Pumpkin Roll
Page 15
By the time Sadie finished cleaning up the new mess, it was 3:15 and nearly time to pick up Kalan from school. She headed down the hallway to ask Pete if he wanted her to go to the school, but she slowed down when she heard him on the phone. The door wasn’t closed all the way. He’d been on this call for over half an hour unless he’d made or received other calls as well.
“Yeah, I’ve called everyone I know who they might contact directly. . . . I don’t think the Boston PD has looked at my file yet, but it has me worried,” Pete said.
Sadie furrowed her brow while Pete paused to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line. Who was he talking to?
“Believe me,” Pete said. “Bringing this up is the last thing I want to do. . . . Right. . . . I just wanted everyone to hear my version of this situation before they started asking questions. I’d appreciate it if you’d let me know if they contact you. I want to be ready if they . . . I know. . . . You’d think Michaels wouldn’t still be haunting me fifteen years later. . . . I know. . . . I was also going to . . .”
Sadie turned and was halfway down the hall before she realized she’d chosen not to eavesdrop. But she hadn’t turned away soon enough. Michaels? Haunting? And who was Pete talking to? Obviously Michaels was someone from Pete’s past and something the police would find if they looked at his file. Michaels was also something Sadie knew nothing about. Fifteen years ago Pete was married to Pat and working in Fort Collins, or had he still been in New Mexico then?
“Don’t do this,” she whispered to herself as she found herself in the kitchen again. “Don’t start inventing things from pieces of information you can’t understand.” Was this why he hadn’t wanted to call the police before this afternoon? But how bad could this Michaels thing be if Pete were still a police detective?
She dished herself up some beans—there was no better distraction than food—and nearly groaned out loud at the perfect blend of spicy sweetness. Heather’s beans were much better than her own recipe. She heard Pete’s footsteps approach a few minutes later and turned to face him, gathering up her newly awakened concerns and shoving them into a closet. She trusted him. She would just ask him about it and get it over with. But when she opened her mouth, that’s not what came out. “It’s about time to pick Kalan up from school,” she said.
“Do you want to go or should I?” He didn’t look particularly guarded, just tired. But then again, he didn’t know Sadie had overheard anything.
“I can go,” Sadie said, eager to get out of the house for a minute. She grabbed the keys to the minivan and headed out the back door, deep in thought. She made her way to the school, driving carefully due to the snow that was still falling, though it was lighter than it had been earlier. While waiting in line behind all the other parents waiting to pick up their children, she called Shawn, but it went to his voice mail. She left a message about the kitchen incident and the police involvement, ending with a caution that she didn’t know if they were going to stay in the house or not tonight and asking him to call when he could. She’d been thinking about the information he’d found out about Mrs. Wapple’s former landlord. Maybe it would be worthwhile to talk to him. Sadie assured Shawn in the message that everything was fine, told him not to worry, and then ended the call.
When he called back, maybe she’d ask if he could look into Pete’s history fifteen years ago. If there had been a public mention of this Michaels person, Shawn would find it. Or he’d ask Jane to find it. The idea made her uncomfortable, however, as though she’d be opening a can of worms she might never get the lid back onto. This was Pete’s secret, and she didn’t want to involve anyone else in figuring it out. The next question, however, was if she wanted to figure it out herself.
Kalan came out of the front doors of the school, and Sadie waved when he spotted her, gratified by the way his face lit up with recognition. He looked like a turtle, with his big backpack perched on his back while he leaned forward in order to keep his balance as he ran. He pulled open the sliding door of the minivan and as soon as it was closed, he began chattering about his day. He was excited for the upcoming Halloween Carnival next Wednesday—they’d sent home flyers today. Sadie listened, nodding and asking questions as necessary. He was going to be a ninja for Halloween, and Sadie exclaimed what a perfect ninja he would be because he was really fast. He liked that.
When Sadie and Kalan returned home, it was obvious Pete had made the choice to pretend to be in a far better mood than he actually was. He went through Kalan’s backpack, looking over his work from school, and when the younger boys woke up and wanted to make a snowman, Pete acted as though there was nothing he would rather do.
Sadie bundled up and went outside with them, trying to think of how to tell Pete she’d overheard part of the phone call, but he seemed to be having such a good time that she hesitated ruining it. She stood on the covered porch, amused with their amusement for a little while but wanting to spare her hair from the snow. Five cold minutes was all she could stand. Once her nose started tingling, she was ready to go inside.
Sadie pushed her hands deeper into her pockets. “Well, you guys keep working on your leaf-grass-snowman. I’m going to make dinner and get some cocoa ready for when you come to your senses.”
