by Sarah Fox
“No luck?” I guessed as he returned to me and Brett.
“Nobody saw anything until you were already on the ground,” Rutowski said.
That was disappointing but not surprising.
“Is there any reason why someone would want to hurt you?” Rutowski asked.
“Well…”
He raised one eyebrow. “Let me guess—you’ve been looking into the murder of the sports reporter.”
The whole sheriff’s department probably knew about my habit of getting involved in investigations.
“I’ve asked a few questions,” I admitted. “But there’s a long list of suspects and I really don’t think I’m close to figuring out who did it.”
“The killer might not know that.” It was the first time Brett had spoken for several minutes.
“That’s true.” Kyle was close to my age, but the stern look he gave me then somehow made me feel much younger than him. “You know from experience that messing with a murderer can be dangerous.”
“I do.”
Rutowski sighed. Maybe he knew it was hopeless to warn me off. Although at the moment I had no desire to investigate anything. All I wanted to do was go home and lie down. I wasn’t even interested in ice cream anymore.
Rutowski flipped open his notebook. “You’d better give me a list of who you’ve questioned. One of them could be the killer.”
With my whole body—and especially my left arm—aching, it wasn’t easy to think clearly, but I made my way through all the people I could think of until Rutowski had what I thought was a complete list.
As Kyle shut his notebook, I leaned into Brett’s side, suddenly more weary than I’d been in a long time. Brett rubbed my back as my eyes threatened to drift closed.
“Why don’t you head home?” Rutowski suggested. “You look like you could use some rest.”
Brett and I thanked him and set off along the sidewalk at an easy pace.
“It won’t take me long to jog home and get my truck,” Brett said, eyeing me with concern.
“I can walk,” I assured him.
We both fell silent, and by the time we left the park far behind us, we still hadn’t spoken again. I glanced at Brett. His uncharacteristic frown hadn’t disappeared.
I gave his hand a squeeze. “Hey. You don’t need to worry. I’m okay.”
His blue eyes met mine, but his frown didn’t ease up. “I can’t help but worry, Marley. Somebody tried to kill you.”
“I don’t know that they were actually trying to kill me.”
“What if the bike had hit you in the head? What if it had been a car?”
That thought had passed through my mind as well, but it was too frightening to dwell on.
“Maybe it was just a stupid prank pulled by a random stranger.” Even as I suggested it, that scenario didn’t feel very plausible.
Brett didn’t say anything, but I could tell he felt the same.
My weariness intensified. “I’ll lie low for a while. To be honest, I don’t feel up to much else right now. I’ll focus on work and our wedding. Hopefully Ray will have the case wrapped up before long.”
Brett shook his head, but I was relieved to see that a slight grin had replaced his frown. “I don’t think you know how to lie low, not when there’s a mystery waiting to be solved.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ll succeed, at least for tonight,” I said as we turned into our driveway.
Brett glanced my way with a mixture of worry and affection in his eyes. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
A dose of over-the-counter painkillers helped me sleep that night, but in the morning I woke up sore and reluctant to get out of bed. After I’d snoozed the alarm a couple of times, Brett rolled over and kissed me.
“How are you feeling?” he asked in a sleepy voice.
“Not too bad.”
He shifted closer and wrapped an arm around my waist. “Really?” He sounded like he didn’t believe me.
“Okay, I’m sore,” I admitted. “But not so much that you need to worry.”
“I’m going to worry anyway.”
I brushed his hair off his forehead. “I intend to be in one piece for our wedding.”
“And forever after that, I hope.” He kissed me again. “Why don’t you stay home from work today? I’m sure Leigh and Sienna can handle things.”
I was tempted to agree to that idea until I remembered what day it was.
“I can’t. You and I both need to be at The Flip Side this morning.”
“Right. The cake testing.” Brett grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”
“Cake is a good motivator,” I said.
“Especially when we know Ivan’s making it.”
“That’s for sure.” Still, I made no move to get up.
Flapjack hopped up onto the bed and padded his way over to us. He let out a loud meow and clawed at the covers.
I ran a hand over his fur. “Besides, Flapjack’s not going to let us laze around all day.”
Brett’s grin faded. “But if you need to rest, I’m sure we can reschedule with Ivan. And I can look after the animals.”
I threw back the sheet, the only cover I’d used during the warm night. “It’s all right. I’m getting up.”
That was easier said than done. My sore muscles had stiffened up while I slept, and my bruised arm let me know whenever it brushed against anything.
“I might scare off the customers,” I said after I was dressed and examining the mass of black and purple bruises that ran along my arm. “Or scare off their appetites, at least.”
“You should be taking it easy anyway,” Brett said. “Why don’t you leave the serving to Leigh and Sienna today?”
“I might have to,” I conceded. “My wrist is going to be a bit of a problem.”
Brett pulled a T-shirt on over his head. “You still think it’s just sprained?”
