Scornful Scones (Cozy Corgi Mysteries Book 5)

by Mildred Abbott

  And he was off. Running so fast his back legs stumbled on the first step, but then they got a hold, and he disappeared.

  I used the distraction to remind myself that I was a civilized adult woman capable of having self-control and not being a snarky seventh grader. I even managed a smile I didn’t think was overly saccharine. “What can I do for you, Susan?”

  “Officer Green, remember?”

  I took a slow breath and turned around, giving myself another moment, then headed back toward the mystery room. “Follow me, Officer Green. We can have a seat while we chat.”

  To my surprise, she didn’t argue, and within a few moments we were both seated at either end of the sofa. Though similar to how Leo and I had sat only minutes before, it felt like the couch had gained an extra few yards.

  “Good grief, it’s as hot as an oven in here.” Susan wiggled, shifting the holstered gun on her hips slightly. “And this fancy thing sure isn’t comfortable, is it?” Her gaze lifted to the antique lamp with the purple fabric and fringed shade. “Kinda prissy too.”

  She was in a mood. Most definitely. I decided to cut through it. I didn’t have the energy, I never felt good about myself afterward, and Katie and I had interviews arriving any second. “I take it you’re here because of Eustace Beaker?”

  She stopped studying the lampshade to stare at me in suspicion. “Interesting that you’d assume that. Why? What are you planning?”

  “What am I…?” She was throwing me off. Maybe intentionally… probably. “Well, I don’t know, Susan. The man just died a few hours ago, and we spoke to each other over his dead body. Why else would you be here?”

  She seemed to consider; though, if she was looking for an actual answer or an insulting retort, I wasn’t certain. Finally she tilted her head. “Mr. Beaker died by choking on a white chocolate cranberry scone earlier this afternoon in the middle of the celebratory launch of Black Bear Roaster’s newest espresso.”

  I waited for her to continue, to ask a question or reveal some twist. She didn’t. She continued to stare at me expectantly.

  “Yes. I was there. Remember?”

  Her growl was so low I almost thought Watson was back. “No need to be petulant.”

  “I’m not trying to be, Officer Green, but I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”

  “I’m simply asking if you would agree with that statement.”

  I sensed a trap, but I couldn’t determine exactly where it was laid. I nodded, slowly, though even as I did, it felt like the wrong thing to do. “Yes. I would agree. I suppose.”

  “You suppose?” She straightened, and sure enough, unless I was mistaken, I heard an audible snap of the trap closing around my ankle. “Why do you say that? Is there some alternative reality that occurred that the rest of the coffee shop missed?”

  The challenge in her tone was nearly enough to make me repeat what I just theorized as a possibility with Leo. Nearly. I matched her posture, straightening, then smoothed out my skirt. The motion didn’t feel nearly as effective as Susan adjusting her holster, but still. “You tell me, Officer Green. If Eustace Beaker choked to death on a scone, why are you here? I didn’t force-feed it to him.”

  “There was a witness saying that you overheard an altercation between the deceased and Carla Beaker.” She kept her tone utterly flat.

  I wasn’t quick enough to disguise my flinch, and Susan’s eyes narrowed.

  Someone had noticed me eavesdropping? Maybe Myrtle Bantam.

  The second the option flitted through my mind, I cast it away. She’d been in the bathroom. There hadn’t been anyone else in the hallway.

  That only left one option. Eustace must have mentioned to Carla that he’d seen me in the hall.

  “Carla asked you to come here?”

  It was Susan’s turn to flinch.

  Bingo.

  Susan considered for a second. When she spoke, her voice was pure, cold authority. “Just because family members argue right before death, doesn’t mean there’s foul play. No one needed to ask me to come here, Winifred. It’s no secret that you love nothing more than snooping where your nose doesn’t belong. It would be just like you to blow a tragic, yet accidental, death out of proportion and only cause more injury to the bereaved. I’m simply dropping by to make sure you don’t have any of those notions in that fuzzy red head of yours.

  Fuzzy? I bristled at the term. My hair was most definitely not fuzzy.

