Murder Freshly Baked

by Vannetta Chapman

  Pam was Amber’s new assistant. She’d joined the Village the year before, after Hannah had first taken over running A Simple Blend—after she’d found Ethan Gray sprawled among the coffee beans, dead.

  “Still making the lunch bags? I need to buy one of those.”

  Hannah looked down at her lunch bag—quilted in new spring fabrics of pink, yellow, and blue. Then she glanced at Pam. The assistant manager of the Village had black hair, cut shoulder length. She was not a small woman, but she carried her weight and height well. She always wore interesting clothes that accented her dark brown skin, and her personality was as bright and strong as her style of clothing. Today she wore a sky blue dress covered in different types of kites.

  Kites! Flat kites, boxed kites, bowed kites—in green, yellow, pink, red, even purple—all flying against the rich blue fabric. Hannah couldn’t imagine using the material to quilt or wear, but she had to admit that it looked fun on Pam. It made her think about flying kites with her little sister. It made her forget her worries, if only for a moment.

  “Lunch bags?” Pam reached over and tapped the bag.

  “Ya, I do still make the lunch bags, and I sell them at The Quilting Bee.” She nodded toward the shop next door.

  “I’ll buy one. I could use it to carry a snack, since most days I eat lunch in the restaurant. Have you tried the fried chicken over there? We hire the best cooks.”

  Hannah nodded. “Their food is nearly as good as my mamm’s.”

  “Huh. What does a girl have to do to get an invitation to your house for dinner? On second thought, if your mom’s chicken is better than what we serve, I’d probably come away homesick. You need to go south, Hannah, at least once. Go and sample our famous Southern cooking. You would love it.”

  Hannah nodded, then switched her bag from one hand to the other. “But you didn’t come by to talk to me about chicken.”

  “I didn’t.” Pam pulled Hannah toward a bench. “Tell me about Martha. How is she doing? Amber’s so consumed with the poison poet—”

  Hannah flinched at Pam’s name for their newest pest. She kept trying to forget about the threatening e-mail Amber had shown her. She had been so looking forward to spring, and she didn’t want it marred by another dark mystery.

  “And then she received that unexpected call from Preston—”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Sure. Something about a dog. Nothing to worry about.”

  Hannah couldn’t imagine Preston with a dog. He seemed to work a lot of hours. When would he spend time with it? And why was Amber involved?

  “Let’s talk about Martha, though. Amber was worried because of this guy Ryan Duvall.”

  “Ya, Martha is sort of seeing him.”

  “The guy is older, right?”

  “Much.”

  “And he’s something of a player, if I understand correctly.”

  “I’m not sure about that, but he has a reputation for seeing more than one girl at a time.”

  “Do you think he’s dating Martha?”

  Hannah replayed the conversation she’d had with her friend earlier. She didn’t want to betray any confidence, but then Martha hadn’t told her anything that wasn’t public knowledge. No, it wasn’t where they’d gone or planned on going that bothered Hannah. It was her friend’s mannerisms—the way she blushed, the dreamy look in her eyes, and the determination in her voice.

  “Martha thinks he is,” she finally answered.

  “Probably not any of our business.” Pam fingered the purple scarf she wore draped down the front of her dress. “We wouldn’t normally involve ourselves in an employee’s private life.”

  “But this time is different?”

  “It might be. Earlier today a little bird told me Ryan is also seeing a couple of other women here at the Village.”

  “I knew he had given Letha a ride, but I hadn’t heard that he was dating anyone else.” More importantly, Hannah wondered if Martha had heard.

  “He gave her more than a ride. He definitely took Letha Keim out last night.”

  “You’re sure? Usually Letha works late on Mondays and stocks the deliveries she received earlier for the clothing shop.”

  “Apparently they were having dinner at Mancino’s.”

