“No, I asked them. But they said the details of the investigation are confidential, or something like that,” Jade replied, re-organizing a refrigerator shelf of chocolate milk bottles and iced teas as she spoke.
“There was also some chick here looking for you,” Byron interjected, carrying a box of fresh milk cartons to the refrigerator.
I looked at him with dread and asked, “Did she leave her name?”
“Yeah, Sara,” he replied casually.
“Why is she stalking me?” I muttered under my breath.
“She wanted to know if you had a chance to look at her résumé,” Byron informed as new theories surfaced in my mind.
Secretly, I questioned whether Sara had really been fired from Amazing Crumbles, or if she was just pretending in order to weasel her way into my bakery. Then, once she collected the inside scoop, she wouldservemy recipes on a silver platter to her employer. But that theory didn’t hold much water considering the fact that Sara had also applied for a job at Gouda & Ready.
Another darker thought wouldn’t leave me alone: could one of my competitors have been involved with Mikaila’s disappearance? It seemed too diabolical a plot for a sweet little cookie shop to execute, but what if one of my competitors had kidnapped Mikaila in an effort to sabotage my business? The scandal of having an employee go missing was enough to emblazon a big, bold Scarlet Letter on the storefront.I could potentially lose dozens of customers over such a scandal. Adding another bullet point to my to-do list, I vowed to pay a visit to Maggie at Amazing Crumbles as well as scope out my other two closest competitors, Emery’s Country Bakery and Just Cookies. I couldn’t leave any stone unturned if I wanted to get a wink of sleep at night.
Glancing over towards the counter, I noticed the plastic bag where I had put Mikaila’s apron. Why wait until the evening to bring it to the police when I could cruise down to the station right now? “Can you guys hold down the fort for a little while? I need to take a ride to the police station and find those detectives.”
“Sure, no problem,” Jade breezed. “They sure ask a lot of questions.”
“Were they questioning you personally?” I asked.
“Yeah, both of us,” Byron replied. “But they just seemed frustrated because we didn’t really have any information.”
“It doesn’t seem like anyone does,” I murmured, heading towards the door. “I’ll try to be back in an hour. Thanks guys!”
***
Announcing myself at the police dispatch desk, I was promptly sent to Detective Mars’ office. He bolted up as soon as I reached the door, as though he had been waiting a thousand years to meet with me. “There you are, Ms. Vonnehaus. Detective Chapman and I were at your shop earlier this morning.”
“I know. Do you have any information about Mikaila?” I asked hopefully, determined not to let pessimism rule me.
“Well, actually…” Detective Mars interrupted himself as he noticed the plastic bag in my hand. “Is there some sort of evidence in there?”
“Could be,” I replied, opening the bag. “This is the apron Mikaila was wearing the last time I saw her.”
“Don’t touch it,” Detective Mars commanded.
I slid the bag across the table while confessing, “I already did touch it, though. When I put it in the bag.”
“Okay, well there’s nothing we can do about that now. Let’s just not contaminate it any further with fingerprints.” Detective Mars set the bag aside, straightening his necktie.
“What were you about to say before?” I asked expectantly.
In a guttural, menacing voice, Detective Mars declared, “That address you gave me is invalid. Mikaila Myers never lived at Fawns Crossing.”
Chapter 6
“No? Then that woman really had never seen her before…” I figured in a whisper scantly loud enough for the investigator to hear.
“What woman?” Detective Mars snapped, jumping on my statement like a grizzly bear on a picnic lunch.
“The woman I spoke to at Fawns Crossing,” I clarified.
“When were you at Fawns Crossing?” The detective gritted.
“This morning. I…”
“You shouldn’t have gone there, Ms. Vonnehaus. For one, it can be perilous for a citizen to put herself in the middle of a criminal investigation. For two, it’s none of your business. This is police work.” Detective Mars, although only a handful of years older than me, bore the stern countenance of a lecturing father.
“I just wanted to help. I really want Mikaila to be found safe.”
“I understand that. But don’t do it again.” He took Mikaila’s résumé out of a folder and presented it to me.
Glancing down at the sheet, I deduced, “So was there a typo in the résumé?” I didn’t want to entertain the other possibility that seemed more likely: that Mikaila had lied about her address. Perhaps she had lied to protect her privacy? If so, then just what---or who---had she been trying to escape by moving from Iowa to Wisconsin? I wondered what kind of skeletons could be in her closet to make her abandon her home state and build such an enigmatic life hundreds of miles away.
“No, there was no typo. She does have an address in Eagle Ridge, but it’s nowhere near Fawns Crossing,” Detective Mars informed as my mystification deepened.
“Then where does she live?”
