Roscoe heard the word ‘walk’ and put his little paws on Scott’s leg, tail wagging. It wasn’t like he didn’t go everywhere with Claire, but his little bright eyes and lifted ears were enough to persuade her.
“Dessert after breakfast?” she asked with a laugh.
“It’s always the right time for ice cream,” Scott grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but grin back. They made their way down Main Street, pausing in front of display windows before picking up Roscoe and carrying him into the art gallery. There were twisted pieces of metal fashioned into modern sculpture, and lovely photographs and paintings of the ocean and wildlife that abounded around Brightwater Bay. Claire’s favorite in the gallery, though, was the pretty blown glass. A local artist made them, she knew, and she was hoping to eventually meet that person, but for now, she let her fingers lightly touch a swirl of blue and purple, admiring the way the light reflected through the glass.
She wanted one, and she thought it was past time to indulge herself. Impulsively, she pulled one down, grinned at Scott, and carried it to the cashier. It took only minutes and more money that someone might initially guess to make that art hers, but she hoped to have a whole window full of them pretty soon. She’d hang them in her little kitchen and let the light play on her face while she baked lovely things for the people she cared about.
Claire enjoyed the rest of the walk over to the Dogwood Café. The Dogwood Café was one of those small-town diners with pies on display, friendly staff who recognized all the regulars, and homestyle food that left you remembering the sheer perfection of it. A large sign outside proclaimed the café’s name and was painted with lovely pink flowers.
Outside, a signboard by the door proclaimed the specials. Claire had been determined to have pancakes until she saw that the special was chicken fried steak, fried eggs, hash browns, and country gravy. She knew the term ‘heart attack on a plate’ could be used to describe the special, but she wasn’t so sure she cared today. If they made chicken fried steak nearly as well as they did beef stew and pot roast, Claire would be thinking about it until the next time Dogwood Café made it the special.
“It’s so nice today,” Scott said, pressing a kiss against her forehead. “We picked the right day to come here. You haven’t lived ‘til you’ve tried Lucy’s chicken fried steak.”
“It makes all the rain worth it,” Claire agreed, glancing around. “When the sun comes out here, it’s like a little bit of heaven is visiting.”
Scott squeezed her fingers and opened the door to the café for her. Scott had been avoiding asking her too much about what had happened. She knew he was giving her time to process everything. Once he’d seen she was okay, he was willing to wait. While they’d enjoyed their leisurely stroll, her mind was racing.
She could remember clearly the taste of the amaretto frosting melting in her mouth. She’d frosted chocolate cupcakes with that frosting. A couple of the resort guests had eaten them in the bakery with hot coffee and ice water. They hadn’t died. Maybe she or Mrs. Applegate had made some terrible mistake and somehow mixed poison into the cake, but Claire knew it wasn’t possible. As much as her mind searched for how it could have happened, it couldn’t have.
The slivered almonds had come from a large container that had been used on the bear claws the day before and that morning. The frosting had been made in a large batch and used over multiple cakes and cupcakes. Besides, Claire had sampled the part of the cake they’d cut off the layers to even them out. She’d tried the frosting. There was no part of that cake that hadn’t been used in another way. It couldn’t have been their cake. Something else must have killed Mrs. Park.
Lucy who had been one of the first people Claire met in Brightwater Bay was in the café, and she seated them. Her kept her eyes on Claire’s face, concern in her expression. When they sat down, Lucy squeezed Claire’s shoulder and then admitted, “I’ll be back to hear everything.”
Lucy seated the couple and small family that had come in behind Claire and Scott. Claire tapped her fingers on the tabletop and glanced outside. A red Subaru Forrester was parking, and she watched it parallel park. The roof rack held one of those hard luggage cases and two kayaks. The driver struggled some, and it took several attempts to get their car lined up.
