She stretched out on the bed, hoping that a short nap would clear her head. The duffel bag was at her feet, but she kicked it aside, making space. There was a lot to think about, but for now, she just wanted to close her eyes and hug a soft pillow to her body. Just a fifteen-minute nap. Within seconds, she was fast asleep.
She woke up in the dark with a blanket covering her, and her duffel bag on the desk instead of by her feet. Had Jay done that?
“Never judge a book by its cover or a husband by his wife,” Rachel said to herself.
Her mouth felt dry and her head a little woolly. The clock on the wall said three a.m. She stretched, feeling wide awake. Her stomach gave an audible growl. When was the last time she had eaten? Rachel remembered the sheriff pushing a tomato and cheese sandwich in front of her at one p.m. She'd taken a single bite and pushed it away, too keyed up to eat. Now her appetite had returned with a vengeance. She looked through her duffel bag, hoping to find an old energy bar or even just a piece of chocolate. No such luck. She’d packed her toothbrush, her pajamas, and a few clean shirts. Just the basics.
Her room door was closed. She opened it and was met with darkness. The house was still. Sighing, she switched on her phone’s flashlight, and used it to illuminate the dark. It felt kind of weird to be wandering around a stranger’s house this way, but her stomach wasn’t giving her much choice.
She found the kitchen easily, although she nearly tripped on a Tonka truck on the way to it. The streetlight shone in through the kitchen window, illuminating a dining table with a pretty lace tablecloth, a shining granite counter, and sleek, contemporary equipment. She opened the fridge and bent down, wondering if there were leftovers.
There was a spinach casserole, a loaf of bread, some potted ham, and a row of probiotic yogurts. Her eye skimmed over them all, calculating. Then she shut the door and opened the freezer instead. Maybe some ice cream would make her feel better. To her surprise, there was a large saran-wrapped slice of cake in the freezer. She took it out, microwaved it, and sat at a table ready to eat. She couldn’t quite tell what flavor it might be, and she hadn’t dared to put on the lights for fear of disturbing Jay and Emily. Well, cake was cake— she dug in with the fork and took a bite.
Instantly, a familiar taste flooded through her tongue. Chocolate and vanilla mixed into a sublime symphony. The cake was a little dry after being in the freezer too long, but Rachel knew at once that this cake had been made by none other than Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose had once said that a good cook was like a maestro musician—others might imitate him, but they’d never quite capture the soul of his work. A little piece of Aunt Rose was in this cake—her energy permeated it. Rachel suddenly wished with all her heart that Aunt Rose were still alive. She’d died six months ago, but Rachel had last seen her years ago. Rachel had always been too busy working. She’d meant to see her aunt, but distance and time had eroded her best intentions. There had always been more pressing business to do, more work on her start-up, or a networking event that would create new ties. There had been no time at all until that fateful day when Arthur had called to give her the sad news. A tear trickled down Rachel’s cheek as she thought of it now. If there was one thing she regretted bitterly, it was not meeting Aunt Rose more often.
The lights flicked on suddenly, and Emily stood silhouetted in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she saw Rachel at the table. Anger flashed across her face as Emily saw the forkful of cake poised at Rachel’s lips. Rachel dropped the fork with a clatter, and wiped the tear away with the back of her hand.
“You could have woken me up if you were hungry!” Emily growled. “It’s rude to go crawling around people’s houses in the dark.”
Rachel raised an eyebrow and waited for Emily to understand what she’d just said. When Emily didn’t show any signs of it, Rachel pointed out, “If it’s so rude, what were you doing in my house the other night?”
“Listen . . .” Emily plopped down on the chair next to Rachel and said, “Jay doesn’t know anything about that night. It’s going to stay that way, OK?”
“Really?” Rachel raised an eyebrow. “They say a good marriage should have no secrets, don’t they?”
“Every marriage has secrets,” Emily said. “Anyway, you said it yourself, we’re even now. I came in uninvited to your house, you came in uninvited to mine.”
