Cinnamon Toasted

by Gail Oust

  “Want me to come along for moral support?”

  “Don’t you have a report due for World History?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No ‘buts,’ young lady. You need to dig in, get it finished.” Lindsey’s lower lip jutted out, the same way it used to when she didn’t get her way as a toddler, but I stuck to my guns. “If you don’t keep up your grades, you’re off the cheerleading squad. Period.”

  “Fine,” she said, infusing the word with life-and-death drama the way only a teen can.

  My daughter was a pro when it came to procrastination of the written-report variety. I needed to be on her like white on rice. I shuddered to think what would happen to her grades without my nagging once she entered college.

  “You know how busy I am. There’s always new routines to learn. Our coach is constantly after us to practice, practice, practice. I haven’t even been able to get my nails done lately.”

  “What’s all this about not having time for a manicure?” Melly asked as she came downstairs. I was happy to see that she appeared well rested after her nap. Hair, makeup, twinset, and pearls, she looked good to go.

  “Hey, Meemaw.” Lindsey greeted her grandmother with a peck on the cheek. “Mom’s being a slave driver. I offered to go to the police station with you guys, but she’s making me stay home and work on that stupid history report.”

  “It’s sweet of you to offer, dear, but with this place all to yourself, you ought to get that old report done in record time.”

  “I suppose,” Lindsey grumbled, then brightened. “Meemaw, are you coming to the football game tomorrow night?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it, honey. Heavens, it’s been years since I’ve been to a game. I never could tell the difference between a tight end and a split end.”

  I picked up my purse, took out my compact, and inspected my reflection in the mirror. “Lindsey wanted you to keep your eye on number seven.”

  Melly smiled indulgently. “And who might number seven be?”

  “Sean Rogers.” Lindsey fairly beamed. “He’s the quarterback. He’s sooo hot!”

  “‘Hot’? Is that the word you young people use nowadays for ‘attractive’?”

  I snapped the compact shut, dropped it back into my purse. “Sean happens to be Lindsey’s crush of the month.”

  “I think Sean is going to ask me to homecoming.” Lindsey took Casey’s leash from a hook on the wall and snapped it on his collar.

  Melly gave a Lindsey another fond smile. “Then a new dress is in order. I foresee a trip to the mall in your future.”

  I was struck in that moment by how much my daughter resembled her grandmother. They shared the same eye color, had the same oval-shaped face, and fair skin. Melly, I’d heard, had been quite a heartbreaker in her prime. I might have been a trifle prejudiced, but my girl was as pretty as a picture.

  Casey pranced about, his toenails making little clicking sounds on the heart pine floor. Lindsey reached down and petted him. “I want my dress for homecoming to be amazing,” she said.

  I remembered the prom dress fiasco last spring. I’d bought her a lovely pale pink confection at a bridal salon. One suitable for a Disney princess. Instead Lindsey, confident I wouldn’t make a scene, showed up at the last minute in a short strapless number Amber had selected. Pageant material, she’d informed me. Pageant, my foot, the skimpy little thing was more suitable for clubbing.

  Lindsey must’ve seen my scowl, because she hastened to assure me. “I won’t get anything you don’t approve of, Mom, but you have to promise you’ll try to be more with-it. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

  I checked my purse to make sure I had my car keys. “Just because I prefer more fabric and less skin doesn’t make me old-fashioned. It makes me a mother.”

  Melly smoothed her already smooth pageboy. “We’d best be on our way, dear. It would be impolite to keep Chief McBride waiting.”

  “Good luck, Meemaw.” Lindsey gave Melly a hug.

  “Thank you, sweetheart. This is just a formality. It’s not as if I’m going to an execution.”

  Lindsey headed off in one direction with Casey trotting alongside. Melly and I started in the other. Although it was only a short distance to the Brandywine Creek Police Department, in view of Melly’s rather harrowing day, I’d elected to drive.

  “CJ phoned to say he’s running late, but he’ll meet us there,” Melly said as she slid into the passenger seat of my kiwi green VW Beetle. “He said we’re to stall McBride until he gets there.”

  “Peachy,” I muttered under my breath. Stalling McBride was like trying to halt the progress of a logging truck barreling down the highway.