  “I know his parents own a horse farm, but still, how can he afford so many dinners at restaurants?” Hannah placed her lunch bag on her lap and stared down at it. She was certainly grateful that her love life wasn’t complicated. Jesse had never shown any interest in anyone else. If he was distracted at times, it was because he was planning something on the farm or worrying about something at the Village.

  “Who says he can afford it? Sometimes men run up a large credit card bill and then borrow the money.”

  “Who would lend it to them?”

  “Women in love do things they wouldn’t under normal circumstances. I knew a gal in San Antonio . . . she fell for this cowboy on the rodeo circuit. Next thing we knew, she’d cleaned out her bank account to loan him enough for his next gig. He headed west and she never heard from him again.”

  Hannah didn’t know what a rodeo circuit or a gig was, but none of that sounded good to her. Would Ryan attempt to do the same to Martha? Did Martha have any money saved?

  “Still, it doesn’t seem like our business—not really.” Hannah didn’t add that she’d spoken to Martha about Ryan earlier that day. Maybe she was overstepping the boundaries of friendship to be worried about her friend’s romantic affairs, but certainly it had nothing to do with the Village. Did it?

  “Normally I’d agree with you, but we both know Amber and Carol look over you girls like mother hens—which is how this ended up on my to-do list.”

  “So Ryan is seeing both Martha and Letha. What can we do about it?”

  “Maybe nothing. But another little bird told me that at this very moment Ryan is over at the restaurant enjoying a meal with Georgia. I thought we might hop over there for a piece of pie. I’ll pay. What do you say?”

  “Why me?” Hannah’s voice cracked on the question. She wasn’t sure how involved she wanted to be with this guy. He sounded more and more like a disreputable person. On the other hand, if they could help Martha in some way, she’d certainly be willing to do that.

  Pam had stood and was motioning Hannah to her feet. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Duvall. I’m guessing that you have?”

  “I’ve seen him around town. He’s lived here all his life.”

  “Wonderful—a homegrown Casanova.”

  “A what?”

  “The thing is, I’m fairly new in town, so I haven’t had the opportunity to make Ryan Duvall’s acquaintance yet. I want to make sure this little piece of information about Georgia and Ryan is true. I need you to go with me and identify him. For all I know Georgia entertains a different man at every lunch. I don’t want to assume he’s Duvall.”

  “We don’t have to speak with him?”

  “Nah. I’ll leave that to Amber, unless he does something to irk me. Then I might have to set him straight.”

  Hannah didn’t know what Ryan could possibly do to annoy Pam, but she did know she wouldn’t want to make the assistant manager angry. Pam was one of the nicest managers Hannah had ever worked for, but she’d seen her disposition quickly change when she perceived one of their own was being mistreated. In her opinion, Pam resembled a momma bear more than a mother hen. Pam Coleman was one person whose good side she’d rather stay on. If it meant eating a free piece of pie, that was something she could do with no problem at all.

  Besides, it wasn’t like they were going to talk to Ryan.

  She decided to enjoy the chance to sit in the Village restaurant and treat herself to some freshly baked dessert. There was more work waiting for her at home, but she’d eaten her lunch hours ago.

  Her stomach growled, confirming it was the right thing to do.

  A tickle in the memory section of her brain, however, told her to be prepared. If there was one thing she’d lea
rned in the last year, it was that often things did not turn out the way you planned.

  Preston tried not to glance at Amber as he steered his Volkswagen onto US 33 South. They were twenty minutes into the trip, and still he had no idea what to say. Fortunately, that was rarely a problem for Amber.

  Today she seemed chattier than ever. She’d updated him on the health status of Tate’s donkeys—all good, the impending birth of his grandson—in August, and Ryan Duvall’s dating status—busy. The last news had claimed Preston’s attention for a moment, until he remembered where he was going and what he was doing. Then he slipped back into the circle his thoughts insisted on following.

  Zoey. Last night. Dog.

  Last night. Zoey. Dog.

  Dog. Zoey. Last night.

