hard time seeing the former school teacher turned stay-at-home-mom turned assistant to the mayor as anything but sweet. Still, it was odd that she had recommended someone who had turned out not to be ‘above board.’ If Bentley’s right. There it was again—that hint of doubt.
“I still don’t see it, but I’ll reserve judgment.”
“Good girl.”
“Okay, one more question.” She stared Bentley down. “Who is this mysterious accountant?”
“I don't know really, had good credentials—or so I thought. Name’s Lorenzo something.”
Margot sucked in a breath. Lorenzo?!
“Lorenzo Bianchi?”
“Yeah, that’s the kid. Wait—he’s not doing any accounting for you, is he?”
“No,” she said, her gaze trailing out over the window and to the water beyond. He wasn’t, but he was definitely now on her radar.
Margot had
stayed up too late. It was nearly impossible for her to fall asleep at eight like she usually did. Her mind had whirred a hundred miles a minute with worry about Taylor, thoughts about Marco chased by the image of Lorenzo Bianchi, and the curiosity of how this all fit together—if it did. Somehow.
Again, Julian’s voice came back to her
Sometimes, ma chérie, it is not the obvious that draws two things together but the lack of an obvious connection that does it.
An ache had filled her chest with a longing to talk all of this over with Julian. She’d almost called Adam, but it wasn’t a good idea. Knowing him and knowing that he was part of this case—a vital part—she couldn’t risk him knowing of her involvement in anything until she had solid evidence. If then.
When sleep had finally found her, it had been restless and lacking.
Now, she was in the midst of her morning routine with an added batch of croissants for her trip to the mayor’s office later that day. It felt dishonest to be planning this trip with the express intent of gaining information on a woman she respected, let alone liked and went to church with, but how could she dismiss the fact that Eve had recommended Lorenzo?
Still, the facts weren’t lining up. If Eve was somehow part of this scheme—something Margot wasn’t convinced of—then why had she asked for help with a car bill from their women’s group?
Unless…Margot stiffened, standing up and forcing her shoulders to relax. No, Eve couldn’t have slipped into something illegal because of money problems. Then again, money was the root of most evils in this world—not to mention a great motive.
Margot thought of what motive there had been for Marco’s death. Maybe she would talk to Adam again, but only to find out if he had any leads on that aspect…if he’d tell her. That still remained to be seen.
The pastries in the oven to bake, she cleaned up around the shop, took note of what items she needed to restock, and then made a quick reminder to contact Adam after the bail hearing. Just the thought of it made her sick to her stomach. She needed to contact her sister and—
A thought struck Margot. Taylor was usually texting on her phone twenty-four/seven. She assumed that she texted her mother some of that time. Then again, did nineteen-year olds still text their parents? Would Renee worry?
But Margot pushed the thought from her mind. Her sister had her number. She could always call her, couldn’t she?
Feeling flustered and over-tired, Margot sunk down into her desk chair and, setting an alarm for seven, rested her head back against the cushioned headrest.
Beeping and pounding wove together to create a strange sort of dream for Margot. She was in a burning building about to jump from the third story into the arms of a waiting fireman, though how she would make it she had no idea. The beeping of the fire truck backing up reminded her if she waited, she could just climb down the ladder but the pounding of the fire behind her was too fast, too loud, she would have to jump and—
She gasped and sat upright, the alarm on her phone sounding and the pounding from her dream a reality. She rushed to the front door, relieved to see Bentley there, morning paper under his arm.
He grinned, nodding in the direction of her hair. “Sleeping on the job, I see.”
“I didn’t sleep well last night.” She reached up and felt the bump of her hair. “The usual.”
“Yep. And tell me you’re planning on making a trip—”
“To the mayor’s office, yes,” she said, grinning. “Give me one minute to get your order.”
The rest of the morning went by quickly and when Rosie came to take over for the afternoon, she had her box of croissants—some even chocolate-filled, the mayor’s favorite—ready to go. With a wave goodbye, she headed out the door.
She pulled into a space across the street from the office and took a deep breath, staying in the car. She wasn’t exactly sure how to play this. She remembered Julian’s comments about his undercover work in his younger years, but that had mostly been gang related. She shivered just thinking about her late husband keeping company with gang members.
Movement across the street drew her attention. The mayor, potbelly stomach leading the way, stepped from the office and donned his fedora. His gaze trailed around, a look of pride settling over his features. She smiled. Though she didn’t agree with him on all of his political platforms, he was a nice man. She was about to race out to catch him when a though brought an invisible hand down on her shoulder.