  That wasn’t the point. Good grief, that wasn’t the point.

  “Hello?” A voice broke the tension, along with the opening of the front door.

  “One second, I’ll be right there.” I raised my voice but then lowered it again as I addressed Susan. “Katie and I are doing interviews to replace Sammy. It sounds like they are arriving. Do you need more of my time?”

  “No. Definitely not. I don’t have any questions for you. There’s nothing to figure out.” Susan stood, smoothed out her slacks, and once more readjusted her gun. And again, I had to admit that she was much more effective at that gesture than I was. “Please don’t make yourself a nuisance, Fred. I know that’s a full-time job, but prove to me that you can do it, for once.”

  Before I could think of a retort, thankfully, she turned and walked away.

  I took another second or two before stepping out to greet whoever had arrived for the first interview. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but there was no doubt Carla had asked Susan to come speak to me. Or had at least mentioned she was worried about what I would do.

  I’d already been thinking Eustace might not have choked. The possibility sounded absurd, enough so I truly might have pushed the possibility from my mind.

  All chances of that had just flown out the window.

  “I didn’t realize this was a cook-your-own-food kind of steak place.” I stared down the long grill that filled up most of the narrow room. I’d never seen anything like it. It was like Katie’s bakery counter, except instead of being topped with marble, it was one huge flaming grill with room on all four sides for people to stand and cook their chosen pieces of meat. “Actually, I didn’t even know this sort of place existed anywhere. And that’s saying something, since I grew up in the Midwest.”

  Branson flashed his movie-star smile as he held up his thick elk steak with a pair of metal tongs. “When you suggested meeting at Prime Slice, I didn’t think about you never having eaten here before. The waitress did say they could cook the steaks for us if we want.”

  “Not on your life. I’m new enough in town to know that any choice I make in public affects my reputation. I’m not going to be known as the girl who’s too good to cook her own steak.”

  Already the heat from the grill was getting to me, and I used one hand to pull my hair over my shoulders in an attempt to cool myself down. And I had actually taken the time to do more with my hair than simply run a brush through it. That would teach me. Taking another set of tongs, I lifted my filet cut of bison and placed it on the grill with a flourish. I was of two minds. On the one hand, the restaurant concept was a fun idea, something different than normal. But on the other, the steaks weren’t any cheaper than at a five-star steakhouse, and I could’ve cooked for less money at home.

  Branson followed my lead and finally lowered his steak to the grill as well, then ran his fingers through his thick black hair. The locks fell perfectly back into place as his bright green eyes sparkled at me through the waves of heat wafting between us.

  Literal waves of heat—from the grill. Not metaphorical.

  Although, maybe those were there too. I couldn’t tell. Goodness knew, I was a nervous wreck, but at that moment I was more irritated at him for being so stinking pretty than anything else. Branson Wexler looked like he was shooting a commercial for the place, while I needed someone to hand me a paper towel to mop the sweat off my forehead.

  “At least we don’t have to bake our own potatoes.” He reached down and slid a tray of seasoning between us and began to salt his steak. “I do lo
ve a woman who wants steak and potatoes, though.” His eyes flashed again. “Did I mention how beautiful you are tonight? That sapphire blouse is really a great color on you.”

  “You did, when I arrived. Thank you.” I shifted and looked away, grateful for the distraction of the spices to have something to do with my hands. I grabbed one of the bottles—I thought it was pepper. The blouse had been Katie’s contribution to this reconciliatory date. She’d insisted I wear something jewel-toned instead of one of my preferred earthy colors.

  Branson reached out and slid his hand over mine, forcing me to pause in my pepper seasoning. “If you keep going, you’re going to sneeze with every bite you take.”

  Sure enough, I hadn’t even realized I’d fairly encrusted the steak in the stuff.

  He let his hand linger on mine for a few moments. “Don’t worry, if it’s too spicy, I’ll share mine.” His thumb moved on the back of my hand in what might have been a caress, or simply an unconscious twitch, before he released me.

