Relieved to hear that his friend wasn’t seriously ill, James scooped some grounds into the coffee machine and pushed the brew button. “I know what you mean. I tried on the suit I’m planning to wear to my father’s wedding, and I look like a big, gray whale. I’d better hope there’s no fog out that night or someone might harpoon me.”
Bennett threw his head back and laughed. “My friend, you always know how to cheer me up.” He shifted to one hip and removed his wallet from his back pocket. “Take this,” he said, handing James a business card. “She’s my nutritionist. I’m meetin’ with her once a week until I get on track. My doc recommended her, and man, I did not want to go see her one bit, but she’s just as nice as she can be.”
“Ruth Wilkins, huh?” James put down the card and poured coffees for them both. “And what does she advise you to do?”
“Keep a journal of everythin’ I’m eatin’ and what kind of exercise I’m doin’.” Bennett took a sip of coffee. “See? I’m gonna have to write this down now.”
James grimaced. “Sounds like a hassle.”
“Maybe.” Bennett shrugged. “But I’ve only got one body. I gotta start takin’ care of it.”
“Well, I’m good at making lists, so I guess keeping a food log isn’t too different. Though my to-do list is getting as long as Santa’s these days.”
Bennett took his coffee cup to the sink and began to rinse it out. “What’s on it?”
James ticked the items off on his fingers. “Find an amazing honeymoon trip for Milla and my father, buy a house, locate Glowstar—our Christmas elf who’s gone missing—and make an appointment with your nutritionist so I can fit into my suit.”
Chuckling, Bennett began digging around in his mailbag. “Oh, you’ve got one more thing to put on that list, my friend.”
“That’s true,” James answered, surprised that Bennett was aware that the most important item hadn’t been mentioned aloud. “I want to take Lucy out for a truly memorable date. I want to prove to her that I never stopped caring about her, even though I was dating Murphy over the summer.”
“Murphy is the other item I was going to add to your list,” Bennett grunted unhappily. “Murphy Alistair. Editor of the Shenandoah Star Ledger and soon-to-be the destroyer of life as we know it.” He unfolded a glossy postcard and held it out to James with a flourish. “Read it and weep, my friend. Then go to your calendar and circle January first, because that’s the day your ex-girlfriend’s fictional account about our lives hits the shelves. Put that on your list so you can flee town with the rest of us.”
James paled. “It wasn’t supposed to be released until February.” He unfolded the postcard and gazed at the colorful graphics with horror. “Oh, Lord,” he muttered miserably.
“Yessir. Unhappy New Year to us all. At least you’ve got that chocolate cake to comfort you.” Bennett clapped him on the back and then slipped on his coat. “You’d better take Lucy out on that date before Murphy’s book comes out. After all, now that she carries a service revolver and a nightstick, I’d be mighty nervous about bein’ near her when she gets her hands on a copy of that novel.” Bennett zipped his coat. “Shoot, we may just have another murder on our hands.”
“Don’t even joke about that!” James called out as Bennett disappeared through the break room door. Returning his attention to the postcard, his eyes soaked in the image of Murphy’s book cover and he shook his head in disgust. It showed the interior of a bakery, with shelf after shelf overflowing with plump croissants, golden loaves of bread, and delectable pies, tarts, and cakes. Splayed out on the black and white tiled floor was the body of a man wearing a varsity letter jacket. The man was facedown and his features were disguised by locks of curly golden hair, but a pool of blood had spread out beneath his head and shoulders and had formed a small stream that ran to the very edge of the postcard.
“Oh, brother,” James mumbled crossly as his eyes traveled away from the dead man to the pair of women standing above him. They both wore tight, starched, white aprons bearing the word Cravings in crimson cursive across the chest and were clutching one another in fear. One of the women was older and James assumed that she was meant to represent Megan Flowers, the owner of the Sweet Tooth, the bakery beloved by all in Quincy’s Gap. The younger woman with the inflated bosom and shapely legs was undoubtedly meant to be Megan’s teenage daughter, Amelia.