Pete nodded but he was intent on proving a snowman was possible even with less than an inch of snow. She shook her head and hurried up the back steps, glad to have an excuse to go inside.
She shut the door behind her and rubbed her hands together to warm them up on her way toward the pantry. She pulled out the hot cocoa mix she’d put together a few days earlier; Heather had wanted to know how to make hot cocoa from scratch, and Sadie was more than happy to give a demonstration.
Within a few minutes, five plastic cups were waiting with just the right amount of cocoa powder in the bottom. She filled Heather’s cute little red teapot and put it on the stove; it was much more romantic boiling water on the stove than in the microwave. When the boys came in, she could turn on the burner and have hot water by the time they got their snow gear off.
Despite being busy and focusing on details, Sadie was still anxious. She tried to take comfort in the fact that they had done all the right things. The police were involved, and everything was silent across the street. There was every reason to believe this was over and done. But why was Pete worried about the Boston PD looking at his file? And was it realistic to think Mrs. Wapple would leave them alone now?
The dough for the cinnamon twists had finished its first rise, and it took only ten minutes for Sadie to roll out the dough and top it with the butter and spice mixture. She used a pizza cutter to cut the rectangle into four horizontal strips and then cut the horizontal strips into one-inch sections vertically. Before placing the strips on the cookie sheet, she twisted each one into a little bow tie. She’d halved the recipe so it fit perfectly onto one pan. It helped that she had made the recipe so many times that it was easy; the first few times she had made them, she’d wondered if they were worthy of her Little Black Recipe Book. All it had taken was practice, though, and now they seemed downright simple to do.
She covered the pan with a dish towel to let the dough rise for a few more minutes and was washing her hands when the home phone rang. Sadie looked at it on the wall with annoyance as she held up her freshly washed arms like a doctor waiting for sterile gloves. Her annoyance quickly turned to trepidation, however, when she realized it could be the police. It could also be Jared or Heather, and Sadie didn’t feel up to talking to them right now. She hated it when people were mad at her. If only Pete weren’t outside.
It rang for the second time, and Sadie hurried to answer it, all her internal arguments moot. It was simply irresponsible to ignore a ringing phone—it might be important—and she could wash her hands again when she finished.
“Hello?” Sadie said into the phone, wiping her left hand on the front of her pants before realizing what she was doing and reaching for a dish towel. The kitchen was small enough that she could re
ach every corner with the phone still against her ear.
Silence.
“Hello?” she said again.
A garbled voice said something—two words Sadie couldn’t understand but that caused a shiver to run across her shoulder blades. The voice was familiar.
“Excuse me?” she asked.
The voice spoke again, and this time Sadie thought it said, “Help me.”
Cinnamon Twists
4 cups flour, divided
½ cup sugar
2 teaspoons salt
1 tablespoon instant yeast
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon nutmeg
1¼ cups warm milk
⅓ cup butter, melted
1 egg
Filling
½ cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons cinnamon
½ teaspoon cloves
⅓ cup butter, softened
For the dough, mix 2 cups of flour with the remaining dry ingredients. Stir to combine. Add all liquid ingredients and mix well. Add remaining flour until dough is tacky to the touch, but not sticky. Knead 6 to 8 minutes or until dough is smooth. Grease a bowl and let dough raise, covered, until double (about 40 minutes). For filling, mix together brown sugar and spices. Set aside.
Sprinkle flour on the countertop and roll out dough into a 16x12-inch rectangle. Spread with ⅓ cup soft butter. Sprinkle butter with sugar-spice topping all the way to the edges. Let dough sit for 10 minutes.
Use a pizza cutter to cut dough lengthwise into four 3x16 inch strips. Then cut every inch vertically so that you have sixteen 1x3-inch strips. Lift each strip from the counter and twist 360 degrees before placing it on a greased cookie sheet. (Twists should look like a bow tie with the spice mixture facing up at both ends.) Place twists about ¾-inch apart. Cover shaped dough and let raise until double (about 30 minutes). Bake at 350 degrees for 8 to 10 minutes or until golden brown.
Makes 4 dozen twists.
Optional Icing*
4 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 cups powdered sugar
¼ cup evaporated milk (regular milk works too)
¼ teaspoon vanilla
Mix softened cream cheese until smooth. Add powdered sugar and mix until smooth. Add evaporated milk and vanilla; mix until smooth. Add more milk or powdered sugar until icing is slightly runny.
*Pretty much any leftover frosting could also work as the icing. Simply warm frosting to room temperature and add milk until “dippable.”
Note: Breanna feels the recipe is fussy, but she’ll still eat them J.
Chapter 17
Sadie stood up straight and spun around to get Pete’s attention, but of course he was still outside.