  Any way he looked at it, he arrived at the same conclusion. Though he didn’t much believe it would work, agreeing to a service dog seemed to be his one hope for a normal life—if it worked, which he doubted.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there, even for you, and yes, I realize you aren’t known for your long speeches.” Amber chewed on her thumbnail, something he’d never seen her do before.

  Was she as nervous about this trip as he was?

  “Thanks for coming with me, Amber. I didn’t expect you to drop everything when I called. I just wanted your permission to take off for the afternoon.”

  “Of course I wanted to come with you. You’re like family, Preston, and this is an important day. I still can’t quite believe they have a dog for you. People normally wait for years, right?”

  Preston attempted a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  What was he doing?

  Why had he agreed to this?

  Amber turned so that her back was against the door of the Beetle and studied him. “Having second thoughts?”

  “I’m not sure I had first thoughts—other than this won’t work and someone else probably needs the dog more than I do.”

  To give her credit, she didn’t argue. He had no doubt she had countless arguments, the same as Zoey. But when it came down to it, this wasn’t a logical decision. It was a decision of the heart. It was a step into the unknown because of his love for Zoey.

  “And I still don’t know how you got dragged into this.” Preston focused his eyes on the road.

  “That one’s easy. Zoey called me right after you did. She couldn’t take off with no notice, and your father’s in no condition to go. There was no one else to replace her—except me or Tate, and my dear husband was too dirty from gardening for a quick get-away. So voilà! You’re stuck with me.”

  “I should be able to do this myself.”

  “Their policy requires you to bring a family member. I know I’m not technically related to you, but I’m happy to stand in.”

  “I appreciate that, Amber. I do.” He shook his head, then glanced at her, surprised to find a smile on her face. “This change in my life is happening very fast, and I hate that we both took off the afternoon from the Village.”

  Amber looked out the front, then side window. Green fields stretched as far as the eye could see on both sides. The sky was Easter-egg blue, punctuated by the occasional fluffy white cloud. The field to the west was being worked by an Amish farmer who had harnessed six Belgian draft horses to his plow.

  “You’re a bright spot in my life, Preston. You and Tate and Hannah and Pam. What would life be without friends? Sometimes I think I live in a fairy tale.” Amber’s voice had softened. She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear before turning again to look at him. “It’s easy to forget that when I divide my time between the Village and my home and . . . problems. It’s easy to forget all that is around me and how God has blessed our area. You’ve done me a favor today, Preston. You’ve helped me remember what I love about living in Indiana.”

  He had no answer to that, so he nodded as if what she said made sense.

  Then he remembered about the dog, and something in his stomach clenched as tight as the spark plugs on the old Volkswagen. When he’d first purchased the Bug, he had thought he’d never get those things off—time and weather had cemented them on good. Now he thought his stomach would never feel normal again.

  “Have you ever owned a dog?” Amber pulled a ball of yarn and crochet hook out of her purse, and he almost smiled. Her attempts at crocheting had once been a source of humor around the office, but he heard she was actually improving.

  “High school.” He hadn’t thought of Skipper in quite a long time. “Crazy little dachshund.”

  Amber smiled as she continued to work the yarn with the crochet hook—to the back, front, and then through. It certainly looked peaceful to watch her do it. “I pictured you with a hunting dog—something big and clumsy.”

  “Skipper was my mom’s dog, but somehow he attached himself to me. He’d wait by the door until I came home, and then—even when I banished him from my room for tearing up something—he’d sleep in the hall outside my bedroom door.”

  “What happened to him?”

  Preston shrugged. “Old age, I guess. I found out in one of the letters Mom sent overseas.”

  “How often did you receive mail?”

  “That depended on several factors. If you were on a base, the mail came fairly often—though it might take two to three weeks to get there by the time it was re-routed. If you were out on a mission, you might not receive any.”

  Preston was staring out the windshield at the green grass and fields of corn on either side of the road, but suddenly his throat was dry—painfully so. He tried to swallow and couldn’t. He ran his fingers over the dashboard, and felt gravel biting into his fingertips. His hand began to tremble slightly, and he clutched the wheel all the harder.

