by Kate Bell
“Have you seen or heard anything unusual?” Alec said louder. He glanced at me. The dog was going to give himself a stroke if he kept that frenzied barking up.
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” the man said, shaking his head slowly.
“Can we come in?” Alec asked.
“Eh?” the man said. “I can’t hear you.”
Alec sighed. “Can we come in and speak to you for a moment?” he shouted each word slowly, trying to be heard above the barking.
The man’s eyes got big. I didn’t think he was accustomed to having company.
“I-I can’t,” he said, pulling the door closed behind him.
“Can you make the dog stop barking?” I shouted.
“What?” he asked me.
“Can you make the dog stop barking?” I shouted louder. The dog must have understood English because he started growling in between the barks now. I didn’t think the dog could be very big, but the anger in his voice made up for his lack of size.
“Oh!” he said. “Yes, I suppose I can.”
He stepped out on the landing and Alec and I took two steps back. Then the man turned toward the fence and with a voice I would have sworn he couldn’t possibly possess, screamed, “Shut up, Frito!”
Alec and I looked at each other wide-eyed. Frito immediately shut up.
“There. Sorry about that,” the man said. He stepped back into the doorway, pushing the door open a crack, but still keeping it closed as much as he could. “Now what was it you wanted?”
“Did you hear or see anything unusual in the neighborhood in the past day or so?” Alec asked calmly.
The man shook his head. “No. Nothing at all.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t think we got your name,” I said.
“Phil Jones,” he said quietly. “I’m not in any trouble, am I?”
“What?” Alec asked surprised. “No. Of course not. We’re simply trying to figure out what happened.”
“Who is it that died?” Phil asked.
“We haven’t identified the body yet,” Alec said. “We just needed to know if you heard anything last night or this morning?”
“No. Nothing. I was in bed sound asleep until about twenty minutes ago. How did he die?” Phil asked, glancing in the direction of the gray car.
“We’re not sure yet,” Alec said. “We need to wait on the coroner for that information.”
“Oh, I see,” Phil said. “So, you’re with the police department?”
“Yes, let me give you my card,” Alec said, pulling a card out of his wallet. I was sure it was an old business card that still said he was a police detective. The detective part wasn’t true anymore, but since Sam Bailey had asked Alec to work on the case, it was close enough.
“Say, can you do something about my neighbor while you’re here?” Phil asked, looking over the card.
“Oh? What’s the problem with your neighbor?” Alec asked.
He glanced over in Jenna’s direction. “She’s so noisy. Always has the radio on loud. And sometimes it’s the TV. She leaves her door and windows open and I can hardly hear myself think, it gets so loud.”
“Well,” Alec said. “You know, it’s best to give the police department a call while she’s actually playing the radio or TV loudly. That way they can catch her in the act and ask her to turn it down.”
I forced myself not to look at Alec. I could tell by his tone that he was smiling and if I looked at him, I would lose it. Frito’s bark would more than drown out any television or radio, no matter how loud they were played.
“Oh, okay,” Phil said quietly, nodding his head.
We said our good byes and headed to the neighbor’s house on the other side of Phil.
“How can he hear anything over that barking?” I whispered. “And do you really think she’s got her windows and doors open during the winter?”
Alec laughed and shook his head. These two were going to be a treat to deal with.
--5--
We headed over to Henry’s after speaking to Jenna Maples and Phil Jones. The other neighbors on the block weren’t home, and there wasn’t much else we could do with the investigation until the dead man’s wife had been notified.
I wanted to check in on the pies, cakes, and scones I had dropped off earlier. I kept telling myself it wasn’t necessary, but nearly every afternoon, I found myself swinging by the restaurant. It was becoming an obsession.
Cherry pie was a specialty of mine and I was sure they would all be gone from the lunch time rush. It was almost 4:30 by the time Spencer Cranston’s body had been removed from the crime scene and I wondered if I should have had Alec drop me off at home earlier so I could bake another pie or two for the restaurant dinner service. Oh well, I thought, there were the lemon pound cakes and orange scones to keep the customers happy if the pies had all sold out.
“I bet Spencer Cranston’s wife never imagined this thing was going to turn out like this,” I said to Alec as we pulled into Henry’s parking lot. “She thought she had a philanderer on her hands and now she has a dead husband.”
“I’m sure it will be a shock,” he said, shutting the engine off. “It is odd that the woman his wife thought he was having an affair with didn’t seem to recognize his car. I’ll have to talk to Meg Cranston, soon.”
“We,” I said, turning to him.
“What?” he asked.
“We. We will have to talk to her soon.”
He sighed. “Sam Bailey is dead set against you helping me with this, or any, investigation,” he reminded me. “I’ll see what I can do, though.”
“You don’t work for Sam Bailey anymore. You are an independent contractor. You decide who works with you,” I pointed out. I was not going to allow Sam Bailey to dictate how Alec ran his business.
He turned toward me. “If I want to be paid, the customer does have some say in things. Especially since it’s the police department. And it’s not like I can afford to make Sam mad. They don’t have a detective on staff and he could become a steady source of income for me.”
