Promises_Star's Bakery

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Her mouth open, she took a deep breath, another, and another steadying herself. Sadness slowly veiled her face—so many years, so many wasted moments. She loved her father. She didn’t realize how deep the bond was until this moment. Too late.

  Detective Watson hesitated, and then asked the question, “For the record, Dr. Wainwright, is this man your father?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “This is Dale Wainwright, my father.”

  Jude retreated, limping to a chair by the door. His hands, fingers intertwined, rested on his stomach, feet outstretched, head against the wall, watching his wife.

  Liz glanced at Manny, stepped to Louise’s side laying her hand on the sleeve of her suit jacket. “Are you okay? Can I get you something? Water?”

  “No. Thank you.” Louise nodded to the coroner that she had seen enough, turned to leave the icy-cold chamber. Jude snapped to his feet following her back to the coroner’s office.

  The office seemed small with so many people circled around the coroner’s desk.

  “When can I take my father back to Dallas for burial?”

  “You can make the arrangements to ship his body, but it will be another few days before we can release it.”

  “Why is that?”

  Detective Watson was leaning against the wall to the side of the coroner’s desk. Manny and Liz stood beside the detective. The three were watching Louise and her husband. Both travelers wore dark suits, white shirts. Louise’s skirt was a tasteful inch below the knee. Jude’s shirt open at the neck, no tie.

  Watson answered her question. “We still can’t be sure of the cause of death. We received Dr. Sandler’s report, your father’s health records. His cancer—”

  “What cancer? I didn’t know he had cancer.” Louise looked to her husband, back to Watson, questioning.

  “He was dying, Dr. Wainwright. From the report, the last time Dr. Sandler saw him, your father had a year, little more—which, if you count from today, would have given him a few more months. I’ve ordered an autopsy, pending your agreement, because from the initial blood tests and tests of what was in his stomach, there were … he had arsenic in his system.”

  “Arsenic?”

  “Dr. Sandler’s report listed a prescription for an antidepressant to help Mr. Wainwright sleep. Your father picked up a refill in Orlando three weeks before he died. From what you told Mr. Salinas, you haven’t spoken to your father for awhile. Do you think he might have committed suicide? An overdose of the medication, a barbiturate, could cause death. Although we didn’t find what would be considered an overdose in his system, but combined with the arsenic certainly did him in.”

  Louise slumped into a chair facing the desk, then stiffened her spine. “I can’t imagine Dale Wainwright committing suicide. If he knew he was dying, it might explain his absences, his traveling. He embraced life, hit diversity head on … perhaps he was traveling to places he hadn’t been before. Although Daytona Beach is strange … but Orlando … maybe not so strange. He and my mother brought me, as a little girl, to Disney World.” Her eyes welled up at the thought. Could her father have returned to a place they visited together? Father and daughter loved that trip. Spoke of it whenever they were together … together.

  Detective Watson broke the silence. “You can go ahead with the arrangements to transport your father the first of next week. We’ll let you know the exact day. Are you okay with our proceeding with the autopsy?”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  Liz again stepped to Louise’s side. “In the car, I mentioned a man by the name of Benny Howard. As far as we can tell, Benny was the last person to see your dad alive. He spoke with him for more than a half hour at a little bakery. It was a special occasion, the grand opening, and your father was there.”

  Louise looked up at Liz, her eyes questioning. “Visited a bakery? In Daytona Beach? Everything seems so strange—Florida, a bakery, arsenic, suicide?” Her voice barely a whisper, Louise shook her head unable to grasp what she was learning. “Yes. Jude and I have a return flight tomorrow morning … I’d hoped my father would be … yes, I’d like to meet this Benny. Wouldn’t we, Jude?”

  “Of course, Louise. Then, if the good investigators could take us to a hotel, I think you’ve had enough for one day. We can talk about the arrangements. You’ll want to call your lawyer and our daughter.”

