by Angie Fox
But why would she have brought me to the place where I could find the key to the mystery, if she didn’t want me to solve it?
Unless she hadn’t expected me to find anything in those photographs.
I passed the hardware store and absently waved to the gray-haired men playing chess in the window of Roan’s, before crossing the street and pushing through the front door of the Sugarland PD.
The place smelled like old bricks and coffee.
I made my way to a big wooden desk that had to have been there since the ’50s. Joshua Carter, who was taking a year off after his sixth year of college, sat on a tall chair behind the desk, absorbed in his phone.
“Hi,” I said to him while he frantically hit a button that made explosion sounds. “I need to see Ellis Wydell. It’s important.”
“Okay.” His tan uniform shirt gaped at the buttons as he worked hard to blow up more imaginary objects.
I planted my elbows on the long wooden desk. It looked ancient, scarred and sanded and scarred again so many times the surface had a permanent tilt in places.
“I’m on a schedule here, Josh.” MayBelle could very well be heading back to the heritage society to take another look at that photograph. It was what I would do if I had questions someone wasn’t willing to answer.
Worse, MayBelle said herself that she had a good poker face. Her confusion could have been her way of tricking me into tipping my hand to reveal what I’d do next.
“Officer Wydell is out of the office on a case,” Josh said. A dramatic warning sounded in his game and he doubled down on the button pushing.
I snatched the phone out of his hand.
“Hey—”
That got his attention.
“You need to call Ellis on the police emergency line and tell him I need him.”
Josh made a grab for his phone.
“Now,” I said. Too bad for him, he was slower in real life than he was as a—I glanced at his phone—space captain in the outer territories.
“That’s theft,” Josh protested, making another grab for his phone.
“Arrest me,” I told him.
Duranja walked in from the back room, papers in hand. His mouth tightened when he saw me. “Ellis is out on a case.”
“So I heard.” Josh took advantage of my momentary distraction to make another grab for space supremacy. He failed. “I found evidence that will blow our case wide open.”
“Our case?” Duranja raised a brow.
“It’s really quite remarkable,” I added, glancing at the sulking Josh, hoping he was trustworthy. “I mean, who’d have thought a wedding picture from 1955 would be the key to solving the mystery of Jorie’s death?”
“I don’t,” Duranja snarked.
“Ha.” Not funny. “We’re on a timetable here. The photo is at the Sugarland Heritage Society, and I’m afraid someone will get to the archives before me and destroy it if we don’t hurry.”
Duranja looked askance at me. “You’re serious. You’re looking in old records for evidence on an accidental death from two days ago.”
“It wasn’t accidental, or you wouldn’t have been so mad when I took that letter I found in the bell tower,” I said, not making the point as well as I’d have liked. “But I’m sorry about that,” I added, glad at least for the chance to apologize. “You have to understand I was being chased by the ghost of a gravedigger and I wasn’t thinking straight.”
“She also stole my phone,” Josh said.
Duranja’s face had grown progressively darker. “Listen, sweetheart,” he said, depositing his folder on the desk and looking down at me, “I don’t want to hear about your ghosts or your excuses. I don’t want to hear about what you found in a dusty archive that has anything to do with a woman falling out of a tower two days ago.”
“Pushed,” I interjected. “Her husband said she was pushed.”
“Her dead husband is a witness?” he asked, a little snarkier than I’d have preferred.
“He didn’t actually see anyone push her—” I corrected.
“Of course not,” Duranja snapped. “Just like you didn’t really see him. You may have half the town suckered into believing you chat with the dead over sweet tea—”
“Frankie prefers Cutty Sark and water,” I countered.
“But I don’t believe in ghosts or your so-called gift. I’m nice to you because Ellis would kick my ass if I wasn’t, but I don’t like you, and I don’t want you bothering Ellis.”
“I’m his girlfriend,” I shot back. “I can bother him all I want.”
