Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery)

by Nancy J. Parra

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I nodded.

  “I know,” he said as Officer Bright took Tasha’s dress coat from her and helped her into it. “We can take them to Mrs. Dorsky. She likes cookies.”

  “She does?” I tilted my head.

  “Yes, she told me so one time. And she doesn’t have any allergies like we do,” he added.

  “Good idea,” I said. “Why don’t you go into the kitchen and package up the six chocolate chip cookies left over from dinner?”

  “Okay,” he said. “Bye, mommy.” He kissed her cheek and rushed off to the kitchen. The puppy followed at his heels, barking.

  “You have regular cookies in your kitchen?” Tasha asked.

  “Oh, no, they’re gluten-free. But I know he likes to pretend. Besides, Mrs. Dorsky wouldn’t take them if she knew they were gluten-free.”

  “So you let my little boy lie to her?” Tasha put her hands on her hips in mock anger.

  “Certainly. If I lied to her she’d know.” I pushed the front door open. “Go have fun, kids.” I waved my hand toward the porch. “Don’t stay out past curfew and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Good night, Toni,” Officer Bright said as he stepped out.

  “Good night, freak.” Tasha gave me a quick hug. “Don’t let him stay up late. He’ll be hell to deal with tomorrow.”

  “Nine P.M., and we’re both going to be upstairs in our jammies with a good book.”

  “You lead such an exciting life.” Tasha took Calvin’s arm. “Emergency numbers are—”

  “On the fridge. I know. Go. Have fun.” I shooed her off the porch and watched as Calvin opened the door for her and held it as she got into his blue sedan. He closed it and moved around the front of the car while I waved good night.

  I certainly hoped Tasha had fun. She deserved it. No one was as dedicated to their kid as Tasha. Kip had Asperger’s and could be a handful when he was having a bad day. Tasha took it in stride. She kept up a careful routine, rarely straying from a schedule that revolved around Kip’s life. It was good for her to get out of it every now and then.

  Their living with me meant I could watch Kip and help maintain his routine. In return, Tasha and Kip kept me grounded. Without them I wouldn’t know what day it was, and my whole life could easily become all about the bakery. If there was one thing I learned from my dead marriage, it was that nothing, no matter how much you loved it, should ever take up your entire life. Because if you were to lose it, you’d look up and wonder who you were and what the heck you were supposed to do now.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sunday night I was hard at work creating cranberry mince tarts when the door to the bakery jingled. I had had a mirror system installed last month that allowed me to see whoever walked in. It wasn’t much security, but it was enough so that I could grab a baseball bat and get the heck out. Sometimes time was the best defense when faced with a possible threat.

  Not that I needed to worry. This time it was only Sam coming in the bakery door. The man had a bad habit of arriving close to closing time. He swore it was because he was doing a remodel in the area and wanted a late-night snack. But I suspected he worried about my ability to see myself home in one piece. Especially with it growing dark around four P.M. and there having been yet another unsolved murder in Oiltop.

  “I’ll be right out. Help yourself to coffee,” I called. “The pot’s fresh.”

  “Did you make this coffee fresh just for me?” He picked up the pot and raised it into the mirror so I could see the smile on his handsome face.

  “Of course not,” I called. “I made it for the last-minute shoppers.” I finished crimping the piecrust tops on the small tarts and put them in the top oven. Then I washed my hands and wiped them on a hand towel as I went out to greet Sam. “There are some fresh orange cranberry scones. Do you want one?”

  “Sure.” He turned one of the café’s black wrought iron chairs around and sat down on it so that his belt buckle was framed. He wore tight-fitting jeans, black cowboy boots with dust and paint on them, a plaid shirt with a snap front that looked like it would be easy to pop open, and a suede coat with a shearling liner. His cowboy hat sat on the table beside him. His dark hair was pushed to the side and his large square hands cupped the white mug of steaming coffee with great care.

  He was a picture-perfect fall treat and my mouth was dry as toast. I pretended that my knees were not weak and my hands did not tremble as I dished up two scones. There was nothing delicate about my scones. I made them large for the men and added tiny cups of cinnamon butter to the plate.

