Murder & Marble Cake

by Nancy McGovern

  “She’s related to you!” Rachel exclaimed. “Emily Frank. She’s related to you, isn’t she? That’s why you’re making an effort to let her go.”

  The sheriff ignored this and began speaking quickly. “So, as far as we can tell, nothing of value has been taken from the study. Now if I understand, you’re opening a bakery on this premises the day after tomorrow?“

  “She’s your sister, isn’t she?” Rachel pressed. “Cousin, maybe? No, you look alike, once the obvious differences like hair color are ignored. She probably dyes her hair, blond.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I can have a patrol in front of your house to make sure the intruder doesn’t return.” He talked over her, ignoring her question again.

  “Unbelievable!” Rachel shook her head. “I should go to the press with this.”

  “Fine. Do.” Sheriff Tanner finally lost patience. “Emily and her husband are one of the foremost citizens of Swaddle. She’s on a dozen boards, she’s known all over town. If she says she saw an intruder, that’s what it was. It’s your word against hers, Rachel, and you’re a newcomer who was sleepy and made an error in judgment. That’s what the press would say too. It’s a misunderstanding, and it’s best if you forget about it.”

  Rachel sighed. He was right. It didn’t look like there was much she could do. “Get out of my house, buddy,” she said. “And take your thieving sister with you.”

  “For the second time, it’s sheriff,” he replied. “Sheriff Tanner to you.”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you don’t deserve the title,” Rachel said. “Goodnight. Buddy.”

  *****

  Chapter 3

  Double Mocha, Double Mystery

  Rachel was in a sour mood the next morning. She was replaying the whole scenario in her head and kicking herself for not letting Emily Frank talk more when she’d caught her. Maybe Emily would have made a confession then, and it would have forced the sheriff's hand. As it stood, Rachel had refused to talk to Emily while the police were on their way and had given her enough time to cook up a flimsy excuse. Now she had no grounds to press charges, and Sheriff Tanner certainly wasn’t going to help her.

  Oh well. Rachel sighed. She wouldn’t let it happen again. Before the day was up, she was determined to have security cameras installed all over the house. The one sliver of satisfaction she had lay in knowing that whatever Emily had been looking for, she hadn’t found.

  What had she been looking for? Rachel frowned. It’s not like her late Aunt Rose’s study held the secret map to the pharaoh’s treasures. So what on earth could the owner of the café across the street want in Aunt Rose’s study? Why would she risk arrest to find it?

  Meanwhile, unease sat heavy over her heart. She’d been in a foul temper last night, but in the daylight her businesswoman’s instincts had come into play. The sheriff might be a corrupt dirtbag, but she had been an idiot to attack him the way she had. In a small town like Swaddle, good relationships were the key to good business, and she’d already made two enemies.

  Her mind flitted back to Emily Frank. Before Rachel had made the abrupt decision to move to Swaddle and run Aunt Rose’s bakery, Emily had been very interested in buying it. Rachel remembered that Emily had actually written her a very emotional letter of condolence when Aunt Rose died. In the letter, she’d spoken of the importance of local business, and praised Aunt Rose for being an important thread in the fabric of their town. Rachel had been touched, and had actually rejected a corporate buyer in order to sell the bakery to Emily. Now, looking back, Rachel snorted in derision. Emily was cunning and manipulative. She’d sounded genuine in that letter, but it was all probably a ploy to get Rachel to sell.

  A brief knock on the back door had her coming out of the fog of her thoughts. She glanced at the clock. It was seven a.m. in the morning, and Arthur Rafferty was at her doorstep with two Styrofoam cups in one hand, and a plastic bag in the other. Rachel felt her smile brighten a little as Arthur’s face peeped in through the window.

  Arthur Rafferty had been the lawyer who first contacted her when Aunt Rose passed away. He had helped Rachel tremendously in settling Aunt Rose’s estate. Aunt Rose had never written a will, and without Arthur’s help, Rachel would probably have spent years tangled in red tape. As it was, he’d not only helped with the legal aspects of it but also provided her a comforting shoulder when she was grieving for her aunt. He was her first friend in town, and a good man.

