“Didn’t he die of a sudden massive heart attack in the Chamber of Commerce parking lot?” I continued to pull off tissue paper flowers.
“Right. I suppose there wasn’t time for a deathbed confession.” Todd attacked Grandma Ruth’s throne with a tad too much glee. “I heard he kept detailed journals. If that is true, then he would have felt compelled to write it in his journals.”
“That’s what Grandma Ruth thought. She spent the last two weeks attempting to go through his journals for clues. It was an arduous project. The historical society will only let you go through a few pages at a time—with white gloves. So Grandma Ruth contacted Lois Striker. You see, Lois was Homer’s secretary back in the day. She would know things that might not have been written in the journals.”
“But Lois was killed last week.” Todd stood on the float in a pile of tissue paper flowers and streamers that came up to his knees.
“Exactly.” I shoveled the pile into the new bag I held.
“Wait, you think that someone killed Lois so she wouldn’t tell what she knew about Homer?”
“Yes.”
“Who would do that?”
“That is what we’re trying to figure out.” I glanced over the float. It looked bare and . . . better, much better.
Todd did some magic to Grandma Ruth’s sitting area. It looked good—dare I say, almost professionally designed. For the first time I felt as if the float might actually be a finalist in the parade. That is, if Hutch Everett was fair in his judgment.
Todd jumped off the trailer and walked the circumference. “Maybe whoever killed Champ wanted everyone to think it was Homer. With Lois dead, no one would ever know. It would become a cover-up and people would write conspiracy books on the possibility of what happened without ever knowing the facts.”
“Really? People would write conspiracy books on this? Why would anyone care about an unsolved murder in a small Kansas town?”
“Oh, honey.” He shook his head. “There are true crime mystery fans everywhere. It’s a huge genre. Seriously, don’t you read?”
I drew my eyebrows together. “Who has time to read? I spend as much time as I can on my business, and then there’s my family—”
“And your own investigations.” He waggled one eyebrow at me.
I pursed my lips and gave him the stink eye. “I am not an investigator. I’m a baker.”
“Riiight.” He grinned at me and winked. “Seriously, if you read true crime you might learn a thing or two on how mysteries are solved. That could really help you in your investigations.”
“I am not . . . Oh, never mind.” I turned my attention back to the float. “Wow, it looks fantastic.” I walked the perimeter, amazed at what he had done. “You are good.”
“Thank you.”
“No, seriously, you are really good. You should do this kind of thing for a living.”
“I do, only instead of floats, I edit men, and trust me, honey, they are as bad as, if not worse than, your float.”
I flung my arms around him and gave him a big hug. “Thank you, thank you!” I had a chance of being noticed by the parade committee. If I could make the final three floats I would be able to put a plaque in my store window. That meant that the town would take me seriously and expect even better next year.
That thought made me pause. I held Todd out at arm’s length. “I’m hiring you to help with next year’s float. I’ll pay whatever you ask.”
He laughed. “Don’t say that, sweetie. I cost more than you can imagine. Let’s agree that I will be on your float committee for next year. Okay?”
“Okay.” I gave him a quick hug and then picked up the two giant black trash bags. “Do you have a need for pink tissue paper flowers?”
He gave me a look that was easily interpreted as not only no, but hell no. I laughed and raised the bags up. “You could use the tissue to pack clothes in bags.”
“Honey, no cowboy will come into the men’s store if I start packing their items in hot pink tissue paper.”
“Oh, true.” The door to the 4-H building opened and Hutch Everett and his wife walked into the building. Hutch was a tall, older gentleman with the jowl and belly of a man who sat behind a desk most of his life. He had brown eyes and gray hair that had thinned on top. He solved the thinning by combing it straight back. Not that it was a bad comb-over. It was clear that he had a good stylist who showed him what to do with thinning hair.
He wore the uniform of a professional: black dress pants, a pale blue shirt, and a red tie. Funny how men wore their politics around their necks these days: red ties for staunch Republicans and blue ties for Democrats.
His wife, Aimee, wore a neat little suit in maroon tweed with a crisp white shirt that had a Peter Pan collar. Her champagne-blonde hair was twisted up in a French knot. She held her finger to her nose as if she was afraid to breathe the air. I have no idea why. There wasn’t anyone but Todd and me inside.
One thing I did notice as they came closer was the fact that Hutch’s eyes were puffy and rimmed with red. Then I realized that, if our speculation was correct, Lois was his birth mother, and I remembered how hard it was when my mom had passed away.
I went over to where they stood studying the Elks club float. “Hi, Mr. Everett, Mrs. Everett.” I held out my hand. “I’m Toni Holmes. I own the Baker’s Treat bakery on Main.”
“Yes, I know.” He took my hand and gave me a proper firm shake. Aimee simply sent me a small smile and waved off my hand.
“I take it you’re sponsoring a float this year?” Hutch’s voice was at once quiet yet commanding.
“Yes.” I waved in the direction of my pink-and-white decorations. “I think it’s important to be part of the community.”
“All the monies raised from the parade go to the free clinic in the hospital’s west wing.” His mouth moved into a brief smile. “There are so many underserved children and single moms in the area.”