It could be a difficult thing to parallel park. How hard was it to kill someone? Especially with something like poison? She’d guessed from Darryl’s questions that the current theory was that Mrs. Gertrude Park, famous curmudgeon, had been killed by cyanide disguised by the almond and cherry cake with amaretto frosting. Claire wasn’t sure that there could have been a better delivery dessert for cyanide than that particular cake. Why had Mrs. Park ordered it? Usually, she ordered extravagant cakes, but they tended to be traditional flavors. What had made her change her mind and get something so unusual?
Claire pulled out her phone, glancing over and realized there was a line of Subarus down Main Street. She grinned at the typical Pacific Northwest car and pointed out the line of cars to Scott. He grinned at the sight and said, “They’re great in snow and mud. I think I’m going to have to get one myself.”
She smiled at him and then glanced down at her phone googling what cyanide poisoning looked like. She’d seen some movies with it, of course, but she wasn’t quite sure how it really worked in real life.
Claire was surprised to see it could be deadly over a short amount of time or a long period. Those cyanide pills in spy movies were really possible. You could take a little pill or—Claire guessed—small dose and die quickly. Given that both Mrs. Park and the rat had been found dead the next morning—Claire’s assumption was that it had been one intense dose.
She told Scott about it as she read that the old theory of a cyanide pill was a real thing. Claire had always sort of assumed that it was a book or movie device that storytellers just really liked. She wondered how you even got cyanide, but of course, it wasn’t something explained on medical websites.
While she and Scott talked about cyanide pills, Lucy came back with coffee and water. Claire added cream from the little pitcher on the table, then breathed in the heady scent of her coffee. That first whiff of fresh coffee was almost better than the first sip. Almost. She grinned at Scott and let her eyes close as she took a drink.
As she let the coffee roll around her mouth, her thoughts turned back to what had happened. She’d have assumed that it was accidental except…the rat.
“But the pet rat…” Claire murmured, her voice trailing off.
“The rat? What rat?” Scott’s voice was tinged with curiosity and Claire opened her eyes and nodded.
“Mrs. Park’s rat, Francis. I was trying to figure out how it happened.” Claire pressed her fingers against the warmth of her coffee cup. Scott took her hand in his, then lifted her hand to his mouth to press a kiss against the pad of her forefinger.
“Darryl will work it out, Claire. We all know that you and Mrs. Applegate would never have hurt Mrs. Park, no matter how bad she was with you two. People don’t commit murder over someone insulting their baking. They just do what Kiah Cakes did and kick the customer out of their bakery.”
Claire tried to give him a sunny smile and pretend that she wasn’t bothered, but she knew she didn’t succeed.
“It’s okay, love,” Scott said, trying again to cheer her with his confidence. But how could she? Someone had died over a plate of a cake she had helped to make. That changed the flavor of working in the bakery. It changed the flavor of her new life. It wasn’t the first death she’d faced since coming to Brightwater Bay, but it bothered her more because this death was linked too closely to her beloved job.
“We didn’t just let things go when it was Dexter who was killed,” she reminded Scott.
She flashed him a mischievous grin, and he grinned back. They were in this together, she thought, and she didn’t need to see him nod at her to know he was behind her. He did nod though. He nodded, squeezed her hand again, and then breathed his own coffee in. She watched, l
oving the sight of him slowing down enough to enjoy his coffee.
When she thought of Mrs. Park, Claire couldn’t help but think of Michaela Nathans. The sweet young woman who had lost her grandmother before Michaela had ever been able to make a real relationship with her grandma. Was Michaela mourning today? And if so, was she mourning a grandma she loved or a relationship she’d never gotten to build? Claire suspected the latter, but you could never tell with family. Family often knew when someone they cared about was awful. Knowing your grandma was terrible didn’t mean you didn’t care. Knowing the truth didn’t mean Michaela wasn’t crying into her pillow. The idea of it made Claire want to hunt the young woman up with a casserole or some sort of baked goods in hand.
And what about Michaela’s mother? She must have been at least somewhat rejected when she’d gotten pregnant. If your parent referred to your child as a ‘by-blow,’ there was no way that relationship hadn’t been strained. Claire had to wonder what the conversation was like when Mrs. Park confessed she was expecting. Perhaps, probably even, it was a terrible conversation. Had they ever made up? Was there a child out there today wishing that she’d made things right with her mother?