“Go for it,” he said, raising his hands as if to wash them of me. “Go nuts. Talk his ear off. Just not when he’s on the job.”
“Because solving a murder’s not his job?” I said to Duranja’s back as he turned to leave.
“And give Josh his phone back,” he tossed over his shoulder right before he walked out.
Well, that was…annoying.
I fought off a wave of disappointment as I watched Duranja leave.
Ellis would take me seriously, if I could just locate him.
Sniveling Josh was back on his phone. I placed a hand between him and the space federation. “Promise me. If you get an emergency call from the heritage society, you make sure they send a team right over.”
“Because we don’t already rush for emergencies,” Josh drawled.
“Bless your heart,” I said to him before I left to figure out how to protect that picture on my own.
When I returned to the car, Frankie sat waiting in my passenger seat.
“How’s the fuzz?” he asked as I tossed my bag into the back.
“Frustrating,” I said, running my hands through my hair.
“Some things never change,” he agreed, and we pulled out.
Still, I wondered where I went wrong in there. Or if I’d had no chance from the start. Even Ellis wouldn’t be happy to know I’d been investigating.
“You realize we’re two blocks away from tonight’s stakeout,” Frankie said as I stopped at a crosswalk to let a woman pass with two grade-school-age girls and a shopping trolley. I wondered if they were going to J&B Meat.
“Lou’s not supposed to arrive until midnight, right?” I asked, giving the woman a small wave. I didn’t know her. They must be new to town.
“Let’s run by really quick and case the property,” Frankie said, drumming his fingers against his leg. “I got to get the lay of the land for my guys. I can’t do proper surveillance while you’ve got me grounded.”
“I’d rather go back to the heritage society and keep watch over that photo,” I told him. “You can visit with Molly,” I added, sweetening the pot.
“Uhhhh,” Frankie cringed. “Let me get this fixed with my brother before I worry about Molly.”
“She’s your girlfriend, not an afterthought,” I said, steering past the clock shop and watch repair. “If you’re having issues, you need to communicate.”
“And I should take advice from you because your love life is going so well,” Frankie groused.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.
“No,” he practically shouted. “Let’s just”—he waved a hand—“just drive me past the target property. Please. It’s on Sycamore Street, just north of Seventh.”
“Okay.” But after that, we were going to guard that photograph. “Ellis is going to call back any time. And when he does, we’re going to break Jorie’s case wide open.”
“Oh, sure,” Frankie said, “because her death is way more important than mine.”
“I didn’t say that.” In fact, I thought I’d done a pretty decent job of pleasing everyone. “We’ll make it work.”
“You seem to think you’re always in control of everything that happens around here,” he snarked.
I ignored it because the poor gangster was in pain. And even more, he had a point. While I wanted to make everything right for every soul—living, dead, and…recently dead—I could only do my best. I hoped it would be
good enough.
We drove down Sycamore Street, past a series of original 1920s-era storefronts anchored by the YMCA building.
“This is the supper club right here,” Frankie said, directing me to a cheery green and pink painted Groomingdales Pet Salon storefront.
I’d heard about this place. It was new. And it stood next to a traditional barbershop. “Oh, how precious.” I parked in front and was about to shut off the car when Frankie gasped and shrank into a tiny flame.
“Drive!” he ordered.
Holy smokes. I checked my rearview mirror for ghosts with guns, or any traffic, and pulled out fast.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t hear anything.
“Lou was hunkered down by the barber shop,” Frankie said. “If he spots me, he’s going to run again!”
I looked, but I didn’t see anything.
Oh, wait, I didn’t have Frankie’s power.
And just like that, we were half a block away.
“Turn around,” Frankie said, taking form again. “Go around the block. I want to see what he’s doing. I swear I saw Lou hiding behind a newspaper.”
“Well, how are you going to hide from him and also see what he’s doing?” I made a right and started to circle the block.