“I don’t think Megan’s going to like that image of Amelia,” James said aloud. “And they’re wearing an awful lot of makeup for two people who got up at three a.m. and spent the morning covered in flour and sugar.”
Flipping over the card in annoyance, James read the blurb on the back.
Small towns are full of secrets, and Quimby’s Pass is no exception. It seems that the isolated highlands of Virginia are not as bucolic as its residents believe, and when a former high school football hero is fatally poisoned, neighbor will turn against neighbor in search of justice. When the authorities are stumped by the killer’s cold trail, the true heroes of The Body in the Bakery arise. These average citizens—a librarian, a teacher, a mailman, a secretary, and a dog groomer—join together in an attempt to solve the murder. Can they stop the ruthless killer in time, or will another corpse show up somewhere on Main Street? Based on an astonishing true story.
Publishers Weekly calls The Body in the Bakery “the first must-read book of the New Year,” and Kirkus hails it as “a fast-paced thriller that unveils the chilly truth not only about Quimby’s Pass, but about the deceptions lurking beneath the surface in small towns throughout America. A fantastic read.”
The Body in the Bakery by Murphy Alistair. Pre-order your copy today!
James reread the blurb and then examined the graphic on the front one more time before tossing the postcard in the garbage.
He stomped into his office and gathered his briefcase and coat. He bid a terse farewell to the twins and paused in the lobby to slip into his wool coat. As he was fastening the buttons, Bennett reappeared from inside the library, brandishing two audio books.
“Uh-oh. You’re wearin’ a scowl deep as a dried river bed,” Bennett remarked.
“You can’t be surprised,” James replied curtly, jerking his gloves onto his fingers. “Where did you get that postcard anyway?”
“A man on my route tossed it into his recycling basket and the picture caught my eye. That card went to everyone in town, James. You’ve probably got one in your mailbox right this very minute.”
“And that means Lindy and Gillian and Lucy do too.”
Bennett nodded unhappily. “I’m afraid so.”
James wound his plaid scarf around his neck three times and then squared his shoulders. “I’m just not ready for this book to come out, Bennett. I have so many other things on my plate right now.”
“Well, you’d better move that date with Lucy to the top of your list. In fact, I think you should run right over to the Sheriff’s Department, pick her up, and take her out for some fancy, candlelit dinner. Maybe you can get that postcard outta her mailbox on the sly.”
Taking his keys from his right coat pocket, James looked at Bennett in confusion. “How much harm could a postcard do? It’s not like it says anything about us. I’m more concerned about what’s in the actual book.”
“It’s your call,” Bennett said, opening the door. A blast of December air caused them both to hesitate before stepping outside. “But I’m tellin’ you, man. Lucy is going to be mighty sore that Murphy called her a secretary.”
James groaned. “You’re right, she’s going to hate that. And somehow, I feel like she’s going to blame me for everything.”
“Well, you did get in bed with the enemy.” Bennett nudged James with his elbow. “No pun intended.”
“Thanks a lot, Bennett.” James gave his friend a harmless shove. “You go on ahead. I forgot something inside.”
“A book?” Bennett asked as he opened the door to his mail truck, revealing plastic bins filled with tidy rows of letters and catal
ogues.
“No,” James answered. “I’m going back in for the rest of that cake.” As he turned toward the library’s familiar warmth, James eyed the Santa cutout Francis had taped to the front door. He studied the cheery man’s soft paunch and round cheeks. Seeing that his own reflection in the glass door bore a resemblance to St. Nick’s physique, James frowned and grumbled, “Bah, humbug.”
James entered through the back door of his childhood home and, as he closed the door behind him, felt a whoosh of air next to his left ear as a magazine smacked against the wall.
“Watch it, Pop!” James instinctively ducked in case his father was prepared to lodge another missile his way.
“Sorry ’bout that. Didn’t realize it was near time for you to be comin’ through that door,” Jackson muttered darkly from his seat at the kitchen table. “But if I gotta look at one more flower arrangement or answer one more question about menus, tablecloths, dance music, or church programs, then Milla’s just gonna have to get married all by herself!”