  I gulped and then traded it for the salt.

  There had to be something to say. Something.

  We’d been on a few dates before, but that had been months ago. Somehow, I was more nervous than our first one. “How was your trip?”

  “Fine. Productive as always.” He shrugged in his easy way and then, as usual when I brought up his constant quick trips, shifted the topic. “Thanks for agreeing to go on another date with me, Fred. I was afraid I’d screwed up any chance I had with you when everything went down with the bird club in January.”

  My next flash of irritation had nothing to do with him being prettier than me, and it helped. I switched saltshaker for the tongs and shook them in his direction. “You know, for as smooth as you are, I’d think you’d know better than to remind a woman of how bossy and controlling you can be.”

  “I was just doing my job, Fred.”

  “Really? I thought we’d come to an agreement since then that you can’t tell me who I can or can’t speak to if I have questions about a murder, or anything else for that matter.”

  “We did. After that case.” He grinned. “And I’ve stuck to that since, haven’t I?”

  I set the tongs back down without using them before I smacked him in the head. Could you get in trouble for assaulting a police sergeant with cooking utensils while on a date with said sergeant? “And again, you surprise me. Is this arrogant tone of voice meant to be charming?”

  He propped his hip on the counter bordering the grill, folded his arms, and all the while his smug smile stayed firmly in place. “You looked nervous. That’s not fun, and I don’t like seeing you uncomfortable. At least if you’re irritated, you’re more sure of yourself.”

  “Well that’s just…” His meaning sank in, and I wasn’t certain whether I was more tempted to smack him harder with the tongs or laugh. “You’re irritating me on purpose, trying to make me feel at ease?”

  “Depends…” He cocked an eyebrow. “Did it work?”

  I didn’t even have to consider. “Yes. But if you try to arrest me when I shove your face on the grill, I can promise you there will never be another date. Ever.”

  “See that? You’re already talking about another date.” He looked like he was struggling not to laugh. “When you insisted on meeting here instead of having me pick you up, I figured my chances were slim.”

  I glowered at him. “Your chances are slim.” I managed to keep a straight face for about three seconds and then laughed. He was good. I had to give him that. The irritation had faded, leaving me feeling at ease.

  When I’d arrived in town last winter, the furthest thing from my mind had been dating, or men. In fact, they’d been on the strictly do-not-attempt list. Yet, there I was, despite all of that, on a date with a police sergeant. And possibly having feelings for a park ranger.

  Maybe I was the one who needed a browbeating with the tongs.

  Wisely, he changed the subject again, motioning to our steaks. “Probably time to flip them over. If you coat the other side with a thick layer of salt, it might just even out.” He smiled teasingly, then bit his lower lip, giving him an air of innocence—which was most definitely not a trustworthy expression—before grinning fully once more. “I do know you make a delicious grilled cheese, but I am curious about your other cooking skills.” He held up a hand. “Not that I judge a woman by her homemaking abilities. I’m a feminist, after all.”

  I wasn’t exactly sure how true that was. He kept sending me mixed messages on that, along with everything else. Although I’d never gotten the sense that the mixed signals were due to me being a woman—if I had, I would never have gone out on a date with him to begin with. But still, I wasn’t sure. Not sure about much regarding Branson Wexler, if I was being honest with myself. Which… maybe was why I’d said yes to going on another date.

  I shoved that thought aside. I hated to think what that said about me.

  We finished cooking our steaks in relative ease, despite the increasing heat, and from the looks he gave me, maybe not all of it was simply from the grill.

  As if by magic, as soon as we sat down with our steaks at the table, the waitress arrived with baked potatoes and all the toppings, cornbread casserole, and roasted brussels sprouts with candied bacon.

  The combined aromas were a little slice of heaven. I licked my lips to keep from adding salivating to the list of bodily functions that were most definitely on the ruin-date list.

  Branson cut into his elk steak, took a bite, and gave a groan that was a little bit too exaggerated to be construed as anything other than flirtatious. “Now that’s amazing. I’m quite the grill master, if I do say so myself.” He winked. “I confess, I’ve been here a couple of times. Prime Slice has one of the best chocolate cakes around. Second only to Katie’s, I’m sure.”