  “I don’t know about the lawyer, but our daughter, Lou, of course. I promised Lou I’d call … after I saw the body.” Louise opened her shoulder bag retrieving her business cards. Handing a card to the coroner, to Detective Watson, and the private investigators, Manny and Liz Salinas, “Here are the best numbers to reach me at—cell, office, home, and my address. Any information about my father, please call me immediately—whoever comes up with a new detail. Immediately! Now, we’d like to meet Benny.”

  Chapter 27

  THE GROUP STRODE into Star’s Bakery two-by-two—Jude a limp behind Louise, Manny and Liz. A whoosh of cool December air as the door opened and closed caused the lace window tiebacks to flutter. Wanda was helping a customer deciding which cake she wanted to buy for her dinner party—chocolate fudge or a delicate banana cream. Benny, red suspenders over his white T-shirt, sat at the cash register. Liz had called Benny letting him know that Louise wanted to meet him, the last person known to have talked to her father.

  Benny looked up at Wanda. She nodded to him to go to his visitors. She would take care of the cash register.

  Benny rolled up to Liz who bent over, giving him a hug. Manny in turn introduced Benny to Louise and Jude. Jude shook his hand. Louise moved to shake his hand but hugged him instead.

  Benny’s eyes misted as did Liz’s—a couple of softies.

  Benny rolled to the corner, Louise following, drawing up the chair Manny handed to her to sit beside the wheelchair. Answering a question about her flight, she leaned forward, searching Benny’s eyes. “How did my father look? Did he seem to be in any kind of pain?”

  “Dr. Wainwright, I’m sorry—”

  “Please, call me Louise.”

  “Louise … I chatted with a man … we never exchanged names … chatted about the weather, had I ever been to Disney World. Somehow he got me talking about my days with the circus. He was most attentive. Flattering it was to have such a high-class fellow interested in what I was saying.”

  Jude limped around the shop, stopped at the display case, bought a chocolate chip cookie, then leaned against a counter away from the others but within earshot of his wife and Benny. Liz and Manny exchanged glances, the pair always on the same wave length. They glanced back to Louise, to Jude, back to Louise. Watching. Watching.

  “Benny, what made you think my father was high-class?”

  “Oh, easy. He had an air about him. Not bad, mind you. Not arrogant. It was an air of a leader, educated, a man who had worked hard and achieved great things. I mean, who would wear a jacket like the one he had on unless he was comfortable with himself. Liz told me that it was a very big Japanese designer Jacket—Yamo. Or something like that.”

  “Did he say anything … anything about his family?”

  Benny laid his calloused hand over Louise’s soft manicured fingers. Even though he had a motorized wheelchair his hands remained rough from gripping the wheel. Certain places he liked to use his own power, able to keep from ramming into things.

  “No, ma’am. I’m sorry. I guess, looking back, I did most of the talking. The only other thing he said besides Disney World was that he had worked in Texas, oil fields in Texas. Never said exactly where in Texas. Never said what he did. I guess you might say I was babbling … in awe of this gentleman.”

  While Benny was talking he kept glancing at Jude then back to Louise never losing his train of thought. Each time, his brows would knit together. Then relaxed.

  “Have you ever been to Daytona Beach, Louise?”

  “No. Orlando only. When my mother and father took me to Disney World.”

  “How, about you, Jude? Ever been here?
” Benny asked looking over at Jude leaning against the display case with cakes and pies.

  “Not that I recall. I’m a Texan. Worked there for Louise’s father before she and I were married. Not a fond memory of the oil business.”

  “Why is that?” Manny asked.

  Jude’s attention had been on Louise, or rather Benny. He looked up sharply at Manny’s question, startled that he was part of the conversation.

  “I had an accident on a rig, a new hole, oil spewing everywhere. It was exciting until I almost lost my leg. Almost died.”

  “That must have been frightening,” Liz said, glancing at her husband then back to Jude.

  “You can say that again. Docs patched me up … saved my leg. Louise, how about we head back to the hotel? It’s been a long day and it’ll be another one tomorrow with our early flight.”

  “Benny, I’m so glad I had a chance to meet you. You’re very nice, and I’m sure my father enjoyed your company, his last hour as it turned out.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to meet Star, the owner and brains behind Star’s Bakery. She’s out buying stuff for the Christmas orders.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Yeah, maybe another time,” Benny said once again glancing at Jude as the man limped to the door.