After picking up the magazine from the floor, James set it on the table, smoothed the wrinkled cover, and sat down across from his father. “You don’t mean that, Pop. You love Milla.” He offered Jackson a sympathetic smile. “But I can see why you’d rather not spend your time reading this stuff.”
Jackson grunted and gestured at piles of colorful clippings illustrating wedding cakes, floral centerpieces, tuxedos, stationery, and limousines. “When your mama and I got married, we met some folks down at the church, said a word or two, and then had a little lunch back here at the house. Sandwiches and tea and beer. I wore my best suit and your mama wore a dress she borrowed from her best friend. Whole thing cost us about three hundred dollars.” He pushed the clippings away. “I still remember every second of that day. It didn’t cost much but it was real nice. It was simple and to the point and, well, pretty damned perfect.”
James nodded. “I can imagine how overwhelming all of these choices must be. Have you talked to Milla about why she wants so many … trimmings?”
“Guess her first wedding was one of those courthouse deals. Her man was being sent overseas for some kind of military training and it’s all they had time for. So now she wants the church, the party, a fancy white dress. All of it.”
“Are you worried about the cost?” James asked gently.
“Pffft, no!” Jackson waved off the suggestion. “I’d buy that woman whatever she wanted, but I think it’s right foolish to spend such a pile one day outta our lives. At our age and all—to be gettin’ trussed up like a pair of Thanksgivin’ turkeys. Never mind dancin’ or ridin’ in cars that can seat twenty and have television sets inside. It feels downright ridiculous.”
Part of James agreed with his father, but he knew better than to take sides between a couple planning their wedding.
At that moment, the bride-to-be walked through the door, her arms laden with grocery bags. James rushed forward to relieve Milla of two of the four paper sacks she carried.
“Hello, boys!” she trilled merrily. Her cheeks were flushed with the cold and her eyes glittered with their customary animation. “I am so delighted. I found the most beautiful lamb chops when I was Christmas shopping in Harrisonburg today. You two are going to eat like kings this evening!” She plopped the bags on the granite countertop, placed some milk and eggs in the fridge, and then swung around. Observing the downcast eyes of her fiancé and the manner in which James averted his glance, she asked, “Why the long faces?”
Jackson turned to his son with a rare look of appeal. James mouthed a silent “no way,” but Milla was too sharp not to notice. Pointing at the magazine photos, she took a step toward Jackson. “All right, now. ’Fess up. You’re squirmin’ like a mouse in a python’s grip with all these wedding decisions, aren’t you?”
“Well …,” Jackson began and then trailed off.
“Pop’s not stressed about the actual ceremony, Milla,” James said, still hesitant to intervene. “I think all the choices and, I don’t know, modern wedding extras are making him feel a tad overwhelmed.”
“Thank you, James,” Milla replied kindly, and then she picked up Jackson’s hand. “Darling, we don’t need to have anything fancy. I just want our wedding to be beautiful. I’d like some greenery in the church and a nice dinner with champagne for our friends afterwards. And I’d like to have you hold me in your arms for one slow dance. That’s all.”
The couple exchanged affectionate smiles. “When you put it like that, it seems an easier beast to tame. But Milla, I gotta take a break from lookin’ at these crazy bride magazines.” Jackson stood and placed the entire pile into one of the emptied food bags. “It feels downright girlie for a grown man to be readin’ about fluff and frills. Besides, I can’t even remember the last time I read the paper from end to end or watched a solid hour of game shows on TV.”
“Oh, my.” Milla’s shoulders shook with laughter. “I vow to never keep you from The Price is Right again, my love.” She began to put away the rest of the groceries. “And we don’t need to worry about the cake anymore anyway. My little sister is coming into town this weekend and she’s going to bake it for us. She also offered to bake the dinner rolls for our main meal and create a gorgeous dessert bar for our friends. Isn’t that good news?”