What about Mrs. Park’s other children? Claire had heard there were at least two or three. Today they were learning their mother had died. The bitter old lady had died over a cake she ordered weekly and Michaela Nathans expected to eat a piece or two. Which meant it could have been a family dinner that had ended badly with their mother and grandmother and then she died.
Tomorrow the paper would come out and the details of the police calls would be printed up. It would include the death of Mrs. Park. Would they include the cake from the bakery? Would they include anything about Mrs. Applegate and Claire? The mere idea of it made her sick even though she didn’t think they’d print those things in the paper. At least not in that part of the paper. Maybe there would be a secondary article. Something beyond the logs of police calls. Something about the cake, the death, the suspicions of what killed her and who might have done it. Would the local journalists be that quick to discover what the police were up to and who they were investigating? Would Claire’s name be put into the paper for that?
Claire had to be snapped out of her thoughts again when Lucy came back to take their order. Both Scott and Claire went for the chicken fried steak breakfast. A moment after she ordered, Claire asked, “You making fries this early, Lucy?”
Lucy grinned and then asked, “Side order, with vinegar?”
Claire grinned at Scott, and they nodded in unison.
“Won’t take but a couple of minutes,” Lucy said, expertly writing it on her notepad. “I’ll bring you a basket in just a sec.”
Claire thanked her and then found herself staring out the window again. She heard Scott ask Lucy for hot sauce, but Claire’s mind had already returned to the view and the murder.
While Lucy promised to be right back, Claire’s attention was caught by the view. The line of Subarus had three women blocking them now. First Claire noticed how they all looked alike. The same jawline. The same dark hair. The same shell shocked looks on their faces. Which is when Claire realized that the youngest of them was none other than Michaela Nathans.
Claire wanted to jump up and give the young woman her condolences. Should she? She hadn’t killed their matriarch, but she was a suspect. Did Michaela believe that Claire had murdered her grandma? Maybe she should avoid the Parks until the police discovered how the arsenic got into the dessert.
It was the rat. The darn rat. The poor beast was changing the suspicion from accident to murder, and ensuring the cake was the reason both the rat and Mrs. Park died. And since no one else had died from the bakery’s goods, the deaths were deliberate. Claire rubbed her brow and met Scott’s eyes.
“I wouldn’t go over there,” he said. “Not yet. It’s too soon. It hasn’t even been a day. I haven’t seen Helen Nathans with her sister like that in…well…a long time.”
Claire’s eyes fixated on the women. Shell-shocked yes, she thought, but they were tense too. Even jumpy. She and Scott watched through the window as another woman approached them. She didn’t look like the first three, but the familiarity of how they greeted each other was enough to tell Claire that they may not be siblings, but they were family.
“Who is that?”
Her question was asked just as Lucy brought the food. She put the plates in front of each of them and then sat down with a bit of a sigh.
“Helen Nathans is the one in the green coat. She’s Mrs. Park’s oldest daughter. Mary Miller is the one in the red fluffy coat. She’s the youngest of the kids. The woman in the beige jacket is Leah Park. She’s married to the Ethan Park. He’s the only son and the oldest. I haven’t seen those particular women speak to each other without fighting in years. In fact,…I don’t think they ever speak to each other outside of those family dinners of Mrs. Park’s. That’s what I heard from Millie anyway. She used to work for Mrs. Park until she got fed up and quit.”
Claire ‘s gaze met Scott’s and they turned as one to Lucy. Her eyes widened as she understood what had been left unsaid. Family drama and family dinners. Relatives who couldn’t be around each other without fighting? Those were the suspects. Not Mrs. Applegate, Claire, and Sandy.
And, Claire thought, her gaze focusing on the four women, they were all there the night Mrs. Park died. Or, Claire amended, likely to have been there. These were the people with the motive. She winced as she added in the amount of power money that Gertrude Park wielded due to her money. And anyone relative to Gertrude Park had a motive that ended in a lot of zeros if the rumors were true.