I bit my lip for a second, feeling heat rising up on the inside. “Why did you leave the police department if you’re still bound by what Sam Bailey says? I thought you wanted to be free of him? Just tell him this is how it’s going to be. It’s not like there’s another PI in town. And even if there was, they wouldn’t have the experience you have.”
“I know. Like I said earlier,” he said, giving me a big smile. “We’ll play it by ear. He’s right in that I don’t want to put you in harm’s way. You never know what might happen when you’re tangling with a murderer. But maybe we can make some compromises along the way.”
“You’re just trying to appease me, right?” I asked.
He nodded. “That’s exactly right.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Alec,” I whined.
“I don’t know why you’re so set on hanging out with me. You have all this baking to do and a blog to run. Which, by the way, I’ve noticed only has one entry. What’s up with that?” he asked and opened his door and got out of the car.
I opened my door, released my seatbelt and got out. “Don’t change the subject. I know I’m behind on blogging. And I suppose I don’t have to follow you absolutely everywhere, but I do want to go with you some of the time.”
“Okay, you can come with me some of the time,” he said and came around to my side of the car and took my hand. “Right now I’m tagging along with you to see how those pies are doing. I think I might need a late afternoon snack to hold me over until dinner, anyway.”
The restaurant was deserted when we walked through the door. I stopped short. It was early for most people to be eating dinner, but there were usually some of the senior citizens taking advantage of the early dinner discount, or someone having coffee and a sweet snack. It was surprising that the restaurant was completely empty.
My eyes went to the dessert case and my heart skipped a beat. It was still nearly full. Cynthia entered the di
ning room from the hallway and gave me a small smile.
“What happened?” I asked as I walked up to the dessert case. I opened the door. Only one and a half cherry pies had been sold, and about a third of a lemon pound cake. The orange scones looked sad with their thin powdered sugar icing, sitting in the corner, untouched.
Cynthia sighed. “You got me. This is the slowest day we’ve had. Like, ever. I’m surprised we sold as much as we did, if you want to know the truth.”
“Seriously?” I asked, looking at her wide-eyed. “Was the lemon pound cake dry? Because I really have to watch those when they’re baking. They go from undercooked to dried out in like, two minutes. But I swear I watched them carefully.”
“No. I had a piece, myself. The lemon flavor is perfect and they are as moist as pound cake gets. I really think you have a winner with that recipe. But like I said, we’ve been so slow today. Makes me wonder if there’s something going on in town that I wasn’t aware of. Like some kind of all day event that everyone felt they had to attend.”
I shook my head slowly and looked back at my desserts. “Nothing I’m aware of. You know, I’ve kind of felt like things haven’t taken off like I thought they would. Do you think people just don’t like my baking?” I couldn’t imagine that to be true. There was one thing I was confident of, and that was my baking abilities.
“To be honest with you, things have been slow all month. I hope things pick up or I’m going to have to really take a close look at expenses and see where I can cut back. And you know what that means,” she said sadly.
I looked at her. “Letting people go? Is it that bad?”
She shrugged. “I’d hate to do it, but if I get into a financial hole, I’ll lose the restaurant. I can’t lose the restaurant. Henry would have been devastated if he was still alive and I just can’t let that happen.”
“I bet it’s just a slow spell is all,” Alec chimed in. “I’m sure all businesses go through this from time to time. Winter is dragging on and people are tired of going out into the cold.”
“I hope so,” Cynthia said, brightening. “I’m sure you’re right. There’s no need to panic just yet. Is there something I can do for you two?”
“No, I just wanted to stop by and see how things were going,” I said. “I guess I know now.”
Cynthia smiled at me. “Like Alec said, it will get better.”
“Say, Cynthia, did you hear about that new French restaurant that opened up last month? Le Chemise?” I asked.
She frowned and nodded. “I heard it’s good.”
“It is,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty. Alec and I had eaten dinner there several weeks earlier and we were amazed at how good the food was. Especially the authentic French desserts. And that had me worried.
“Oh?” she asked surprised. “You’ve been there?”
I glanced at Alec, then nodded. “We had dinner there a few weeks ago.”
“It was as good as they say?” she asked, frown lines creasing her brow.
“Very. Right, Alec?” I asked, looking at him.
Reluctantly, Alec nodded. “But they are very high end gourmet. I don’t think most people around here could afford to eat there on a weekly basis. I’m sure people are just trying it out. It’s always exciting when something new opens up, and as soon as the novelty wears off, they’ll be back.”
“Well, I can see that happening. Most folks in Sandy Harbor are working class folks. They like good home-style cooking, not fancy schmancy food. Right?” she asked, looking from Alec to me.
“That’s exactly right,” I said, nodding. “People love Henry’s. They’ll be back.”
“And besides. It’s not like that fancy restaurant has Allie McSwain’s desserts to draw them in. Right?” she said, looking hopeful.
I swallowed hard. That was the thing I had been worried about ever since we had eaten there. They had authentic French pastries and desserts. And they were good. Really good. I had a reputation in this town for making decadent, Southern style desserts, complete with real butter, cream, and sugar. I never took short cuts or used artificial or cheap ingredients. But maybe my desserts were too plain. Boring, even.