  I handed him the plate and turned back to get something for myself when he snagged my arm. “What?” I asked.

  “I heard that Tasha was out with Calvin Bright last night.”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Is she happy?”

  I was warmed by his concern. “I think so, yes.”

  “So, she’s over the incident last month and ready to date.”

  “Yes.” My heart skipped a beat and I wondered if I read him wrong. If he was interested in Tasha—after all, she was so pretty . . .

  His thumb caressed my arm. “Are you?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Ready to date again?” This last sentence was filled with smoke and meaning.

  I told myself to take a deep breath. I told myself to count to ten. Think before I act. That’s the drill. In the past, I always acted before I thought, then regretted it. This time I would remember to—

  “Date?”

  His smile was crooked and fast as lightning. “Dinner, maybe a movie, maybe a trip out to the spillway . . .”

  Oh man.

  The bakery door jangled open and a cold wind blew Phyllis inside. Her cheeks and nose were red and her eyes stark against her pale skin. “Toni, come quick, it’s Ruth. She’s hurt.”

  My heart leapt into my throat and I tore out after Aunt Phyllis.

  CHAPTER 24

  “What happened?” I managed to get the words out as I scrambled along beside Phyllis. I know I mentioned that she was fast for an older woman, but she was also spry. I was having trouble keeping up, and I had adrenaline going for me. “Where is she?”

  “She fell.” Phyllis’s expression was grim. “She’s in the town square.”

  “I’ll call 911.” Sam took his phone off his belt. “Where is she? I’ll point the way.”

  “Near the statue of Homer Everett.”

  Phyllis could race-walk a marathoner. She shot out ahead of me. I turned to see Sam dialing his cell phone and wished that I had thought to call.

  “Go,” he said and waved me on.

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I raced down the two blocks to Central Street and then the three blocks to the courthouse and town square. Phyllis, a glimmer of bright blonde hair in the streetlights, and I broke out into a jog.

  There was a stitch in my side, and my heart pounded in my throat. I followed her around the statue to where the crime-scene tape used to be. There was Grandma Ruth sprawled out on the ground, her arms and legs at awkward angles.

  “Grandma!” I rushed to her side and tried to remember basic first aid. Feel for a pulse—or was it check for breathing first? Darn it. I knelt down beside her. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open, her jaw slack. I put my cheek close to her mouth.

  “Is she breathing?”

  “I can’t tell.” I gently placed my fingers on her neck and held my breath. There was a pulse. It was weak but it was there. “She has a pulse.” I glanced at Phyllis and realized that I didn’t have my coat, but Aunt Phyllis had hers. “Give me your coat.”

  She stripped off the heavy suede jacket with the long fringe on the arms and handed it to me. I draped it over Grandma to keep her warm. Then I placed my cheek near her mouth again. “She’s breathing, but barely. What happened?”r />
  “We came back to go over the crime scene again.”

  “In the dark?”

  “We had flashlights like they do on CSI.” Aunt Phyllis rubbed her arms to ward off the chilled wind. Meanwhile I looked for bleeding. Grandma’s right arm was at a terrible angle, clearly broken. Her fingers were swollen and purple. “Ruth thought she saw something on the statue. She climbed up to get a closer look, but the next thing I knew she was falling through the air. I swear it was the longest fall. I couldn’t catch her.” Aunt Phyllis’s eyes teared up. “If I had tried to catch her, one of us would be dead.”

  “How high was she?” I glanced at the statue some five feet away. It stood on a three-foot-tall pedestal. The artist had taken creative liberty with Homer Everett’s height. The statue was at least ten feet tall.

  “I’m not sure. She was reaching behind his left ear when she slipped.” Phyllis’s teeth chattered.

  “The ambulance is on its way,” Sam said and took off his coat and put it over Phyllis’s shoulders. “Here, put this on before you freeze to death.” He knelt down beside me. “How bad is it?”

  “Her arm is broken,” I said, “and her ankle is swollen, so it may be broken, too. She’s breathing and her heart is weak but she isn’t conscious.”