“Help me,” the voice said again, this time clearer.
“Who is this?” Sadie said, her heart rate increasing as a rush of heat overcame her.
“It’s me,” the voice answered.
“Who?”
“Delores.”
Sadie froze. “Delores Wapple?” Mrs. Wapple didn’t have a phone, did she?
“Help me,” the voice said again.
“O-okay,” Sadie said, walking to the living room to look out the front window. The house appeared just as it always did, gray and dismal. The snow was still falling, whitewashing everything. “What do you need help with?”
The line went dead.
“Hello?” Sadie said into the phone. “Mrs. Wapple? Delores? Hello?”
There was no one there. Sadie pulled the phone from her ear and scrolled to see the most recent number on the caller ID. The screen said no data.
She ran to the back door. Pete looked up when the door opened. He must have read the alarm on her face because he stood quickly and took a step toward her. She met him halfway across the yard.
“Mrs. Wapple just called me,” she said as snowflakes landed on her hair. She held out the cordless phone as though that alone was proof. “She said she needed help, and then the line went dead.”
Pete stared at Sadie, then past her shoulder and into the house. The situation was wearing on him, and in that moment Sadie realized how affected he was by all of this and decided she wouldn’t put more on his shoulders; she’d do this one herself. Her decision was encouraged by the fact that he was keeping something from her. She was trying hard not to judge him for that, or overanalyze it, but it showed that they were still two individuals. He was entitled to deal with things his way, and she was entitled to deal with things her way.
“I’m going over there,” she said, turning back to the house.
“What?” He put a hand on her arm. She’d forgotten to grab her coat, and his wet glove made her take a sharp breath.
“She called for help. You stay with the boys, and I’ll be right back, okay?”
Pete shook his head, but she pretended not to notice. She didn’t have time to consider his opinion on this. “I’ll be right back,” she said again before she pushed through the back door and hurried through the house and down the front steps, careful not to slip on the snow-slick pavement.
She grabbed her phone on her way through the house but was crossing the street before she realized she still hadn’t grabbed her coat. No way was she going back inside and opening herself up to discussing this with Pete.
She didn’t even attempt the front door this time, knowing it was sealed, and went straight to the nearly hidden gate. In an instant, her last visit to Delores’s backyard came back, and she relived the heart-stopping panic she’d felt when Delores’s face had suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass. She did not relish encountering anything like that again and questioned why she was here after the break-in that afternoon. But the voice on the phone had asked for help. Sadie simply couldn’t ignore that, so she carefully entered the backyard and made her way to the patio. Snow clung to the grass but had melted over most of the bricks of the patio, making it wet and slippery.
Sadie took a breath and was about to knock on the sliding glass door when she noticed that it wasn’t closed all the way. The edge of the doormat inside the house had come up just enough to prevent the door from sliding the last quarter of an inch. A wave of trepidation raced down Sadie’s spine. It seemed someone had closed the door in a hurry, and yet there were no footprints in the dusting of snow that would indicate a recent exit or entrance to the house—at least not on the grass.
She knocked. “Delores?” she called loudly. It felt strange to call her by her first name, as though they had a basis for that kind of familiarity. After a moment, she called again, “Mrs. Wapple?”
No one answered and Sadie glanced toward the gate. Should she get Pete? Urgency took her forward instead of back, and she slid the door open, smooth and fluid in its tracks. “Delores?” she called again, leaning inside. “Mrs. Wapple? It’s Sadie Hoffmiller. What’s wrong?”
No answer.
All the blinds were closed, as they’d been yesterday, and as she took a step onto the tile, she squinted in an attempt to help her eyes adjust to the dim interior. The sunroom area, if that’s what it was, went back about eight feet. Two tiled steps led up to a small kitchen, with a hallway shooting off to the left. Everything was as cluttered as the sitting area was. She could see part of one doorway down the hall that had a light on—the only light on in the house. A den, perhaps? With her eyes on the lit room, Sadie dodged clutter and followed a thin trail that headed toward the tiled steps.
“Mrs. Wapp—” Her shoe hit something, and when her foot hit the ground, it slid across the floor. She stumbled, catching herself on the back of the wicker settee and sending a pile of magazines and papers that had been balanced there to the floor. Once she righted herself, she looked down at whatever she’d kicked over and gasped at the pool of red oozing liquid quickly overtaking the magazines at her feet.
Blood?
She scrambled backward, realizing her shoes were covered in it, and clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming before she noted the pungent, chemical smell. Her eyes were
adjusting to the darkness, and she could make out an overturned can not far from the puddle and partially concealed by an old tablecloth thrown over an end table.