“What?” she asked when we didn’t comment.
“No, they do not have Allie McSwain’s desserts. And Allie has a reputation around here for her desserts,” Alec said. “They’ll be back.”
Cynthia looked at me. I guess I still looked worried because Alec’s words didn’t seem to comfort her.
“Allie?” she said.
I sighed. “They have the best French desserts I’ve ever tasted.”
She stared at me. “Seriously?” she finally asked.
I nodded. “But like Alec said. People around here aren’t going to be able to eat there on a regular basis. They were very expensive.”
She looked from me to Alec and back again. “Let’s hope that holds true.”
She had no idea how hard I was hoping.
--6--
I was debating with myself over my dessert choices for the restaurant on the way over to Meg Cranston’s house. Had I gone wrong somehow? Maybe I needed to stick with a couple of desserts for an entire week. Maybe switching what I was making every day was confusing to people. If I committed to one cake and one pie and made them every day for a week, people would know what to expect. The regulars could try one of each on each visit.
We pulled up to Meg Cranston’s house and Alec parked out front. The house was cute. It was painted a light gray with black trim around the windows and white wooden shutters. The neighborhood was quiet and the blinds drawn on the Cranston home. I didn’t know anything about the Cranston’s and I wondered if there were children. Spencer Cranston was in his mid-forties and the possibility of children at home was pretty good.
“Ready?” Alec asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
I nodded, and opened the door and got out. The weather had grown colder overnight and the sidewalk was icy. My boot slipped a little and I put my hands out to steady myself. “Wow,” I said.
“You okay?” Alec asked, arriving at my side.
“Yup, just a little slippery,” I answered. “So do you know anything new about the Cranston’s?”
“Not really. Stuart South spoke with Meg Cranston yesterday afternoon, and asked her to identify the body. She seemed shocked but didn’t have much to offer as far as who might have killed her husband. She did say it was Jenna Maples that her husband was having an affair with, but admitted she didn’t have a lot of definite proof there really was an affair,” he said in a lowered tone, steadying me as we headed up the walkway to the front door. I looked up in time to see the window shades move aside a little, then fall back.
“Someone’s watching,” I whispered.
Alec knocked on the door and we waited. After a couple of minutes, he looked at me, and then knocked on the door again.
The door swung open and a woman that looked younger than I expected, stood in front of us. She had dark red hair in a pixie cut and her green eyes looked red and tired.
“Meg Cranston?” Alec asked.
She nodded and looked from Alec to me, and back.
Alec introduced us and she gave him a tight-lipped smile. “It’s good to meet you,” she said.
“May we come in?” Alec asked when she didn’t immediately ask us in.
“Of course, I’m sorry,” she said and led us into the living room. “Officer South said you would be by. Can I get you tea or coffee?” she asked.
“Tea,” I said before Alec could say “no thank you.” I wanted time to check things out.
“Have a seat and I’ll be right back,” she said, and left us alone.
“We don’t need tea,” Alec hissed.
“I’m thirsty,” I whispered. I sat next to Alec on the sofa and took in every detail of the living room.
The living room was done in a modern style with tailored chocolate brown sofas and beige walls. The furniture had clean lines and appeared to be perfectly placed in the livi
ng room to bring out the best balance. I wished my living room looked as put together as Meg’s did.
“Lovely décor,” I whispered. There was a lack of family photos in the room and I wondered about it. The room was almost too neat and tidy, almost like no one lived in it.
“Sure,” he replied absently and pulled out his pen and notebook.
Meg reappeared much faster than I had expected, carrying a floral patterned tray set up with a tea service.
“Here we are,” Meg said quietly. She set the tray down on the coffee table and I picked up a teacup.
“Thank you so much,” I said. “We wanted to express our condolences on the loss of your husband.”
“Thank you,” she murmured and looked away. She sat on the loveseat across from Alec and I without helping herself to any tea.
“Mrs. Cranston, I know we spoke briefly on the phone when you hired me to follow your husband, but I’m afraid we didn’t get into very much detail. You said you thought he was having an affair with Jenna Maples, but you didn’t elaborate. Can you tell me what you know?” Alec asked, sitting back on the sofa.
She looked at Alec. “I don’t know much more than I already told you. He wasn’t coming home from work on time. I heard him talking to someone on the phone. More than once. When I asked him about it, he didn’t want to talk about it. He just clammed up. Of course I was suspicious. Who wouldn’t be?”
“I see,” Alec said, making notes in his notebook.
“How did you know who it was?” I asked, stirring my tea.
She looked at me and narrowed her eyes. Yikes. It looked like I had hit a nerve.
“I found a file on Spencer’s computer. It had a picture of her and her address,” she said. Her eyes welled up with tears. “She was young and she looked like a model. I guess he was done with me.”
“May I see that file?” Alec asked.
“Sure,” she said and got up and headed out of the room.
“Did I make her angry?” I whispered to Alec. “She gave me a look.”