  Louise stood, moving the chair aside. “Manny, you stay. Jude and I can call for a cab—”

  “Wait, you two. Benny, scoot up close to Louise and Jude so I can snap a picture with my cell. That’s it … perfect. Thanks. And Louise, don’t you even think of calling a cab. Manny and I will drive you to the hotel.”

  Jude stood at the door holding it open for Louise, followed her out along with Manny.

  Benny called out to Liz, gave the wheels a couple of mighty pushes, reached for her arm.

  Liz looked down at him. “What is it, Benny?”

  “That Jude fellow. I’ve seen him before,” he whispered, his eyes darting, following Jude out the door.

  “Where, Benny? He said he’s never been to Daytona Beach, unless it was at one of your high-wire acts,” Liz replied in a soft whisper. Benny had told her and Manny about the circus and Gigi, and how he trained on the wire to win her heart.

  “No, No. I seen him. That night I talked to the man, John Doe.”

  “Benny—”

  “I seen him plain as day. I was getting some air. All the people coming in for the grand opening … he was crossing the street. You saw how he limps … a handsome man like that … limping. Something you don’t forget. You tell Manny. Tell Manny, Liz. I seen him, I tell you.”

  Chapter 28

  HER FATHER WAS DEAD.

  Louise looked out the plane’s window, the land morphing from one state to the other. The stewardess had given her a blanket to cover her legs. She couldn’t seem to shake the chill she felt at the morgue. Leaning her head back, her hand automatically smoothed her hair back, repositioned a comb holding the French twist in place.

  Cancer?

  Florida? No family. No friends. His last days must have been lonely, probably painful … but to take his life? Why didn’t he tell me, why didn’t he let me care for him. She knew why he didn’t confide, tell her he was dying … they were never close. They were once … the vacation in Florida. Disney World was such a happy time. They had been close then. After her mother died things changed. But to contemplate suicide, to commit suicide. Dale Wainwright—tough oil man? She couldn’t wrap her arms around that. Arsenic? Sighing, her body trembled a moment.

  Jude reached across the armrest, took her hand.

  Jude. He wasn’t a perfect husband. Far from it. But he was always by her side.

  His fingers squeezed her hand, comforting. She squeezed in return—thank you for being here with me, for me.

  Was that detective insinuating something more sinister than suicide? More tests? An autopsy? As a psychiatrist she had comforted patients going through death of a loved one. She’d been part of two murder cases so she knew the routine. Detective Watson suspected something. Well, she had to make plans for her father’s funeral. The detective said he would release the body for transport in a few days. There would be many well-wishers.

  Dale Wainwright dead!

  Flowers—she’d make arrangements to have them taken to shelters, nursing homes—places where the bouquets would be welcomed, colorful bouquets of flowers to brighten their surroundings.

  She would deliver a eulogy.

  Dale Wainwright dead!

  Why would the detective think there was foul play? Ridiculous. No one would profit from his death. I have to call Cliff Stanfield. A tear slid down her cheek thinking of her father’s lawyer. They had been friends for as long as Louise could remember. I guess there’s a will. Maybe he left everything to charity. God knows he had already left me financially well off. Charities will profit from his death. As they should.

  His housekeeper, of course. Louise remembered the day Gladys tearfully told her how that wonderful Mr. Wainwright had set up an annuity for her.

  However, her father didn’t suffer fools lightly. There wouldn’t be any money left to his secretary. He had fired her just before he started to travel. Found she had embezzled several thousand. No, there wouldn’t be anything for her.

  The plane had started its descent into the Dallas/ Fort Worth International Airport. Louise handed the blanket to the stewardess, and then began a mental list of the first few calls she had to make as soon as they walked through the door of their penthouse—Lou, their daughter, then Cliff, her father’s lawyer, the church, the Dallas Morning News … and the funeral home.

  Why was he in Florida? Maybe thinking of their happy vacation at Disney.

  Maybe it was suicide.

  Never!