“You’re going to tell me,” he ordered as his power settled over me. I winced as it prickled through my skin, down to my bones. He had to stop doing these power exchanges while I was driving.
I also had a question. “Why would Lou be hiding out on the street by the place he’s going for supper tonight?”
“Yeah, I know. It’s eight hours before Wally Big Ears said.” Frankie drummed his fingers on his leg. “But that was him.”
“I think there’s more to this story than we know,” I said, a flicker of hope blooming. “Maybe you and Lou can work this out.”
“And maybe Lou is auditioning for the barbershop quartet,” Frankie shot back. He slouched in his seat. “Just…don’t get your hopes up.”
“I won’t,” I told him.
But that didn’t mean I was ready to give up on him.
We came up on the block again. This time, Frankie was prepared. He sank down through the passenger seat so that only his eyes, forehead, and hat were above the window ledge. Only the most recognizable parts of him. Although I didn’t feel he’d appreciate it if I pointed that out.
I just hoped he wouldn’t blow his cover because I didn’t feel like trying to track down Lou to yet another hideout.
I stopped a few stores down from Groomingdales Pet Salon and found a parking spot in front of a pickup truck, with a clear view of the sidewalk.
“There,” Frankie said, pointing to a ghost leaning on a wall next to a swirling red, white, and blue barber pole. He wore a fedora pulled low, his face and upper body blocked by a newspaper.
“It could be anybody.”
“It’s him,” Frankie muttered. “I know how he leans.”
The man lowered his paper, and I still couldn’t identify him. He seemed to be scoping out the upper windows of a building across the street, the Pastry Box bakery.
If that was Lou, he was up to something. “That bakery isn’t another mob front, is it?”
“Not every business in town is a mob front,” Frankie snipped, tense. “And, no—that’s not one of ours, or anybody else’s for all I know.”
We’d just have to see.
A shadowy figure of a woman moved behind the window. I couldn’t see her well enough to determine if she was a ghost or a real-life person. It seemed good enough for our man on the street, however.
“Look,” I said as he quickly folded his paper. “It is Lou.” He tucked it under his arm and scurried across the street.
“He’s going into the bakery,” Frankie said as Lou passed through the glass window displaying fresh pies, mounds of cookies, and cakes on stands. “But…but…that’s just a bakery,” he protested, trying to figure it out.
It appeared so—both in his world and mine. Still, I knew better than to take it for granted. “Let’s check it out.” I grabbed my bag.
We hurried across the street, and moments later, Frankie passed through the same window as Lou.
I settled for the door.
A bell jingled as I stepped onto the white and teal tile floor that had been here for a few generations.
“Be right with you,” called a dark-haired woman with dreadlocks tied into a ponytail. Maya Anderson had been two years ahead of me in high school, and she probably didn’t remember it, but she’d directed me to my locker freshman year.
“No worries,” I said, glad to see her attention diverted as she focused on a tween boy standing in front of a huge glass display case of cookies, candies, and cake bites.
“I can’t decide,” he lamented.
“Well, you do always get the cinnamon roll,” she said patiently.
“He can take all the time he wants. I’m just browsing,” I said. He could take an hour for all I cared.
Meanwhile, Frankie backed Lou into a corner behind a wooden bookshelf display of local honey and homemade jellies. “I have a question for you, brother.” He spat the last word.
Be kind. I willed the thought at Frankie as I took a gander at a jar of Miss Jean’s Rhubarb Jam. This was the only brother, the only family, Frankie had.
“What are you doing here?” Lou demanded as if Frankie had just walked in on him taking a shower. “Get out!”
“I need answers,” Frankie hissed, blocking him in.
“You’re messing me up.” Lou’s gaze darted past Frankie to the stairwell at the back of the store. “Don’t make me shoot you again.”
Frankie whipped a gun out of his jacket and pressed it to Lou’s forehead. “I’d give you a matching bullet hole if I could.”
Oh no. Not a promising reunion.