She was really here to see Eve. Wasn’t this better?
She let the mayor get into his car and drive away before she stepped out into the warm sunshine and darted across the street. The small electronic beep indicated her entrance into the office and she went down the hallway to where Eve’s desk sat.
The woman looked up, a smile creasing her face. She pulled her glasses off and rested her elbows on the desk in front of her.
“Margot Durand, this is a surprise. Are those for me?” she said with a conspiratorial laugh.
“Afraid not. I thought I’d drop these off for the mayor. Croissants, his favorite.”
“He’s going to love that—though Kim would have a fit if she knew.” Eve’s eyes drew wide. “You can leave them with me. I won’t eat more than one, I promise.” She winked.
“Oh sure—and you really should have one! There are more than enough for the mayor.”
Eve accepted the yellow box and placed it under the high counter of her desk. Then she looked back up at Margot, probably wondering what she was still doing there.
“I, uh…” This was the part Margot wasn’t good with. Fabrication. “I’m considering doing a fundraiser. You know, new bakery equipment isn’t cheap. I’d heard someone mention you knew a good accountant?” She held her breath. Everything she’d said wasn’t a complete lie. She had considered doing a fundraiser and bakery equipment was expensive.
“Actually, I do.” Eve leaned forward. “But I have to preface this with the fact that he’s not a real accountant—well, yet.”
This wasn’t what Margot had expected. “Um, what do you mean?”
“I’m doing night school—remember I mentioned it at our women’s Bible study at the beginning of the year. Anyway, I’ve met some amazing people there—all trying to get their lives on track or start a new business. Things like that. And this young man is exceptional. I overheard our teacher talking about him and said he was his best student. I’ve referred him to a few people.”
So that was why Eve had recommended Lorenzo to the senior center. “Wow. Sounds great. Can I get his contact information?”
“Sure!” She beamed as she wrote it out on a sticky note. “Here you go.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate this.” Then, turning to go, she said, “Enjoy that croissant.”
“Oh, you know I will.”
Chapter 9
The bail hearing went faster than Margot had expected and soon she was in the hallway waiting for Taylor to get changed. She saw Adam from across the room, but officers surrounded him and it looked like he was in a heated conversation. No matter, she had nothing to talk with him about anyway. Not yet at least.
Though she did have a call to make to the night school teacher. The thought of Lorenzo being a bright, shining star in accounting would surely explain a lot for his skills with hiding money from the senior center—if that was what was happening.
She pulled out her phone and ran a quick search for the local night school. It wasn’t difficult to find the teacher who dealt with most of the math classes. Thankfully, his phone number was listed and, with a glance around to make sure Taylor wasn't coming yet, she made the call.
It rang four times then slipped to voicemail. Uncertain of what to say, she merely said she was looking for information regarding one of his classes. Leaving her information, she pressed end and turned to see Taylor walking down the hall in the clothes Margot had brought for her.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said, wrapping her arms around the girl. “How you doing?”
“Can we just go home?”
“Of course.” She maneuvered them out of the courthouse and soon they were on the way home. Taylor nearly raced up the steps, but she didn’t blame the girl.
Once they were inside, she turned to look at Taylor, arms crossed. “We need to call your mom.”
“I know.” Her shoulders slumped.
“Why don’t I make us coffee and you can call her.” Handing Taylor her phone, Margot turned to the coffeemaker and began to prepare a pot with fresh, dark grounds.
She tried not to overhear what her niece was saying, but it was nearly impossible. Things weren’t going well. Then, with stomping feet and an explosion of air from clenched teeth, Taylor came back into the kitchen and thrust the phone at her.
“She wants to talk to you.”
An uneasy feeling twisting in the pit of her stomach, she accepted the phone. “Hey, Rae.”
“My daughter was charged with murder and you didn’t even think to call me! And I trusted you to take care of her and keep her out of trouble! I’m getting on the next flight! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Margot took a deep breath and nodded for Taylor to help herself to the coffee while she walked into the living room, sinking onto the bright white couch that nestled in golden light coming in from the windows.
As she explained what had happened, her sister attempted to interrupt almost every sentence but she finally got to the end. “I know we should have called, but it was Taylor’s choice and I honored that.”
The silence on the other end of the line was telling. “What will Dillon think?” Her sister’s voice was small, almost too quiet to hear.
“It’s going to be okay. She didn’t do this and the police will find that out.”
“She’s got a record.” Renee almost whimpered. “It’s sealed, but with a murder case, they’ll dig. I just know it.”
Croissants and Corruption: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Page 6