“I said nothing of the sort.” Rachel was indignant. “What are you doing with my Aunt Rose’s marble cake in the freezer anyway? It is hers, isn’t it? I’d recognize the taste anywhere.”
“You?” Emily sneered. “What do you know of Aunt Rose anyway? You didn’t even bother coming to her funeral!”
“I really wanted to!” Rachel protested. “It’s just that . . .” She bit her lip. A sigh escaped her. She couldn’t explain her actions; nobody would understand. She didn’t herself.
“That’s right. You have no explanation,” Emily said. “You were selfish and still are. You don’t belong here anyway. Aunt Rose would have wanted me to run that bakery—not you. She was my friend, and she was my aunt, even if we weren’t related by blood.”
*****
Chapter 8
A Forkful Of Nostalgia
“Your aunt?” Rachel stared at Emily, at a loss for words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that she was family to me,” Emily replied. “I guess that’s a concept you’re not familiar with. Family means being there for someone, Rachel, and you weren’t there for Aunt Rose.”
Guilt clawed at Rachel. She couldn’t deny what Emily was saying. Aunt Rose’s death had been completely unexpected; a sudden heart attack had taken her away far too early. In the back of her mind, Rachel had always meant to call more often and meet her aunt. But at the time, Rachel had been so busy with her start-up and so obsessed with making it big, that everything else had paled in comparison. Besides, she had thought there was plenty of time. Years and years in which to speak with Aunt Rose. How could she have known otherwise?
But there was no point saying this to Emily. Rachel knew that her explanations wouldn’t change the harsh judgment in Emily’s eyes.
“Aunt Rose used to talk about you a lot, you know,” Emily said. “You were like a daughter to her. How lucky to be loved by someone like that. She was the best woman I have ever known.”
“At least there’s something we agree on.” Rachel pushed the plate of marble cake across to Emily and offered her a second fork.
“You obviously didn’t care about her much,” Emily said, as she took a bite of the cake. She closed her eyes as the flavors filled her mouth. “Divine Cake.”
Rachel should have felt angry at Emily, but instead she felt a strange sort of tenderness. Whatever her faults, Emily had clearly, genuinely cared for Aunt Rose. “I did care for Aunt Rose,” Rachel said. “I cared a lot. I was just insanely busy with work. I guess you wouldn't understand; there’s a lot of pressure when you’re in a start-up. I was trying to build a multimillion dollar business and working seventeen hours a day. By the end of it, I barely had time to feed myself, forget caring about anyone else. I was working like that for two whole years. I know I was selfish, she phoned me so many times in those two years, and I just ignored her calls or spoke for two minutes and hung up. If I’d been able to see into the future, I would have dropped it all to spend more time with Aunt Rose. I did love her.” There were tears in Rachel’s eyes, and she blinked them away. Then she squared her shoulders, prepared for Emily’s anger.
But Emily was slumped in the chair, and her cheeks were damp. “I believe you,” she whispered.
“You do?”
Emily nodded. “I’m sorry I was so harsh before. I guess when you moved back to Swaddle, it upset my plans. Aunt Rose had often talked of retiring, and each time, she promised me she would sell her bakery to me. In my mind, Comfort Cakes was already my own business. So when Aunt Rose died so suddenly, and then you broke your promise to me, I felt really angry. Like, I wanted to hate you because that made the pain easier.”
Rachel nodded. She didn’t have to like Emily, but she could understand her.
“I guess . . . if Aunt Rose were here, she’d want us to be friends,” Rachel said. “Do you think that’s something you could do? No more anger.”
Emily smiled, and stuck out her fork, clanging it against Rachel’s. “I think that when you share Aunt Rose’s last slice of marble cake with someone in the middle of the night, you’re pretty much obliged to be friends after that.”
Rachel smiled in relief, and clanged her own fork against Emily’s. The cake had been reduced to crumbs now, but she managed to scoop a few up and eat them.