“Yes, but it aches. I don’t think I can carry any heavy loads of dishes.”
Brett gently took my hand in his and examined my wrist. “How about I wrap it for you? But you should still leave the lifting to Leigh and Sienna.”
I agreed to that, and Brett wrapped my wrist with a tensor bandage. I also agreed when he suggested that we drive to The Flip Side. I’d miss my early morning time on the beach, but I probably wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as usual anyway.
My slow start to the day meant that we arrived at the pancake house later than was usual for me, but there was still half an hour to spare before opening.
As soon as Ivan and Tommy saw my bruised arm and bandaged wrist, I had to tell them what had transpired the evening before.
“I wish I’d seen who shoved you,” Tommy said with regret. “But I was way across the park. I didn’t know anything had happened.”
“Even the people who were right there didn’t see who did it,” I said.
The stormy expression on Ivan’s face was almost frightening. It matched the thunderous boom of his voice. “You could have been killed if a car had hit you!”
“Believe me, I know.”
I reached out and took Brett’s hand, giving it a squeeze. He’d tensed up over the past few minutes, and I knew his worries about me had returned to the surface.
Despite not wanting to think about anything the night before, I hadn’t been able to stop myself from wondering who’d shoved me. As nice as it would have been to believe it was an accident and that I had nothing further to worry about, I couldn’t get myself to accept that explanation.
So many of the people I suspected of possibly killing Yvonne were present at the park that evening. Any one of them could have become angered or threatened by questions I’d asked them. And if Yvonne’s killer had pushed me into the road, he or she clearly wasn’t averse to causing furt
her harm. But no matter how hard I tried to remember more about the moments before I went flying off the curb, I didn’t recall any of my suspects being nearby. That didn’t mean they hadn’t been there—I’d been more focused on my phone than anything else—but I had no hope of fingering the culprit.
Going over and over the incident in my mind was getting me nowhere, and talking about it wasn’t proving any more useful. All it was doing was feeding my worry that someone could be out to get me, and I knew it was doing the same for Brett.
“Let’s talk about something else,” I suggested. “Like cake.”
“Good idea,” Brett said.
He pulled a stool up to the kitchen’s large island and nudged it toward me. I sat down as he brought another stool over for himself.
The thunderclouds hadn’t left Ivan’s eyes and his frown was even deeper than normal, but he set plates in front of me and Brett before fetching a large serving platter that held five small, rectangular cakes.
“Vanilla, lemon, chocolate, carrot, coconut,” he said, pointing to the five cakes in turn.
He handed us forks and then cut two pieces off the first cake, transferring them to our plates. I took a bite and chewed slowly, taking the time to savor the sample.
The vanilla cake was light and fluffy, with just the right amount of flavor. Not that I was surprised. Ivan’s creations were never anything short of delicious.
“Yum,” I said once I’d swallowed. I immediately took a second forkful.
“That’s really good,” Brett said before he, too, indulged in some more.
As we polished off the small samples, Ivan transferred pieces of the next cake onto our plates. This one was a white cake as well, but flavored with lemon. It had a great texture and flavor, just like the first one, although I preferred the vanilla to the lemon. That, however, didn’t stop me from eating the whole piece.
The next cake we tried was the chocolate one. I closed my eyes and sighed with happiness when I took the first taste.
“Ivan, that’s amazing.” I made short work of the rest of the piece.
“This is the front runner in my book,” Brett said once he’d swallowed down his last bite.
“Two more,” Ivan said. Although he spoke in his usual gruff voice, I knew him well enough to tell that he was pleased by our reactions.
We tasted the carrot cake and then the coconut one. Neither one was the least bit disappointing.
“Well?” Ivan demanded once we’d sampled each cake.
“I need to sample them again to make up my mind,” Brett said with a grin.
My expression matched his. “Me too.”
“You both have a favorite.” It sounded like Ivan was accusing us.
“The chocolate one,” I admitted.
“Definitely,” Brett agreed.
“But they’re all good,” I continued. “Especially the vanilla and the carrot. And I know my mom will love the vanilla one.”
“So will Chloe,” Brett said. “And my parents love carrot cake.”
“So does Grant.” I pulled the platter of cakes toward us and cut Brett and me another slice of the carrot cake. “So it’s going to take a lot of research to decide if we should really go with the chocolate.”
“You can have all three,” Ivan said.
“Really?” I asked.
He gave a curt nod. “Three tiers. Chocolate on the bottom, then the vanilla, then the carrot cake on top.”
I exchanged a look with Brett and knew we were on the same page.
“Ivan, that would be perfect. Are you sure you want to do all three?”
His eyebrows drew together, making his expression almost menacing. “Of course. You’re getting three tiers.”
“Thank you, Ivan,” I said with a smile.
“Yes, thank you.” Brett stood up and held out his hand.