Perfect. He had led me right into the subject I wanted to talk about. Was he adopted? Was Lois his birth mother? Maybe if I hinted around the subject he’d tell me the truth. “So true. I heard you are head of the parade committee. Something I’ve always wondered—is serving children and single women a passion of yours or your father’s?”
Aimee let out a small sound, her eyes alight with anger for a brief second before her superior expression returned to place. Hutch studied me for a moment and my heart pounded heavily in my chest. Did I overstep my bounds? Will he toss my float out of the running?
“In my youth, adoptions were closed,” he said quietly. “Many people were hurt, and there was a huge stigma involved for young women who were not married but in the family way. I’m glad things have changed. I’m also glad the proceeds of the parade go toward helping those in need, which is the right thing to do no matter what your passion is. That said, I still support the celebration of my father and all he did for the community of Oiltop.”
“Oh, of course, of course, wow—closed adoption. Sure glad that’s changed. It is so important to know your family roots now, what with so many diseases having genetic links.”
“Exactly. I know my genetic links, Ms. Holmes.” He crossed his arms. “As does everyone in this room. It’s a privilege to know your family history, and one of many reasons we promote open adoption.”
The look in his eye was suddenly cold and predatory. I had to work at not taking a step back.
“So, um, speaking of family history—it doesn’t bother you that your father’s journals are available for anyone to read?”
“No, why would it?”
“Every family has its secrets.” I sent him an innocent smile. “I’m not sure I would want my father’s journals on display for the entire town to read. You are a brave and generous man. I’ll be sure and tell my grandmother to put that in the article she’s writing about your father. Do you want me to have
her send you a copy before it’s published?”
“No need. Your grandmother can’t possibly say anything about our family that isn’t already common knowledge. If she can, and if she has proof to back it up, then good for her. Do pass on to her that my lawyer will be reading her article closely.”
“Oh, right.” I tried to smile and made a point of looking at my watch. “Speaking of my grandmother, I have to go. She and my aunt are coming for dinner. It was nice to meet you both.”
“Have a good evening, Ms. Holmes.”
“Come down to the bakery sometime,” I offered. “We have the best coffee in town, and the baked goods are tasty.”
“We’ll do that,” he said with an implied not.
I picked up my trash and bustled off, my hands full of bags. Todd waited for me by the door. He pushed the glass open and let me through first.
As soon as the doors closed behind us, Todd spoke up. “What did you say to them? They did not look happy.”
“I asked him if single mothers were a passion of his.”
Todd opened the back of my white paneled van for me. “That certainly took guts. What did he say?”
I tossed the bags into the back and closed the doors. The beep from my key chain told the world that the doors had been unlocked. Todd walked me to my van door. “He said his passion came from the closed adoptions of his age, and that knowing your genetics is a privilege. Although with my family, I’m not so sure that’s true.”
“So he didn’t mention that he knew he was adopted?”
“Oh, he knew he was adopted, all right.” I climbed into the driver’s seat.
“But did he come out and confirm your suspicions?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
I started up the van and glanced around to see if anyone but Todd was there. The parking lot was empty except for my van, Todd’s Lexus, and a Bentley that I had to assume belonged to Hutch Everett. “But his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. I’ve seen that look before, and it doesn’t come from alcohol. It comes from grief.”
“Then common knowledge or not . . .”
“Lois Striker has to be Hutch Everett’s birth mother. Or at the very least a surrogate. No one grieves like that unless someone close to them dies, and if Lois were simply Homer’s secretary, there would be no need for tears.”
CHAPTER 22
“You tried to get Hutch Everett to admit he wasn’t Susan Everett’s son?” Tasha stopped brushing her hair and stared at me. “What were you thinking?”
I fell back on her quilt-covered bed and stared at the sloped ceiling of my family home. “I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I guess I was thinking that he might help me solve this mystery so that Grandma Ruth would stop getting arrested and I can sleep at night.” I rolled onto my stomach and looked at Tasha. “I can’t grow my business if I’m constantly trying to keep her out of jail.”
Tasha sat at a white-painted antique vanity. Her makeup and perfume were neatly arranged in silver containers. The bedroom was part of the suite built in what used to be the attic of the homestead. When she moved in with me, she’d decorated it with a wrought iron bed, colorful rag rugs, and white linen curtains. There was little room for a closet, so she had put shelves and a clothing rack in the space under the eaves.
“You think someone is going to tell you something so personal when they first meet you? That’s crazy, and a bit rude.” She turned back and continued getting ready. Tasha had her first formal date with Officer Bright. Calvin, she told me, call him Calvin. It was difficult. He would always be Officer Bright to me.
I wasn’t at all sure it was good to see her dating again. Unlike me, Tasha was a woman on a mission in search of a good man. The last man she’d dated had tried to kill us both. I think that’s why she was attracted to Officer—Calvin. His occupation alone made her feel safe, and she deserved that. We all deserve to feel there is someone between us and the harsh world.
“What?”
“I’m glad you decided to see Off—I mean, Calvin. He seems like a nice guy.”