  He was a clean-cut young man with a square jaw and impeccably groomed hair cut in a low-fade style. Dressed in a navy-blue silk suit with a checkered Burberry tie, and Ray-Bans shading his eyes, he looked totally out of place in Rachel’s bare, utilitarian kitchen with its multiple ovens, skeletal cooling racks, and the single large counter in the middle.

  “It’s so good to see a friendly face this early.” Rachel smiled. “What’s up, Arthur?”

  “Just came by to say hi,” he said. “Got you some coffee too. Your favorite, double mocha.”

  Rachel looked down at the cup and groaned. The white Styrofoam cup had a cartoon caricature of a smiling man with ears jutting out and the proclamation—“Bull’s Café” under the logo.

  “Bull’s,” she said. “That’s the place Emily Frank owns, right?”

  “Yep,” Arthur said. “Best coffee in the county, hands down. Though some say it was better when her dad ran the place. I think Emily is a natural barista, personally.” He took off his shades and tossed them on the counter. “Are you OK? You look a bit frazzled.”

  “I had a long night,” Rachel said. “You won’t believe—”

  “Ah-ah-ah. Before you start off, I’ve got something you’d like to see,” he said. “Jackson asked me to drop it off at your place, he’s busy doing inventory this morning. He knows I’ve become a regular here for pancakes, so I offered to help.”

  Rachel grinned. As thanks for helping her out with her aunt’s estate, Rachel had offered to treat Arthur to homemade pancakes for breakfast one day. He’d loved them so much that they now had breakfast together every Thursday.

  “Wait—who’s Jackson again?”

  “Jackson Wyatt. Hardware shop owner. Big redheaded guy. But forget him—check this out,” Arthur said. He laid the plastic bag on the counter, and with a flourish, took out a rolled-up sign.

  “My sign!” Rachel’s face broke out into the widest of grins. “It’s finally here!”

  Pink, with illustrated cakes dancing on it, the sign said “Comfort Cakes Bakery” in large cursive. Rachel felt the miseries of her past fall away. A new, hopeful future beckoned. This was the sign that would announce the bakery to Swaddle. She could imagine the sign staying up for years—decades perhaps—as she settled in, made friends, baked cakes, and lived a comfortable life right here in Swaddle. For a moment, all thoughts of her feud with the sheriff and Emily were forgotten. The future was as pure and overpowering as the smell of vanilla and cinnamon emanating from a warm oven.

  She gave Arthur a spontaneous hug and danced around the room with the sign clutched in her hands. She finally furled it up again and placed it on top of some shelves. “I’ll have this put up as fast as possible,” she said. “Everything’s set now. I’ve got all my equipment, and the bakery’s ready to open tomorrow. I have a lot of prep work to do today.”

  “Calls for a celebration.” Arthur smiled. “Since it’s too early for champagne, how about we toast with some mocha?” He paused, frowned, and gripped her wrist suddenly. Startled, Rachel stood still. He leaned forward and looked deep into her eyes. “Oooh. Look at those dark circles under your eyes, looks like you really need the coffee. What happened?”

  Rachel sighed. “It’s a long story. Maybe you better tell me how you got that stain on your favorite tie first.”

  “Stain!” He looked down, alarmed, and sure enough there was a reddish-brown smear on his tie. “Ugh! This is all Audrey’s fault. I’ve told her a thousand times to be careful doing her makeup around my stuff!”

  “And sh
e’s told you a thousand times not to leave your stuff lying around near her makeup.” Rachel grinned. “You better take that to the dry cleaners, Arthur.”

  Arthur still looked peeved. His face was clouded over, and his eyes far away. Rachel shook her head. Arthur had only been dating Audrey for a year, and it seemed like the two fought every other day. It was funny how much they squabbled, considering that both of them were some of the most easygoing people she knew. Well, she supposed there was some tension, she knew Audrey had been angling for a ring, and Arthur was dragging his feet.