  A few minutes later, I pulled into a parking slot reserved for visitors. I was happy to find Precious Blessing and not Dorinda behind the reception desk when we pushed through the double glass doors of the police department. Not that I have anything against Dorinda, she’s nice enough and all, but Precious is the sort who almost always wears a smile. I’d often thought her disposition would be better suited for a Walmart greeter than as a welcoming committee for miscreants and felons.

  “Hey, y’all.” Precious’s round, dark face beamed with good humor. Her black polo with its BCPD logo strained to contain her plus-size figure.

  “Hey, yourself.” I smiled in return. “Will you let Chief McBride know we’re here?”

  “He’s been waitin’ on you. Right now, he’s on the phone with the GBI. Have a seat. He shouldn’t be long.”

  Melly gingerly lowered herself onto one of the wooden benches that ringed the outer office. I settled next to her and picked up a dog-eared copy of Car and Driver.

  “Either of you care for a nice cup of coffee?” Precious asked. “Or I might could find a couple tea bags somewhere.”

  Melly declined the offer. “Thank you, but no. My stomach’s been in knots ever since finding that poor man in my basement.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Must’ve been a shock.” Precious nodded so vigorously that the colorful beads woven into a dozen or more thin braids clacked together. “Times like this call for a change of subject. You plannin’ on goin’ to the fancy Oktoberfest party the Grangers are throwin’?”

  Melly sniffed. “I am, but Piper hasn’t been invited.”

  “I’m sure it’s an oversight,” I added hastily. “My invitation probably got lost in the mail.”

  “I hear tell it’s gonna be somethin’ else. Bigger even than Becca Dapkin’s funeral. My brother Zeke and his blues band are providin’ the entertainment. Sort of a jazzed-up oompah band.”

  Just then, the buzzer on Precious’s desk sounded. She pressed the intercom button, and we heard McBride order me into his office. As I got to my feet, Precious lowered her voice. “Between you, me, and the fence post, the man’s grumpier than a bear with a sore paw.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I said. Tossing aside the magazine, I started down the hallway leading to his office. I knew the way by heart. It wasn’t this gal’s first rodeo.

  “Remember,” Melly called after me, “stall him till CJ gets here.”

  Sure thing. Piece of cake. How does one stall a bear with a sore paw? The door to McBride’s den—oops, I meant office—was ajar. “Come in,” he growled before I had a chance to knock.

  I found McBride seated behind a scratched and scarred oak desk piled high with file folders. A desktop computer that looked old enough to collect Social Security was turned on, the monitor facing away from me. The walls had been painted pale butterscotch yellow, which was a marked improvement since my last visit. Diplomas and certificates in walnut frames hung next to a large map of Brandywine County.

  “Have a seat.” He indicated the chair across from him. “I had Dorinda type up everything you told me this morning.” He reached into a manila folder, and withdrew a sheet of paper, then slid it across the desk. “Read it over carefully and make any additions or corrections. Precious can retype it and have you sign.”

  “All right.” I did a
s he directed. The statement was brief and to the point but accurate. Unable to find fault with any of the details, I signed my name at the bottom.

  “That’s it?” he said. “You didn’t find anything to quibble over? That’s not like you.”

  “I’ve mended my evil ways.” I slid the form back to him. “Besides, there wasn’t anything to quibble about: Melly called me. I went to her house. Found Chip Balboa, felt for a pulse, then called nine-one-one.”

  He drummed his fingers on the statement I’d just signed. “Tell me, Piper, off the record, did you notice anything unusual about the scene?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I’d like to blame my sudden uneasiness on the cheap chrome and faux leather chair I was sitting in, but I knew better. It wasn’t the chair; it was McBride’s cold blue stare that made me squirm. “Unusual how?”

  He leaned forward, his cop mask securely in place. “You’ve discovered more dead bodies than archeologists in Pompeii. Did anything strike you as odd?”

  What was McBride getting at? I inspected my nails to buy some time. I wasn’t quite sure what to say—or what not to say. I didn’t want to make things more difficult for Melly than they were already.

  “Well?”