Lou held up his hands. “Don’t shoot,” he pleaded, nervous. “I can’t get knocked out. I haven’t been this close in years.”
“What is he talking about?” I whispered as Frankie cocked the revolver. “Hold up, Frank.”
“Don’t call him Frank,” Lou pleaded. “Everybody calm down.” His eyes darted from his brother to me and back again. “I’ve got a person I’m tracking. I’ve got one chance at this.”
He sounded desperate. “We’ll help you,” I murmured, hoping Maya was sufficiently distracted.
“What?” Frankie demanded. “No, we won’t. I’m here for answers and revenge. In that order.”
I’d seen Lou watching the shadow of a woman in the upper window. “Lou’s tracking a lady, to the second floor of this building if I’m not mistaken.” The look on his face told me I was right. “We’ll do this with you,” I pledged.
“I think we need to argue more,” Frankie countered, but he lowered his gun.
And at that moment, Lou disappeared.
Frankie let out a stream of cuss words that would make a drill sergeant blush.
“He’s headed upstairs,” I told him. Lou wouldn’t leave. Not when he was so close.
The bell on the door tinkled. “I can help you now, Verity,” Maya called.
The boy had left with his cinnamon roll, just as she’d called it.
“Erm.” Think fast. “I need to go upstairs.”
Yeah, that was smooth. But I was desperate. I had a feeling I knew who Lou hoped to find upstairs in the bakery, although I wanted to know more about why.
And I definitely didn’t want Frankie shooting either one of them.
I expected Maya to frown or be confused at my desire to wander upstairs in her shop, but instead, she broke out into a wide grin. “Congratulations!” She bustled out from behind the glass case. “Oh, this is wonderful news,” she said, giving me a hug.
She smelled delicious, like sugar and frosting, and I was so confused.
“We have all the basic wedding cake styles upstairs on display, but I can make anything you like. Just bring a picture in.”
“Oh,” I said
, surprised. “Oh!” Of course. She used the upstairs space to meet with couples who needed wedding cakes. She thought Ellis and I… uh-oh. Stars. News of our “engagement” would be all over Sugarland before suppertime.
At least that might get Ellis to call me back right away.
“We’re not saying anything publicly,” I stammered. Because we weren’t saying anything at all. Because there wasn’t anything to say. Just last night, he’d as soon have arrested me as kissed me.
Maya gave me a wink and a smile. “I’ll keep your secret.” She squeezed my arm and dragged me into a side-hug. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Me too,” I said, not quite ready to believe what had just happened.
The bell jingled and a pair of giggling girls rolled in.
“I think I’ll go up now,” I said to Maya.
“Sure! Have a look around. Let me know when you want a tasting,” she called after me.
Sakes alive. What I did for my job.
I hurried up the stairs to find Frankie with his gun drawn, stalking between pedestals topped with simple round stacked wedding cakes, cakes with flowers, cakes with pillars and fountains.
“Where is he?” I asked. Framed portraits on the walls displayed happy brides and grooms cutting even more of Maya’s creations.
“We lost him,” Frankie said, eyes wild, finger on the trigger. “I can’t believe we lost him!”
“Maybe not.” Lou had seen his target in the upstairs window, but this room had none. “Look.” A folding bistro table leaned against the wall, and behind it, painted the same pink as the walls, stood a door.
I moved the table while Frankie passed through the wall. “Wait up,” I said, walking into a narrow storage area lined with shelves and running the length of the store.
This didn’t count as breaking and entering, did it?
I’d worry about it later.
I passed shelves lined with bins of plastic cake tiers, display trays, free-standing pedestals, and pretty much every cake topper known to man. The hallway opened up on a small workroom with two windows facing the street. Spare folding chairs lay stacked against the wall between the windows, and to the right, a pink painted bookshelf held sample binders and books like The Wilton Wedding Guide and Simply Modern Wedding Cakes.
I also detected the faint scent of violet and vanilla.