  Amber was saying something about cats and dogs, but her voice faded behind the noise from the engine and the road. He tried to focus on her words and on steering the car, to keep his mind locked on where they were going, not where he had been. But he felt himself falling back. He saw the shoulder he was pulling onto, but over that in stronger images and brighter colors he saw blood and carnage and desert. Then he was helpless to stop himself as the world he had left behind crashed in around him once more.

  Twelve

  They weren’t exactly spying. Hannah and Pam sat in a corner booth, watching Georgia and Ryan across the room. The two looked somewhat odd sitting together, Hannah had to admit that. Georgia was in her fifties. Wasn’t that too old for romantic relationships?

  “I think she’s changed her hairdo.” Pam squinted across the room.

  “Ya, looks like a new cut.”

  “And hasn’t she lost weight? She looks thinner to me. I wouldn’t be thinner if I worked in a bakery. I’m full-size as it is. Who loses weight while they bake pies and cakes and cookies? I smell a rat—or a diet. Something’s off.”

  Hannah realized that what Pam was saying was true. Georgia’s hair looked much more fashionable and she’d definitely lost a good ten pounds. She even looked as if she might be wearing a hint of lipstick. Since when did Georgia Small wear lipstick?

  It was disconcerting to study her. She’d always thought of Georgia as . . . Georgia! Not remarkable. Not attractive and not ugly. Georgia was simply as she should be, as she’d always been. But something had changed. Something had caused her to change. Was it the man sitting with her?

  Ryan looked like someone who had stepped off the cover of an Englisch magazine. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a flannel shirt over that—standard fare. But on Ryan Duvall it looked as if he’d had the clothes chosen especially for him. Black hair curled haphazardly over his head, falling into his eyes when he laughed at something Georgia said. His hands, face, and neck were tanned a golden brown, perhaps from working outside with the horses. Though he had turned forty, or so Hannah had heard, he had the look and build of someone younger. There was no gray in his hair, no circles under his eyes, and not a hint of fat anywhere on him—which was saying something since he was busily consuming a rather large piece
of Dutch apple pie covered with at least two scoops of ice cream. Other dishes were scattered around their table, so plainly he had enjoyed lunch as well.

  If Georgia had noticed Hannah and Pam, she showed no indication. Instead she seemed completely focused on the man across from her.

  “You’re sure that’s him?”

  “I’m sure.” Hannah pushed away her empty plate. She’d chosen the chocolate peanut butter pie, and she’d devoured every crumb.

  “I don’t like him.” Pam narrowed her eyes, pointing a fork in their direction as she continued to study them. She’d ordered red raspberry cream pie, and a little of it clung to her fork.

  “We don’t even know him. Not really. We only know his name and that his family raises horses.”

  “Yes, but the bigger question is what could he possibly want with Georgia?”

  Hannah pushed up her glasses but didn’t respond.

  “Don’t look at me that way, Hannah. There’s nothing wrong with Georgia, but she’s not exactly the catch of the day. Why is Ryan here? Unless he was able to coax a free meal out of her.”

  “Perhaps he is going to pay for it.”

  “Not the point.” Pam sat back and sipped her coffee.

  “What is the point? Why are we here, watching them? I feel like a spy in one of Amber’s novels.”

  Pam laughed at that. “Spies are supposed to blend in. We would not be good at that. I’m a big black woman in a kite dress, and you are one of the most well-known employees we have.”

  “Me?”

  “Sure. Between your sweet personality, the way you’ve turned the coffee shop around, and your help in solving murders . . .”

  “My help? I’m not sure I helped much—and besides, we didn’t actually solve them.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s more like we stumbled into the middle of a mess during the last one, and thank goodness I wasn’t here for the first. Though come to think of it, if there hadn’t been a first I wouldn’t be working here now. I owe Ethan Gray, I suppose, God rest his soul.”