  “Chip’s skin felt cold and stiff,” I admitted cautiously. “I suspected the accident happened hours prior to Melly’s call. But that’s hardly front-page news. The coroner confirmed that himself this morning.”

  “Sure you’re not holding back?”

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “I’d hate to think you’re withholding information from the authorities—the authorities in this case being me. If so, you’d be guilty of obstruction of justice.”

  I surged to my feet, angrier than I’d been in ages. I felt a hot rush of blood heat my cheeks. “Now, just a frickin’ minute, Mr. Law and Order. I told you exactly what happened. You can take it or leave it.”

  McBride was studying me like I was a crawfish in Biology 101. “I realize Melly Prescott is … was … your mother-in-law, and you might harbor a certain loyalty, but we’re talking a man’s death. I’m just trying to get my facts straight.”

  “Chip Balboa’s death was an accident, a tragic accident.” I started for the door, then stopped and turned. “Stop trying to make it into something it’s not.”

  His expression stony, McBride slipped my signed statement back into a folder. “For the time being, we’re calling Chip Balboa’s death ‘suspicious.’”

  “We? Who’s ‘we’?”

  “The medical examiner and Georgia Bureau of Investigation, that’s who.”

  Stunned, I digested this in silence. What could possibly make them think Chip’s accident wasn’t a simple fall down a flight of stairs but a possible homicide instead?

  “Sorry to lay this on you, Piper, but things aren’t always what they seem.”

  I left McBride’s office with his words ringing in my ears.

  CHAPTER 9

  “HOW WAS MELLY when she got back to your place last night?” Reba Mae bit into her Italian sub with gusto.

  “Hard to tell.” I unwrapped my sandwich and popped the tab on my Diet Coke. Reba Mae and I were enjoying lunch on a park bench in the town square. Actually, the impromptu picnic had been Melly’s idea. Watching the shop for an hour or so, she said, would help take her mind off her troubles. And if she needed anything, I’d be close by.

  “What did CJ have to say?”

  “He dropped her off, but didn’t come in. When I asked Melly how her meeting went with McBride, she refused to talk about it and went straight to bed. She didn’t even want dinner.”

  “I’m worried about her.”

  “Me, too.” It was comforting to know that worry had company. That’s the beauty of having a BFF.

  “Mmm, Pizza Palace subs are the best.” Reba Mae broke off a piece of her roll and tossed it to a gray squirrel rummaging through fallen leaves for acorns.

  “Agree,” I said. “I love the combination of capicola, mortadella, Genoa, and provolone, but Tony’s special dressing is what sets them apart.”

  “I’d ask him for the recipe, but I know better.”

  “I’ve been experimenting with a mix of my own—basil, thyme, oregano, garlic, a dash of salt and pepper, olive oil, balsamic vinegar. Next time, I’m going to add a tiny bit of rosemary.”

  “Sounds like a winner.” Reba Mae wiped her fingers on a napkin. “You never said how your session with McBride went. You holdin’ out on me?”

  I took a bite of my sandwich, washed it down with a swig of Coke. “Pretty straightforward. Not much to tell.”

  “Did he ever get hold of Chip’s ex-wife—whatshername? How’d she take the news?”

  “Name’s Cheryl. If he did, he didn’t mention it.”

  “Sounds like McBride. The man can be as closemouthed as a clam.”

  “Unlike his right-hand man, Sergeant Blabbermouth,” I said. “McBride did say something that gave me pause.”

  By her raised brow, I knew I had Reba Mae’s undivided attention. “Out with it, honeybun,” she ordered. “It’s not nice to leave a friend danglin’ by a thread.”

  I brushed crumbs from my capris. “Just as I was about to leave his office, he said, ‘Things aren’t always what they seem.’ What do you suppose he meant?”

  “McBride’s a sneaky buzzard. I don’t think he’d leak a secret if you threatened him with Chinese water torture.”

  “When I arrived at his office, he was talking to someone at the Georgia Bureau of Investigation. I can’t help but think McBride was trying to tell me something, you know, without coming right out and saying it. Does that make any sense?”