“All the way on the other side of town. In a trailer park.”
“Oh, well that makes sense then!” I burst out, relieved to be able to make sense of why she would have lied. “She probably didn’t think I would hire her if she listed a trailer park address on her résumé. Did you go to the trailer park?”
“There’s nothing to report, and I can’t divulge any further information at this stage of the investigation.”
“So there’s really nothing to report?” I persisted, frustrated that there could be even a tidbit of information withheld from me.
“We have no idea where Mikaila Myers is at this point in time. And we have no idea how she disappeared,” Detective Mars responded frankly, looking directly into my eyes.
“Can you give me the address of her trailer park?” I was relentless.
“No, Ms. Vonnehaus, I cannot give you that information,” the detective refused firmly.
“I don’t mean any disrespect, Detective Mars, but it doesn’t seem like this investigation is going anywhere. I haven’t seen any media coverage on Mikaila’s disappearance. Maybe I need to go to the media myself so that people will be on alert.” As I thought out loud, I realized that my one hindrance in approaching the media was that I didn’t have a photograph of Mikaila. Only a physical description.
“You’re free to go to the media if you’d like, Ms. Vonnehaus. But law enforcement is in the process of entering her name and information into the National Missing Persons Database. Once we do that, we’ll be up to our ears in tips. Leads will be pouring in from all over the country,” he promised as I felt mildly reassured.
“Was there anything else you needed to speak with me about?” I asked optimistically, wanting so much to participate in the investigation. “I mean, you did drop by my bakery earlier. And my employees said you seemed really impatient to talk to me.”
“My purpose in visiting your bakery was really to get a sense of what your workers knew, which isn’t much. I also wanted to see if you were aware that Ms. Myers was using a phony address. But clearly you were not. So, once again, you’re free to go, Ms. Vonnehaus. And please do.” The detective stood up and fixed me with an inhospitable smirk. If he could have gotten away with physically shoving me out the door, I’m sure he would have. Mikaila’s whereabouts might have been a secret, but the detective’s contempt for me was not.
“Have a good day,” I mumbled, hurrying out of the station.
Traffic was light, and I sailed back to the bakery with plenty of time to spare before opening for the day. Getting an idea, I parked my car and stuck my head through the front door. “Hey you two, do you think you could handle opening withou
t me today? I have a couple more errands to run.”
“No problem, Cathleen!” Jade and Byron answered in unison as I slipped back into my car and prepared to pay a visit to my competitors.
***
Just Cookies, having opened less than 6 months ago and struggling to bring in customers, was my lightest competition if it could be considered competition at all. So I bypassed the newbie sweet shop and dropped by Emery’s Country Bakery instead. Selling everything from candies to crullers, Emery’s Country Bakery was like the Walmart of baked goods. Charming bells rang over my head as I strolled into the mega 5,000 square foot space. An assembly line of workers rapidly took orders and rushed customers towards the front of the line.
My only concern was the cookies. I didn’t desire to try their pie of the day, Black Cherry Orchard, or nibble on their crummy free samples of blondies and brownies. Nor did I want to sink my teeth into their giant Whoopie Pie that was about the size of the rings of Saturn. Instead, I made a beeline for the cookie counter and selected a soft baked chocolate chip cookie along with an oatmeal raisin crispie. I raised my eyebrows when the cashier announced that my total would be $6. Outrageous! Selling cookies for 3 bucks apiece was criminal. Speaking of criminal, I peered around to see if anyone looked suspicious. But everyone just looked busy and stressed. I couldn’t discount the employees of Emery’s Country Bakery, but I couldn’t pinpoint a suspect from such a cursory perusal either.
Discreetly taking my paper bag of obscenely priced cookies into the parking lot, I slinked back into my car for a taste test. The chocolate chip cookie was warm and gooey. It pulled apart at the center just the way it was supposed to. I took a bite, expecting to experience some sort of cookie nirvana. But all I tasted was blandness, as though the cookie had been prepared from a powdered mix or premade dough in the freezer section of the supermarket. I couldn’t eliminate the bakery employees in Mikaila’s disappearance, but I could certainly scratch them off my list of competition.
Heading over to Amazing Crumbles, I tingled at the thought of running into Chad. Even though I had just seen him barely an hour ago, I was frankly infatuated and craving a glimpse of him like I used to crave cake batter from an egg beater. Deciding not to leave an encounter to chance, I swung by Gouda & Ready before making the rounds to Amazing Crumbles.
The shop was dark and locked, clearly not open for business yet. What was I thinking? It was still mid morning. Of course his lunch and dinner specialty shop wouldn’t be open yet. I had to admit to myself that I had been pathetically eager to see the man.