“It’s really kind of you to let me in your house, considering all the anger you had against me,” Rachel said.
Emily sighed. “That wasn’t kindness, believe me. It was resignation. When Jay wants something, Jay gets it. He’s like a tornado that way. You don’t stand in his path.”
“Still, considering the entire town thinks I’m a murderer, you were nice to let me in your house.”
“I don’t think you murdered Arthur Rafferty. I mean . . . I might not like you, but Aunt Rose always gushed about you, and she was a good judge of character,” Emily said. “More importantly, Jay doesn’t think you murdered Arthur. I trust Jay’s judgment completely.”
“That’s a lot of confidence to place on a man.”
“He is my husband for a reason, you know.” Emily shrugged.
Rachel nodded. Once upon a time, she’d trusted Brandon that way, and she hoped Emily would never know the pain of having your whole world cracked apart like Brandon had cracked hers.
“So who do you think did it, if it wasn’t me?” Rachel asked.
Emily closed her eyes for a second and wiped her face with her hand. “I don’t know.” She looked Rachel in the eyes. “I just hope the killer is caught as fast as possible. For all our sakes. Swaddle is a safe town, and I want to see it remain that way.”
“Do you have any suspicions at all?”
“None,” Emily said. “I just can’t imagine anyone I know doing such a horrible thing.”
Rachel nodded. “It feels like a surreal dream, doesn’t it?”
“It really does.”
“But isn’t there anything? Maybe a dissatisfied client of Arthur’s . . .”
“A client?” Some memory must have sparked in Emily’s mind, because her eyes darkened a little. “Well, there was one dissatisfied client. But it’s too silly.”
“Tell me.” Rachel leaned forward eagerly.
“Well, there’s this rich businessman in town called Paul Johnson. Real estate tycoon. He’s been a client at Jay and Arthur’s firm for ages. He’s more a friend than a client, really. Or rather, he was.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. A month ago, Arthur and Jay went out drinking with Paul. Jay came home early, but Arthur and Paul stayed out half the night, making merry. Apparently, Paul and Arthur got into a big fight that night. I don’t know the details, but I know that Paul decided to pull out his account from the firm. Jay had to spend days convincing him not to, but it didn’t help.”
A little thrill went through Rachel. Here was a suspect—someone with a clear motive. What if Paul had hated Arthur so much that he’d cooked up an elaborate scheme to kill him? Rachel paused, but what about the love letter? How did that fit into this? She scrunched her nose as she tried to think up a theory: how did business and a love letter mix?
“Does Paul have a wife?” Rachel asked.
Emily gave her a sharp look. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious.”
“Paul has a girlfriend he’s pretty serious about. Lacey Taggart.” Emily raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to cook up a theory of some sort? Like Paul killed Arthur because he was having an affair with Lacey?”
“Well, I was trying to cook up a theory, but you beat me to it. That’s a pretty solid motive.”
“It’s also rubbish,” Emily said. “I know Arthur. He was a flirt, but he would never have cheated on Audrey. I’d bet on that with my life.”
Rachel gave Emily a slightly pitying look. “Don’t sell your life so cheaply,” she said. “You think you knew Arthur, but you really didn’t. It’s a fact that he was murdered. Something must have led to that murder. Even the ones we know and love can sometimes deceive us in unbearable ways.” There was a tinge of bitterness in her voice.
“Someone clearly betrayed you,” Emily said. “You sound like you’ve had your heart cut up that way.”
Rachel shrugged. “Boyfriends aren’t always trustworthy, even if you think they are.”
“Did your ex cheat on you?”
Rachel shook her head. “No. Not Brandon. That wasn’t his style. He did much worse. He knew just how to destroy me.”
“What? How?”
Changing the topic with very little subtlety, Rachel asked, “So you and Jay—you guys been married long?”