  Reba Mae shrugged. “The whole thing’s a mystery, if you ask me. It’s all folks talk about. Jolene Tucker let it be known around town that Chip had been dead for twelve hours before Melly phoned the police. No one can figure out why she waited so dang long.”

  “According to Melly, she dialed me the instant she saw a man on her basement floor.”

  “You think she’s tellin’ the truth or fibbin’?”

  I stared at my friend, surprised at her question. “Of course she’s telling the truth,” I said. “She’s Melly.”

  Reba Mae balled up her sandwich wrapper and stuffed it into the bag it had come in. “No need to get your panties in a twist, girlfriend. I’m just askin’ is all.”

  I idly watched a redbird land in a nearby holly bush and peck at the berries. “Melly told me Chip complained of a headache. She went upstairs to get him Tylenol but realized it was time for her favorite show. She turned on the TV to watch for a couple minutes and probably lost track of the time. When she went downstairs, Chip was gone. She assumed he got tired of waiting and left. She tidied the kitchen, then went upstairs to finish watching her program.”

  “I guess it makes sense. Still…”

  “Still?”

  “If a man fell down your stairs, don’t you think you would have heard something and gone to see what it was?”

  It was a question I’d asked myself a dozen times. “I admit it’s been awhile since I’ve been in Melly’s bedroom, but to the best of my knowledge, her room is in the front of the house. The kitchen’s at the back. Who knows, maybe Melly is a little hard of hearing. That happens as people age.”

  “Melly would sooner bite off her tongue than admit she’s gettin’ old.” Climbing to her feet, Reba Mae smoothed wrinkles from her swingy patterned skirt. “Well, I’ll be glad when this whole thing blows over. Then I can focus on rehearsals for Steel Magnolias and decide what I’m bringin’ to Oktoberfest.”

  There it was again, Oktoberfest. I was beginning to feel paranoid. Was I the only one in the entire town who hadn’t been invited to the Grangers’ party? With each passing day, I was becoming more and more convinced that the snub was intentional. By withholding an invitation, Sandy was letting me know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t like little ol’ me criticizing her lifestyle. Never again would I question the coup
le’s propensity for travel.

  Reba Mae glanced at her watch. “Uh-oh. Gotta run. My cut and color is due any minute. You comin’?”

  I let out a sigh. “No, I think I’ll enjoy the sunshine a bit longer.”

  “Okay, see you later.” She gathered our trash and hurried off. I noticed she took the empty soda cans with her. Reba Mae never missed a chance to recycle.

  The October sun was high in a cloudless sky, the humidity low. There was little traffic to disturb the quiet. Birds chirped; squirrels scampered. It should have been peaceful sitting here … but it wasn’t. Surely McBride didn’t think Chip’s death was anything other than a tragic fall? If so, did he seriously suspect Melly of…? My mind shied away from “murder.” It scared me to think people already doubted her version of what had happened.

  Rather than sit and ponder what was going on in that mind of his, I decided to go straight to the source. No time like the present. Before I could talk myself out of it, I hightailed it over to the police station.

  Dorinda scowled at seeing me. “Can I help you?”

  “I need a few minutes of the chief’s time.” I tried to disarm her with a smile, but it didn’t work.

  “He’s busy.” Dorinda went back to pecking at the keyboard.

  “No problem. I’ll wait.” Not about to be dismissed so easily, I took a seat on the same wood bench I’d occupied yesterday, a bench worn smooth by the backsides of anxious relatives and friends of those accused of crimes, big or small.

  “Suit yourself.” Dorinda didn’t look up.

  Picking up the same dog-eared copy of Car and Driver I’d flipped through yesterday, I studied Dorinda, who was doing an excellent job of ignoring me. She was a tall, broad-shouldered woman in her fifties with a no-nonsense demeanor. Silver strands crept through medium-brown hair. Her eyes, small, dark, and as bright as a sparrow’s, didn’t miss a trick.

  She must have sensed me watching her, because she glanced my way. “Chief’s with someone. Shouldn’t be long.”

  I nodded and went back to my magazine browsing. I couldn’t help wondering if McBride’s visitor happened to be the driver of the snazzy black BMW angled across not one but two parking spaces marked RESERVED.