  Sam checked Grandma over as well. There was little we could do but wait for the ambulance. The last thing we wanted was to move her and possibly hurt her worse. He shook her gently. “Ruth, can you hear me? It’s Sam Greenbaum. Ruth?”

  “She’s not answering.” Phyllis’s mouth was a tight line, and there was worry in her eyes.

  I checked Grandma’s hands for circulation and noticed a slick clear substance on them. I rubbed some onto my fingers. “It feels like someone greased her hands.” I looked at Phyllis. “Did you see her put anything on? Vaseline, hand lotion, anything?”

  “No. I handed her the flashlight and her hands were dry.” A tear escaped Phyllis’s lashes. “I remember because I commented that she needed to take some vitamin E. She laughed it off and said she couldn’t type with oiled-up hands.”

  The sound of sirens grew closer. Sam got up. “I’ll flag them down.”

  I heard a faint groan and knelt down by Grandma’s side. “Grandma, can you hear me?” I gently shook her shoulder. The last thing I needed was to make things worse. “Grandma, it’s Toni. You fell. The ambulance is here. Hang on.”

  She made a faint moaning sound.

  “Hang on, Grandma. They’re coming.”

  Two EMTs in blue-and-white uniforms rushed up with a kit in their hands. One was a young woman with short curly hair and blue eyes. Her name tag said NEAL. The other was a young man with dark hair and dark eyes. His nametag said SHERIDAN. I didn’t recognize either of them. “She’s making moaning sounds.” I stood to let them get close. “Her heartbeat is weak. I’m pretty sure her arm is broken, and her left ankle is swollen.”

  “What happened?” the girl asked as she knelt and took Grandma’s vitals.

  “She fell off the statue,” Phyllis said, her teeth chattering.

  “I think someone may have greased it,” I said. “She has silicone-like stuff on her hands.”

  The guy glanced up at me. “Be sure and tell the police so they can get a sample.”

  I nodded and watched as they worked on Grandma, starting an IV, putting on a collar to stabilize her spine while they lifted her onto a stretcher. She moaned once loudly, and I grabbed her good hand. “It’s okay, Grandma. They’re going to take you to the ER.”

  I let go long enough for them to put her in the back of the ambulance. I turned to Phyllis, whose lips were a funny blue. “You should ride with her.”

  “Are you sure?” Her teeth rattled as she said it.

  “I’m sure.” I nodded, and the female EMT helped Phyllis up into the ambulance.

  “Are you okay?” I heard the woman ask Aunt Phyllis. There was a muffled reply, then she added, “Let me check you out to be sure.” Then the ambulance doors were closed.

  Sam put his hand on my shoulder in a comforting way. “She’ll be fine. She’s in good hands.”

  It was then that the tears welled up in my eyes and my throat closed up. I tried to take a deep breath but it came out in a shudder. Sam turned me into him and I rested my forehead on his broad shoulder and worked to collect my thoughts.

  “I have to go to the hospital.” I pulled away.

  “I need to talk to you first.” I turned to find Officer Emry walking toward me. He was so thin he had to hitch up his gun belt. He stopped and thumbed through his notebook. “So, what happened here?”

  “My grandma Ruth slipped off the statue and fell.” I collected my thoughts. “I think the statue was greased or something. There was a slick substance on her hands.”

  “Wait, back up, why was she climbing on the statue? It’s against the city code to climb on Mr. Everett’s likeness. That will be a one-hundred-dollar fine.” He flipped through his book and made a note. “What time did she fall?”

  “I am not going to give you that so you can write her a ticket.” I turned to Sam. “Can you take me to the hospital? I want to be there when she regains consciousness.”

  “Certainly.” Sam put his arm around me. I swear he glared at Officer Emry. If the officer had any sense he’d back off. But then again, it was Officer Emry we were talking about.

  “I’m calling this in as criminal mischief,” he said.

  “Prove it.” I kept walking.

  “She’ll pay the fine or she’ll have to go before a judge.” He raised his voice to ensure we heard him as we walked away.