Crossing the street, I walked through the doors of Amazing Crumbles, startled to see Chad having an intimate conversation with the owner. Maggie Dillpond had opened up her bakery the same year I had launched Cathleen’s Cookie Castle. Since then, she had tried to outdo me at every turn. Now here she was chatting up a man I was dating. Grinding my teeth, I walked straight over to Chad and Maggie, not caring if I interrupted their conversation.
I felt like a pot of boiling water as Maggie leaned in closer to Chad and giggled stupidly. Her hair was the color of burnt cinnamon. Or at least the bottom part of it was. Her mousy roots would be conspicuous from the North Pole. I looked at her disdainfully as she puffed out her ample cleavage and touched a hand to her magenta stained lips.
Finally taking notice of me, Chad said with surprise, “Good morning again!”
“Good morning,” I said stiffly as Maggie glanced at me like I was a speck of lint.
“Cathleen, what are you doing here? Come to steal some ideas for your little castle?” Maggie bubbled with mocking laughter as I fought to keep my composure.
“Not at all. I actually wanted to talk to you.” Impatience rushed through me as I pondered what Chad was doing on Maggie’s turf. If they were friends---or more---then why hadn’t he told me? I sighed, knowing my expectations of the man were way too high. We had only been on one date, and he wasn’t obligated to tell me if he was seeing other women.
“What did you want to talk about?” Maggie narrowed her big brown doe eyes at me and placed a hand on her hip.
Politely, Chad interjected, “If you ladies have some business to discuss, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll have the cheese shipment over to you later today, Maggie.”
“Cheese shipment?” I echoed.
“I get all my dairy ingredients from Gouda & Ready. Better to buy local,” Maggie cooed as I wanted to sing with joy that the apparent relationship between them was simply vendor-customer. “You should try some of my new recipes,” she said tauntingly. “I mean taste, not try to make them yourself.”
“New recipes? Good for you. I like to stick with the time-tested classics,” I retorted.
“Then you’re missing out on a whole segment of trendy consumers. My Red Wine & Brie cookies are to die for, aren’t they Chad?”
Awkwardly, Chad replied, “They’re very good,” as I scalded with unreasonable envy.
Red Wine and Brie? Seriously? How pretentious. “They sound delicious,” I lied.
“They’re nothing compared to my new African Coffee Bean cookies,” she bragged.
I wanted to dare her to show me the Imported From Kenya label that surely didn’t exist. The charlatan probably got the coffee beans from the grocery store at the strip mall. “You’re getting quite creative, Maggie,” I complimented. “But what happened to buying local? You just said a second ago that…”
“Better to buy local for the basics,” Maggie tersely cut me off. “But the luxury ingredients like coffee beans have to be top notch.”
Increasingly uncomfortable, Chad announced, “I have some work to do at the cheese shop before opening this afternoon. Thanks for the order, Maggie. I’ll catch up with you later, Cathleen.” He favored me with an intimate stare as he bustled out of the shop.
“Catch up with you later? Are you dating Mr. Cheese Man?” Maggie asked scornfully.
“Yes, actually I am,” I replied with rich pleasure.
“And did you tell Mr. Cheese Man how you laminated your granny’s old recipes and locked them in a safe?” She asked haughtily.
“What did you say? How did you know about that?” My jaw tightened with suspicion.
“From that ridiculous article the Bluebird Landing Gazette ran on your store a few years back.”
The muscles in my jaw relaxed slightly as I recalled the newspaper interview I had done for the 5 year anniversary of Cathleen’s Cookie Castle. Perhaps I had revealed a little too much in that article, but the interviewer had been a smooth journalist who effortlessly drew information out of me. I didn’t appreciate Maggie throwing the comments in my face; the fact that she remembered them at all raised a red flag in my eyes.
As I became lost in my thoughts, Maggie tapped her foot impatiently on the linoleum floor. “Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about, Cathleen?” Her tone was like sour milk.
“I’ll just cut right to the chase. Do you know anything about what happened to Mikaila Myers?”
“Who?” Maggie’s eyes glazed over vacantly. Either she was a Shakespeare-worthy actress or she hadn’t the faintest idea what I was talking about.
“My shop assistant, Mikaila, has been missing since Wednesday night, and I thought you might know something about it,” I pushed on despite the fact that her expression was becoming cloudier.
“Why would I know something about what happened to your assistant?” Maggie asked cluelessly. “Did you come here to accuse me of something?”
“I don’t know. What would I be accusing you of?” I set the trap.
“I have no idea, Cathleen. Really, you’re stooping to a new low. You’ve been trying to run me out of town for years and now you accuse me of something evil!”
Small Town Scary (Cozy Mystery Collection) Page 9