It was a motive that anyone could understand even if not everyone would act on it.
Chapter 5
“Should we do this again?” Scott asked Claire as Lucy went to deal with some customers. There was enough of a smile on his handsome face that Claire knew he was teasing her. They couldn’t let the bakery be dragged through the mud. Not when their friends were working so hard. Mrs. Applegate loved that bakery, and with it, she’d given Claire a solid start to her new life in Brightwater Bay. Claire wasn’t going to stand by and watch the evil machinations of some murderer taint the kindness of Mrs. Applegate.
And what about Mrs. Park? Sure, the woman had been mean and nasty, but she’d also bought cake for her family and held family dinners. Surely that meant she cared at least to an extent. No one—not even Mrs. Park—deserved to have her family dinner turn into a crime scene. Let alone to be a victim of it.
Claire shook her head. She found herself surprised that the evilness of humanity didn’t weight her down. But then again…how could it? When there were people like Daisy and Lucy and Darryl and Mrs. Applegate, and—of course—Scott in the world.
“It’s the pet rat,” Claire said again as Lucy walked up. Claire just couldn’t let go of the rat. Not that she should. It was a big red flag.
“Whatever do you mean?” Lucy asked as she sat down next to them.
“What she said,” Scott added as he showered his chicken fried steak in hot sauce.
“Mrs. Park and her rat ate the cake. They both died. So…it has to have been the cake that was poisoned.”
“Ok….” Lucy’s voice trailed off, and her eyes were wide. “I didn’t realize the rat died.”
Claire winced and nodded. She changed the subject before she could think too much about the animals.
“But, of course,” Claire said hastily, “Mrs. Applegate, Sandy, and I have no real reason to kill Mrs. Park. We prepared the cake, but the way it was made makes it clear that the poison wasn’t added during the baking or preparation process. We made multiple cakes and cupcakes out of the same batter and frosting. No one else died. If it had been poisoned by accident, by one of us, then I’d have died, Mrs. Applegate, a few tourists and whoever bought the second cake. But none of them are dead, so the poison had to be added after the fact.”
Lucy’s gaze was wide as she listened following Claire’s lin
e of thought. Scott was nodding. He’d got what she was saying immediately even though he only knew the details from rumors and the few things she’d said as she was trying to figure things out.
“Especially since you might be able to make a weak argument that you or Myrna would have killed Mrs. Park for being horrible. But why would you kill the rest of them? No one would do that who wasn’t totally insane, and we know you aren’t,” Lucy said. She didn’t even say it to make Claire feel better. It was just something that needed to be acknowledged and brushed aside.
But…Lucy was worried. Claire could see it in the way Lucy’s fingers tapped the table and the way her gaze darted around the diner watching who was watching them. Claire felt the same way. It was a nasty thing that had happened in their little town, and it didn’t matter that none of them were particularly attached to the Parks. This wasn’t how Brightwater Bay operated. This was a place where they took care of each other. This was a place where they looked out for their neighbors and did good deeds and raked each other’s lawns or scraped each other’s windshields. They took care of those who needed them, whether it be someone helping a single mom get through the grocery store by entertaining a child or checking on their elderly neighbors.
Claire sighed while Scott’s gaze moved past Claire’s shoulder to the row of Subarus and members of Mrs. Park’s family. His eyes were fixated on them and Claire turned enough to watch as well. They were arguing, but in the quiet way where you hoped no one noticed.
“So…” Claire carried on. “The cake was the murder weapon given the pet rat. But the cake wasn’t poisoned at the bakery since none of our other customers died. It was poisoned at the Park house.”
“Making one of the Park family,” Scott said, “Or the maid’s the murderer.”
“And…I can’t imagine any of them wanting to kill themselves along with the rest…but…Mrs. Park kicked them out sometime during dinner,” Claire explained. “So, whoever poisoned the cake did it knowing Mrs. Park would eat it without them.”
A Sweet Spoonful of Cyanide Page 3