Ivan shook it and then got back to his work without another word. Brett and I stayed in the kitchen and helped ourselves to more cake. Tommy sidled over for a few samples of his own.
I eventually stopped eating, but only because my stomach was getting uncomfortably full. Brett took a few more bites and then called it quits as well.
When Leigh and Sienna arrived, I had to explain once again how I’d ended up so bruised. Since I was still sore, I took a rain check for the hug Leigh wanted to give me for helping out Greg—he’d told her everything the night before—but seeing her so happy was really all the thanks I needed. She and Sienna tested each one of the cakes and approved our choices. They both assured me that they could handle everything up at the front of the house, so once The Flip Side was open, I headed for the office.
“Do you want me to stick around?” Brett asked as I opened the window to let in the gentle summer breeze.
“I always enjoy your company, but you’d be bored.”
He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top my head. “I could grab my laptop from home and come back here to do some work.”
“I thought you were planning to finish up the arbor today.”
“I can change my plans.”
I gave him a squeeze before letting go. “No need. I’m going to catch up on some work on the computer. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t have to stay here all day, you know,” he said.
“I know.” Although I felt better being close at hand just in case anything came up while The Flip Side was open.
“Call me if you want me to come pick you up.”
I assured him that I would and walked him to the back door. I was returning to the office when Ray came down the hallway toward me.
“Morning,” I said as I gestured for him to precede me into the office. “I’m guessing you’re here about what happened last night.”
Ray removed his hat. “Rutowski told me about the incident. I’m glad you weren’t seriously hurt.”
“Thanks. So am I.”
“Have you remembered anything since last night? Anything about the person who pushed you?”
“I’ve tried to remember, but I don’t think there’s anything to remember. I didn’t see who it was.”
“That’s probably what they were counting on. This most likely happened because the killer feels threatened by the questions you’ve been asking.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” I admitted.
Ray ran a hand through his dark hair. “Listen, Marley, I know you can’t shut off your curiosity, and I know you have good intentions…”
“But I should leave the investigating to the professionals,” I finished for him. I held up my bandaged wrist. “This is a constant reminder to do just that.”
Ray didn’t seem too convinced, probably because of my track record. As much as I wanted to keep my head down and mind my own business right at the moment, I knew full well that could change. No doubt Ray knew it too, but he took his leave and I spent the rest of the day focused only on The Flip Side.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monday was my first of two days off, and when I got up in the morning I was still determined to mind my own business. After breakfast, Brett showed me the finished arbor and we maneuvered it across the yard so we could decide where we wanted it for the wedding. Even without the flowers and greenery that would decorate it for the event, the arbor looked gorgeous. It would be a great place for wedding photographs.
After we’d agreed on the perfect placement for the arbor, I settled on the porch swing with Flapjack and read a few chapters of a book I’d bought a couple of weeks earlier. Brett was busy in his workshop and Bentley was keeping him company, so Flapjack and I relaxed, enjoying the peace and quiet.
I was thinking about getting myself a cold drink when I noticed someone heading up the beach toward the house. I put a foot down on the deck, stopping the swing’s gentle movement. Flapjack was sound asleep on my lap
, but he didn’t seem to mind when I woke him up by shifting him aside. He simply curled up on the swing and closed his eyes again.
“Ed?” I called out as I got to my feet.
Ed left the beach and approached the porch steps.
“Hi, Marley. Is this a bad time?”
“Of course not. Come on up.”
He joined me on the porch, but he seemed ill at ease. I urged him to take a seat and he lowered himself into one of the chairs on the porch. I took the one across from him.
“Is anything wrong?” He’d never come by the house before, and I thought he looked preoccupied.
“I came by to apologize.”
“What for?” I asked with surprise.
He nodded at my bandaged wrist. “I heard about what happened. People are saying someone pushed you onto the road because they were worried you were getting too close to the truth.”
“I don’t know if that’s true or not,” I said, even though I suspected it might be.
“But it could be. And if that’s why it happened, then it’s my fault.”
“That’s not true, Ed.”
He shook his head. “I’m the one who asked you to investigate. I never should have done that and I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t worry about it, Ed. We both know my reputation. I would have ended up looking into things even if you hadn’t asked me to. I’m drawn to mysteries like a moth to a flame.”
“Still, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”
“It’s not worth trying to find the killer?”
“Sheriff Georgeson should keep trying, but I don’t think Yvonne’s worth risking your safety.”
Despite what he’d told me the last time I’d spoken with him, his statement still surprised me. “Because she wasn’t who you thought she was?”
Ed nodded. “And it’s worse than I realized. After hearing what everyone was saying about her, I decided to do some digging. Actually, my niece helped me. I’m no good at all that Internet stuff. She found me several of Yvonne’s articles to read.”
“And they weren’t very nice,” I guessed.
“That’s an understatement. How did those things even get published?”