  Arthur was still looking glum, and Rachel realized that the same look had probably been present on her face daily when she was engaged to Brandon. Long before they broke up, the tiniest things Brandon did wrong had aroused the deepest anger in her. Arthur’s expression probably meant that he was plotting all the things he’d say to Audrey when he next met her—and some of them were probably designed to be cutting.

  Deciding that the best way out was to distract him, Rachel launched into her own story. It was soothing, in a way, to talk to someone who understood her frustration at the sheriff. Arthur listened intently, nodding his head occasionally and giving out regular "tsk’s" and "hmm’s."

  Her mocha sat cold on the counter as she spoke, while Arthur sipped at his. Finally, when she was done, he smacked his lips and shook his head.

  “So that’s it, then,” he said. “Emily’s going to get off scot-free.”

  “The sheriff's to blame,” Rachel said. “He’s a boneheaded baboon if I’ve ever seen one.”

  Arthur laughed. “Ah, Scott’s not bad, you know. Would you do anything different if it was your sister on the chopping block? Besides, even if he had arrested her, Emily would have gotten off.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Emily is married to Jay Frank. Biggest lawyer in the county, and my partner down at the law firm. Jay’s a machine. He could convince a jury to vote not guilty even if the culprit was a fox with blood on his snout and chicken feathers in his fur!”

  “She might as well be called Emily the untouchable, then.” Rachel sighed. “I absolutely despise people like her. Little Ms. Perfect!”

  “Oh, she’s not so perfect.” Arthur winked. “I could tell you stories about her that—”

  A loud ring interrupted his sentence. As it continued, Arthur cocked his head toward the study. “Aren’t you going to get that?”

  “My aunt's landline.” Rachel frowned. “But nobody I know has that number. Why wouldn’t they call my mobile phone?”

  “Well, go find out. Hurry back, or I’ll finish your mocha too.” Arthur smiled.

  Tossing him a derisive look over her shoulder, Rachel walked to the study. There was something harsh, almost malicious, about the way the phone blared inside that silent space.

  “Hello?” Rachel waited a beat. “Hello? Who is this?”

  “Your worst nightmare,” the voice on the other end answered.

  *****

  Chapter 4

  Hello Goodbye

  Despite the threatening words, Rachel wasn’t scared. She had plenty of righteous indignation leftover from the night before, and whatever foolish teenager had decided to prank call her at seven in the morning would be getting an earful from her.

  “Listen here you little brat—” she began.

  “Oh, you’ll pay,” the voice said. “You’ll pay. I know, you see. I know what you did.”

  “What?” Rachel was confused. As the seconds ticked by, she wasn’t so sure that this was a prank call anymore. There was laughter in the voice of the caller, but it was almost manic. She realized, too, that it was a very deep voice, and raspy, probably thanks to years of smoking. This wasn’t a teenager on the line. This was a drunken moron. But what kind of moron got drunk at seven a.m.? There wasn’t really a handbook for drunken, nonsensical calls but if there were, rule number one would say: “All calls to be made between midnight and five a.m.” By seven, even the most determined drunks were usually snoring away.

  “Listen man, you should get some help. Call Alcoholics Anonymous,” Rachel said.

  “You’d better call the funeral home,” the voice on the other end said. “Or a travel agency. I’m giving you two choices, woman: a one-way ticket out of Swaddle, or a one-way trip—six feet under.”

  “Listen, I don’t know what this is, but if you think you can scare me, you’re dead wrong.”

  “Dead is what you will be,” the voice said. “I’m telling you, if you don’t leave town, bad things are gonna happen. Really bad things.”

  “Well why don’t you come over and say that to my face!” Rachel’s temper exploded. There were goosebumps all over her body, and her heart was hammering. Despite her claims of not being scared, the truth was—she was terrified. But terror also awoke an instinctive anger in her, and at that moment, she felt ready to leap down the receiver and throttle the jerk who thought he could threaten her. Vaguely, in the background, she thought she heard the door slam. Had Arthur left? All her attention, however, was focused on the phone.