  “Whatever.” I raised my hand in a dismissive wave.

  Sam was warm against me. Neither one of us had a coat and his truck was a block away when I felt the ice in the air. My teeth started to chatter.

  “Darn it,” I said and nearly bit my tongue. I rubbed my arms and picked up the pace. Sam’s expression was grim. He pulled out his keys and hit a button. The truck started up and the door unlocked. “Show off,” I muttered.

  My words had the right corner of his mouth lifting in a quick grin as he opened the door for me and helped me inside. Once he closed my door I turned up the heat.

  “I called Meghan. She’ll be here in five minutes to close down the bakery.”

  “Oh, crap, the bakery.” I sat back against his seat and closed my eyes. “I still have to make up the dough for tomorrow.”

  “Meghan is good,” he reassured me as he put the truck into gear and headed down the darkened street. “She can handle it.”

  I worried my bottom lip and opened my eyes as we passed the courthouse and the now two police cars parked near the square with their lights flashing. “I’ll call her when we get to the hospital and give her instructions.”

  Sam’s face was grim. “Do you think someone sabotaged that statue?”

  I rubbed my fingers and still felt the slide of something greasy. “Yes, I do. I don’t know if they meant for Grandma to get hurt or if it’s a school prank, but that statue was slicked up.”

  “What was she doing up there, anyway?”

  “I have no idea. Aunt Phyllis said that something about the statue caught Grandma’s attention. I certainly hope it wasn’t the sheen of whatever grease was on there.”

  “Your grandma may be a handful, but she’s smart.” Sam pulled into the hospital’s parking lot. “She wouldn’t have climbed up there if she thought for a moment that there was a slick coating on the statue.”

  “Then what caught her eye?” I wondered out loud. “It was creepy to see her lying there unconscious so close to the spot where Lois died.”

  “Your grandma isn’t dead,” he reassured me.

  “I know, but knowing doesn’t tell me anything. At her age a simple bump on the head or a fall could be the beginning of the end.”

  “Oh, I think she
has at least ten good years in her yet.” He undid his seat belt and hopped out of the truck. I followed suit, meeting him in front of the vehicle.

  “Not if I get my hands on her,” I said. “I swear if she survives this, I’m going to kill her.”

  “Now that’s the spirit.” Sam chuckled.

  I hurried into the building, dialing Meghan’s number on my cell. It rang as I entered the building.

  “Cell phones aren’t allowed inside, dear,” a crusty little man with a smoker’s voice croaked at me. I glanced over to see that he was about five foot two and wore a blue smock over his tan dress pants, white pullover shirt, and stylish black athletic shoes.

  “My grandma, Ruth Nathers, was brought in by ambulance. Can you tell me where she is?” I kept the phone on my ear and listened to it ring as I talked.

  “Ruth?” the old man asked. “Ruth Nathers? What happened? Does Bill know?”

  “She fell, and I haven’t called Bill,” I said as I heard Meghan pick up the phone. I held up my finger, gesturing to hold on a moment. “Hi, Meghan?”

  “Yes, Toni, hi. I’m at the bakery and I have it all locked up. Don’t worry. I’ll clean up and prep for tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.” I felt a tiny brick being lifted from my shoulders. “Make up the donut batter and put it in the fridge to rise overnight.”

  “Will do. Anything else?”

  “That’s it, for now. I’ll keep you updated as I find out more.”

  “Sure thing.” She hung up and I tucked the phone in my apron pocket.

  “Are you Ruth’s granddaughter? The baker?”

  “Yes, can you tell us where to find her?” I asked again. His name tag said ED PRICE. “Please, Ed.”

  “Of course, follow me.” He started down the hallway, his gait as slow as molasses in January. “Ruth brags about you all the time. Smart as they come, she says. So sad, I had no idea Ruth was in the ER. Does Bill know? Because you should call him. I hope she’ll be okay for card night at the senior center. I really like to pit my wits against her in cards. Crafty as a fox, your grandmother is. Sweet lady, too.”