  I’d said yes to the date with Branson because… well… I wanted to go on a date with Branson, despite myself, but I’d also been looking for a segue on to other topics. And that moment might be as close as I could hope to get. I’d just been about to pop my first bite of steak into my mouth, but I lowered it back down to the plate and leaned forward. “Speaking of dessert, I’ve found myself wondering about scones over the past couple of days.”

  Branson’s eyes narrowed, and his tone grew wary. “Seriously, Fred? Is that why you finally said yes to going on a date with me again?”

  “No. Not at all.” He looked hurt. Genuinely. Without thinking I reached out and placed my hand over his. “I’m sorry.”

  He studied me for a second, seemed convinced, and then smiled again before taking another bite.

  I released his hand and followed suit. I nearly choked. Both the salt and pepper, and some other herb I’d bathed my poor bison in, filled up all my senses in an attempt to strangle me. I washed it down with a quick gulp of water, then had to thump my chest once before clearing my throat.

  Branson stared at me, and though he managed to keep from laughing, the amusement in his tone was nearly tangible. “You okay?”

  I nodded, sucked in a breath, and managed words. “Yes. But I don’t think I quite qualify as grill master. Although, if your steak is lacking any seasoning, you can borrow some of mine. It seems I dumped an entire spice cabinet on this thing.”

  “We can ask them to cook you another one.”

  “Absolutely not. It was my own fault. And this poor little buffalo shouldn’t have died in vain. I’ll just scrape off what I can and douse it with steak sauce.” I forced a smile. “At least there’s cake.”

  “Here, we’ll split.” Branson cut his steak in half and slid a portion onto my plate. “At the end, we’ll each get our own huge piece of chocolate cake to make up for it. None of that splitting mumbo jumbo.”

  And with that suggestion, impossibly, the man got even better-looking. “Thank you for the steak.” I cut into it, hesitated, and focused up at him once more. “But… speaking of cake, and desserts…”

  He let out what sounded like a frustrated laugh and threw up
his hands. “Oh, for crying out loud. You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

  I shrugged in way of apology. “No, I don’t think I can.”

  Branson set down his fork, folded his hands on the tabletop, and leveled his stare. “Okay, how about this, just get it all out at once, and then we can move on and actually have a date instead of an interrogation. How does that sound?”

  “Marvelous, actually.” I followed his example, folding my hands, and shimmied in my chair with pleasure. Finally, I might be able to get somewhere. I’d been stewing over my conversation with Susan for the past two days. Not to mention practically driving Katie crazy as I refused to talk about anything else. “I suppose Officer Green mentioned her conversation with me?”

  “She did.” He nodded. “She was under the impression that you might believe Mr. Beaker died of foul play?”

  I studied him for a moment, attempting to judge his reaction. “I think it’s a possibility.”

  “Okay, why?” No smirk, no sound of disbelief, not even the hint of judgment. Maybe he was faking it, but even so, I appreciated his seriousness.

  “From what I witnessed in the little time I was there, and then from what I’ve heard about him outside of the coffee shop, the man was a fairly horrible human being. Not a murderer or anything, but it seems like he was unkind to nearly everyone who crossed his path. The type of man who might have a lot of enemies.”

  Branson considered, then gave another slow nod. “Okay, but how? From your own report, you saw the man choking on a scone and then rush off toward the restroom. Carla found him dead in the hallway mere moments later.”

  Again, it seemed like he was genuinely asking.

  “I don’t know exactly. The only thing I can think of is that his scone was poisoned.” I held up a hand. “Yes, I know that it would’ve had to have been a fairly fast-acting poison to have had any effect. Trust me, Katie’s been on a Google binge to convince me of just that. So I don’t know. Maybe poison, maybe something else. I just know that it seemed entirely too convenient from all I witnessed from him in that short time, being absolutely horrible to so many people, for him to drop dead out of the blue without some assistance.”