  “I can come over if that’s what you want,” the voice said. It was leering now. “I can come over and we can chat face-to-face . . . but you may not have much of a face left to show at the end of it all. Last warning, dearie. Get out.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Rachel said. “And I’ll have a shotgun ready if you happen to come by. So—”

  There was a long beep as the line went dead. Rachel slammed the phone down in frustration. She kicked the desk for good measure and gave a yell of anguish as her small toe caught the brunt of it. What a way to start the day! What a way to start life in a new town! Swaddle sure was determined to give her a warm welcome.

  Muttering under her breath, she strode out of the study. “You’re not going to believe what just—” The words caught in her throat. Arthur was gone.

  Correction. Arthur’s body was still in her kitchen. Arthur, however, was very definitely gone. He lay on the ground with a pool of blood spreading under him. Rachel felt a little sick and looked away. She stumbled a little and put one hand against the wall to steady herself. Absurdly, she wondered if it was all an elaborate prank of some sort. Maybe Arthur would just get up with a laugh and shout, “April Fool!”

  Only April was months away, and Arthur wasn’t going to be pranking anybody on that day or any other. With a little groan, Rachel felt the world tilt dangerously from one side to another. Crumbling to the floor, she fell unconscious.

  *****

  She was woken by a scream and a crash. She shot up, panicked, wondering for a moment if it had all been a dream. Clearly it hadn’t. Her supplier, Henry Grant, stood in the open back door, mouth open. A sack of flour had split open at his feet where he had dropped it. White powder coated half the kitchen, and blood the other half.

  “Stay where you are,” Rachel managed. “Don’t move.”

  She meant to say that he would damage the crime scene if he did, but Henry seemed to take it as a threat. With a shrill scream, he turned and fled down the street, leaving Rachel behind. Still shaking, Rachel went back into the study and shut the door behind her. By the time she’d gathered her wits and begun to dial 911, she could already hear sirens blazing far away. She felt horribly cold—and alone. Everything was happening so fast, and nothing made sense. Who could have killed Arthur, and why? What was happening? She’d dreamed of a cozy life and a new beginning in Swaddle, but the last forty-eight hours had given her one shock after another. Part of her longed to faint again, but another part of her was screaming, “Stay Awake.”

  Her life was in danger. That was a fact. She’d dismissed the phone call as an idle threat, but now, fear pierced her heart as she remembered that malicious voice. Whoever it was, they had timed themselves perfectly. They’d gotten her out of the room just long enough to kill Arthur. That meant there was more than just one person involved in the killing. But who could possibly hate her that much? Why would anyone want her and Arthur dead? Whom could she trust t
o protect her? Not the sheriff, that was for sure.

  She had to think, and she had to get out of Swaddle—that much was clear to Rachel. Grabbing her car keys, she headed out the front door, resisting every urge to look back at Arthur’s body. She was still in shock, as the car doors chirped open and she slid behind the steering wheel of her red Chevy.

  “Freeze!” a harsh voice cried out.

  She looked up mutely to see the sheriff blocking her car, gun drawn. It was pointed right at her. For a moment, she contemplated flooring the car and knocking him down. In her shock, the rational part of her mind still hadn’t fully awoken, and the primitive part of her brain was screaming at her to flee. Her hand began shaking as she clutched the key. Finally, it dropped away. She raised her hands, and a tear fell down her cheek. The sheriff was coming around to her side of the door.

  OK, maybe escaping had been a stupid idea. Now that she thought about it, Rachel realized that it had in fact been a disastrous idea. Her brain had been thinking about survival and escape, instead of thinking about how an attempt to escape would look to the average bystander. She gazed up at the sheriff, who had yanked open the door. His eyes were cold and punishing.

  “I didn’t do it!” she exclaimed as she saw the accusation in his eyes. “Tanner, I swear I’m innocent.”

  “You have the right to remain silent,” he replied.

  *****

  Chapter 5

  Cut & Dry

  “So.” Sheriff Tanner pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, and squeezed his eyes shut. “What you’re telling me, is that in the few minutes you moved from the kitchen to the study, some mysterious assassin came in, shot Arthur in the back of the head, and ran out on the street?”