“Yes, so did the last two men I dated,” Tasha said. “At this point in my life I have to assume the worst of every man I date.”
I drew my eyebrows into a V. “Then why date?”
She shrugged and turned to the mirror to apply her lipstick. “I am a romantic. I still believe that there is someone out there for me. Someone who will love me and Kip. Someone who will take care of me while I take care of everyone else.”
I closed my eyes with a sigh. “You’re better than me, because I don’t believe anymore.”
“What about Brad? He seems pretty reliable. I mean, he always comes when you call and has gotten you and your family out of some tight situations.”
“He’s my lawyer. He bills me two hundred dollars an hour. At that price, I’d come when someone called, too.”
“Then there’s Sam. He takes care of his elderly mother. He watches out for Meghan, and he’s not even related to her. Isn’t he her father’s best friend?”
Images of both well-dressed, wealthy Brad and rugged handyman/cowboy Sam filled my head. I popped my eyes open to banish them. “Do I want a man that involved with his family? Or his friend’s family? I mean, won’t they always come first? I can’t imagine what would happen if I needed something at the same time they did—or worse, I needed something they didn’t support.”
“You are a negative one, aren’t you?” She stood and eyed her outfit in the vanity mirror.
“I’ve been trained by the best,” I said and got up. “You look lovely. Very date-night.” She did. Tasha had on a soft pink wrap dress made of jersey that hugged her curves in all the right places. She wore three-inch pumps that showed off her slender legs. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders.
“Are you going to be okay watching Kip tonight?” she asked.
“Sure, he’ll spend all night with the puppy anyway.” The “puppy” seemed to double in size every day. No one had reported a missing pet. If the dog remained unclaimed by Friday, he would be taken to the vet for shots and Aubrey would officially become part of the clan.
“It is probably foolish to start dating around the holidays,” Tasha mused. “You have all those awkward family get-togethers, and then Christmas presents. Maybe I should cancel.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” I turned her toward her bedroom door. “You said yes. You go. Have a good time. You have my cell number on your phone. Feel free to call me anytime.”
“I will,” she said as I pushed her out the door and into the small sitting room between the two bedrooms. My father had turned the attic into a living suite, thinking that my grandmother could live upstairs when the time came for her to let go of her home. He’d built the two rooms with a sitting area that included a small kitchenette and a full bath.
But Grandma had had her own ideas and instead had moved lock, stock, and barrel into the senior assisted-living apartments in town. “Don’t want to be in any grown person’s way,” she’d said.
Then Dad had died and Mom had gotten cancer. Now I lived in the big old family home. It was nice to have Tasha and Kip living in the suite. That way, when family stopped by, I only had the three third-floor bedrooms. The two bedrooms on the second floor were really the giant master bedroom with en suite bath and the smaller ten-by-ten-foot study. It had been a nursery when I was a child, but with only me in the master suite, a study made more sense. I’d ripped off the nursery-rhyme paper and painted it a soft cream with gold trim. I had created a window seat that ran the entire length of the turreted windows. Then I added books and games.
It made for a nice place to sit on a rainy day and look out and dream.
Tonight I had set up a game of chess. Kip liked routine. Tasha usually worked on Friday and Saturday night. When she did, I would watch Kip for her. We would have dinner and do the dishes,
and then it would be bath time. The incentive for Kip to get clean was that once he passed inspection we would go into the study and play board games of his choosing until the cuckoo clock went cuckoo and the little dancers came out and danced. Kip was fascinated by the clock, as I was at his age. It had been in the family ever since my great-uncle had brought it home from his time in Germany during World War Two.
I followed Tasha down the staircase and into the foyer. The doorbell rang and I rushed ahead of her to open it. Officer Bright stood there. He was dressed in dark-wash jeans, polished cowboy boots, a white polo shirt, and a brown tweed jacket. His blonde hair was combed across his forehead.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, is Tasha ready?” He stood there with his hat in hand and looked as uncomfortable as a sixteen-year-old on his first date.
“Sure, come on in.” I waved him in. Kip came running down the stairs, the puppy following on his heels until they were a blur of arms and legs. Both boy and dog attacked Tasha at the same time.
“Mommy, are you leaving already?”
Ba-roo, ba-roo. The puppy jumped onto her dress. She reached down and roughed up the dog’s head and leaned over to kiss Kip. “Yes, I’m going to have dinner with Officer Bright. We’re going to a movie after and will be home late. So you take good care of Aubrey and Auntie Toni, okay?”
“Okay,” Kip said solemnly.
“Come on.” I held out my hand to the boy. “I need you to rescue me from some cookies in the kitchen.”
“You do?” He veed his eyebrows. “Why? Cookies can’t do anything to you.”
“Yes, they can.” I was as solemn as he was. “I’m allergic to gluten, you know. So if I eat too much, I could get very sick and possibly die.”
“So could I,” Kip reminded me.
“What then should we do with those cookies?” I asked him.
He cupped his elbow and drummed his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can feed them to Aubrey.”
“They have chocolate chips in them,” I pointed out. “Dogs should not eat chocolate. It can make them very sick.”
Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery) Page 17