Emily paused for a moment, as though she were wondering whether to press Rachel. She must have decided otherwise, because she said, “Jay and I have known each other since we were kids, though we weren’t close. His dad was a lawyer too, though not as fierce as him. Our dads were best friends, so we often met at barbecues on the beach. He’s older, Scott’s age. So he never paid attention to me as a kid.”
“Scott as in Sheriff Tanner?”
“Yep. My older brother was born to be a sheriff. Dad had high hopes he’d handle the café, but I’m the one who ended up inheriting it. I was terrified of running it at first, but your Aunt Rose became a mentor to me. It’s thanks to her that the café achieved any success at all.”
The thought of Emily being terrified of anything was foreign to Rachel. She always looked so cool and self-possessed. As much as she was enjoying this sudden friendship between them, however, Rachel couldn’t help but think about that night when Emily had broken in.
“So if you don’t mind me asking, what was it that you were looking for that night in Aunt Rose’s study?” Rachel asked. “Maybe now that we’re friends, I could just give it to you.”
The tips of Emily’s ears turned red, and Rachel had a sudden memory of Sheriff Tanner’s ears doing the same thing. She bit down a smile. Emily hesitated a moment before speaking.
“I wasn’t looking for anything, I really did see an intruder in there.”
The sweetness of the marble cake seemed to evaporate from Rachel’s mouth. She could see the lie in Emily’s eyes. All the goodwill she’d been feeling popped like a bubble and disappeared. She hid her feelings with an easy smile, however. There was no point in confronting Emily with her lies. She’d just deny them some more. But one way or another, Rachel made up her mind to find out what Emily had been looking for. As soon as she was able to, she’d make a thorough investigation of her Aunt Rose’s study.
“Forget it,” Rachel said. “Let’s just put that behind us, OK?”
Emily looked relieved, and nodded.
*****
Chapter 9
The First Cake
Rachel went back to bed at around five a.m., and woke up two hours later to the sound of a dog barking furiously at seven. Blinking the sleep out of her eyes she took a quick shower and dressed in black jeans and a navy-blue t-shirt.
In the kitchen, Jay sat with Ollie on his lap, taking sips of coffee in between trying to make the fussy toddler eat cereal.
“Oh, hey. Good morning.” Jay nodded at her. “Emily’s left for work already, and I’ll be leaving in an hour as soon as the nanny comes over.”
Rachel yawned, and looked at the clock. “Does she leave this early every day?”
“Six thirty sharp. She doesn’t open until eight thirty, but she has to do a lot of prep work before the café starts.” Jay smiled. “I’ve got a hard-working wife.”
“And you’re a lazy man yourself?” Rachel teased.
“Actually, I usually leave the house with Emily . . . the nanny’s just late today so I’m stuck babysitting.”
“You me
an parenting,” Rachel corrected, giving him a grin.
“Fair enough.” Jay laughed. “Anyway, there’s coffee in the pot there, and Emily said you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”
“Thanks,” Rachel said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. The fridge looked rather bare, so she made a quick decision to skip breakfast and head to the café for lunch instead of having to suffer one of Emily’s “ultra healthy” yogurts. “Maybe I’ll head down to Bull’s Café later. That’s the one Emily owns, right?”
“Yep. Bull’s is famous all over town. Good choice.”
“Was that her dad’s nickname? Bull, I mean.”
“Yep.” Jay smiled. “Emily’s dad was known for two things— being built like a bull, and telling stories that were bull . . .” He looked down at Ollie, who was sucking on a fruit loop, oblivious to the adults conversing. “Part of the fun of going to Bull’s Café was hearing his tall tales. I grew up believing his stories like gospel. According to Bull: he scaled Mount Everest and saw a yeti, he danced with Tina Turner at the White House, and he knew a CIA agent.” Jay’s eyes were twinkling. “Scott’s a bit like his old man, so’s Emily. They’re so good at telling tall tales sometimes you can’t make out when they’re telling the truth.” A shadow seemed to cross his face as he said this. But his smile stayed fixed on his face. “I suppose you haven’t seen that side of them yet.”
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