  Chapter 29

  Daytona Beach

  THE WEATHER TURNED cold over central Florida, but no frost warning for Daytona Beach. That would come sometime in January, or February. Setting the grocery bags on the counter, Manny chuckled at the thought of winter. Whenever he complained about the cold to colleagues up north they scoffed. Forty-five degrees? Really? Michigan was battling icy roads, maybe a few inches of snow with a foot or more to come.

  Putting the groceries away, Manny heard the clicking of a computer keyboard. He poured two glasses of wine, and joined his wife in the office. Setting their glasses on the table between their workstations, he kneaded her shoulders. Manny smiled seeing Liz’s foot pumping Lizzie’s rocker blade.

  “Any luck? Anything interesting on Jude Rattigan?” he asked rolling a chair up next to his wife, his voice soft so he didn’t disturb the baby.

  “Sorta, all circumstantial. First, they have a daughter, Louise, call her Lou. Lou is married, no babies.” Liz smiled at her husband. “No baby could be near as cute as our Lizzie. Anyway, Lou is a school teacher and her husband, Thomas Weed, seems to be in and out of work. Kinda like her dad, Jude. However, unlike her mother Louise, Lou took her husband’s name so legally she is Lou Weed. Neither man seems to hold down a job. Neither of the men in Dale’s family—his daughter’s husband, or granddaughter’s husband—seem to be motivated or just endure bad luck, like Jude with his leg. Jude, by the way, is very handsome, as we saw when we met him. He photographs like a male model. He should try it. Maybe I’ll send him an anonymous tip.”

  “Anything in your searches show Jude in Daytona Beach? Benny certainly is positive he saw him.”

  “Not really, again circumstantial. Louise Wainwright is verrry involved with charities. So much so I don’t see how she has time for her practice—the psychiatrist thing. I concentrated my search on the two weeks around when John Doe was found—week before and after. The Dallas Morning News features her a lot. She was traveling—ten days prior and a few days after, in Seattle at a conference on substance abuse.” Liz leaned back, took a sip of wine, her brows squinched forming furrows along her forehead, mouth twitching back and forth.

  “Manny, I may be trying too hard, but I found an interesting pattern. Mr.
Handsome is always by her side, smiling, glad-handing—”

  “That’s the pattern? He’s always with her?”

  “Yeah, but not this time. No hubby, and no other man for that matter.”

  “Stitch, I had an idea while I was shopping for our dinner—roasted chicken and a salad—”

  “Umm, yum. I’m starved. Mom said Lizzie was fussy yesterday but she seems to be her cute, best-baby-ever self today. I pumped some milk so I can enjoy this little treat—wine with my dinner. What was your idea?”

  “Probably won’t pan out, but I’m not sure how much Star has told Tyler about John Doe. I have a hard time calling him Dale Wainwright. Anyway, you know how observant the guy is, and always drawing. Why not send him a pic of John Doe?”

  “Manny, it’s not very flattering—dead, pasty.”

  “Not that one, love of my life. The one Louise sent us. The one with her father in a tuxedo. I was thinking there seems to be a connection with the bakery. Why was John Doe there? By chance? Talking to Benny?” Manny paced a few steps, smoothing his moustache. “While you’re at it, send Tyler the pic you took of Louise and Jude and Benny as they were leaving the bakery. You could say something to Tyler like … FYI, here are John Doe’s daughter and her husband.”

  “Ahh, no leading the witness.”

  “And…

  “And?” Liz said savoring another small taste of wine.

  “I think I should go to Dale Wainwright’s funeral. We could both go, bring Lizzie—”

  “I love you, Manny, but you are fumbling … I think you should go to the funeral. Lizzie and I will stay home. Your investigator women will take care of the office detail,” Liz said with a smirk, her toe tapping Lizzie’s rocker.

  Chapter 30

  Burbank, California

  TYLER WAS WORKING under the gun. The first producer interested in his short-story film, The Little Baker Girl, had made some suggestions on how, in his opinion, the film could be improved. The producer liked the animation but asked for more emotion, more feeling from the baker girl.