“Your sister? The famous one?” Jackson was clearly surprised. “I thought you two got along ’bout as well as wolves and sheep.”
“We’re not that bad!” Milla chuckled as she pulled a large mixing bowl from inside one of the lower cabinets. “I just don’t get her and she doesn’t get me, but we don’t hate each other. We’re different creatures, that’s all. Now, Wheezie, my older sister, can’t even breathe the same air as Patty. I don’t think those two have spoken a civil word in twenty years, but that’s not a tale to be told when I need to busy myself makin’ my men some succulent chops.” She added a few pinches of herbs to the heaping tablespoons of Dijon mustard settled at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
“Wheezie’s an interesting name,” James remarked.
“It’s really Louisa, but I called her Wheezie when I was a toddler and it just stuck. Oh! And speaking of names, I’ve got to remember that I’m not supposed to call my baby sister Patty anymore. It’s Paulette Martine now. The Diva of Dough.”
“Seriously?” James asked incredulously. “Even I know who that is.” He poured himself a glass of water and studied Milla’s familiar features. “We don’t have a single culinary magazine in the library that hasn’t run an article on her this year. And she wrote that cake book too, right? The one all the moms and church ladies check out so they can out-bake their friends?”
Milla spread the mustard mixture onto the surface of the lamb chops. “The Diva of All Cake Books. I believe it’s sold a million copies by now. Patty’s been quite successful,” she added, but James thought he caught a trace of ire in Milla’s voice. “And you can stop studying me, James. I don’t look a lick like her. Never did. Wheezie and I take after our mama, but the ‘Diva’ always favored Daddy’s side of the family.”
Jackson looked troubled. Without a word, he set off for the den and James suspected he was in search of a bottle of Cutty Sark. A few minutes later, he could see that his assumption was correct. Jackson set a tumbler on the kitchen table and resumed his seat.
“Oh boy.” Milla set the oven to heat and then put her hands on her hips. “Now what’s eating at you, Jackson? Is it Patty?”
“Call me a fool if you want, but ain’t your famous, jet-settin’ sister gonna find our little country town mighty dull?” And beneath his breath his muttered, “And the man you’re gonna get hitched to?”
“But Quincy’s Gap is absolutely charming!” Milla declared defensively. “And Pat-Paulette said she’s looking forward to some time away from her busy celebrity life. She says she gets no privacy and is looking forward to slowin’ down some.” Milla retrieved a plump tomato and a small cucumber from the fridge, wiped her hands on the dishtowel, and then knelt d
own beside Jackson. Taking his hands in hers, she looked up at him with one of her illuminating smiles. “This is my chance to reconnect with my sister, dear, and that means so much to me. We’re not getting any younger and our time on this earth is best spent with those we love. If you and James and I all welcome my sister with open arms, I know she’ll come to adore our town and the man I chose to marry.” She turned moist eyes upon James. “Will you both help me to make her feel at home?”
“Of course,” James responded on behalf of himself and his father.
Satisfied, Milla commenced chopping the cucumber at breakneck speed into paper-thin slices. James never grew tired of watching her work her magic in the kitchen. He had first met her when he and the other supper club members had enrolled in one of her cooking classes and had been impressed with her ability to teach others some of the tricks of her trade, but he never imagined that Jackson would fall in love with her. James was thrilled that his father had someone in his life, for Jackson had inched out of his shell more and more with each day spent in Milla’s company. The only negative about his father’s engagement was that Milla cooked for the Henry men every night and James had had a difficult time exercising away the results of Milla’s rich meals. Rubbing a hand across his soft belly, he resolved to be stricter with his diet once he lived on his own.
“James?” Milla glanced up briefly as she made a quick salad dressing using tomato juice, balsamic vinegar, an envelope of Italian salad dressing mix, and a spoonful of sugar. “I wanted to ask you for a big favor.”
“There’s no sayin’ no to a bride-to-be.” Jackson smirked and took a sip of Cutty Sark.
The Battered Body Page 2