by Meg Muldoon
But none of those things seemed to stop my mind from racing with angles and possibilities and hypotheses as if I was a seasoned investigator.
I quickly ran through a list of what I knew about Cliff Copperstone.
Born and raised in Portland, he had quickly become one of the top chefs on the Pacific Northwest restaurant scene. He had investments in several ventures, and was a regular on Foodie Network, where he judged up-and-coming chefs in cooking showdowns.
And while he always appeared professional when he judged on TV, I knew better. And so, most likely, did some of the contestants from that show. Even a nice person would probably make an enemy or two in a role like that. And as I knew full well, Cliff Copperstone wasn’t a nice person.
It seemed quite possible that he could have crossed the wrong competitor. And that that person had somehow exacted their revenge today on the unsuspecting celebrity chef.
That was one possibility. There were also plenty of others to consider.
For one, what had Cliff been so upset over? Maybe it was cold of me to think so, but I hadn’t exactly thought the man was the type who was in touch with his emotions. He didn’t seem like somebody who would cry easily.
Additionally, there was the thing he’d said, about me not understanding what was going on here. And then, that other thing he said after he’d been hurt:
She ruined me.
The words caused a wave of goosebumps to break out across my skin.
And then that photograph that he’d slipped into my hand. The one of that woman standing on the bridge.
Who was she? Why had he given me that photo?
Did he want me to find her if something happened to him? Or was it—
“Cinnamon Peters, you look as though you were plotting a murder.”
I felt my mouth drop open slightly at the accusation and the thought that somebody else knew that Cliff’s injuries hadn’t been accidental. But I calmed down when I realized that it was just a turn of phrase and nothing more.
I met Eleanor Tunstall’s stare and forced a smile.
“Just worried about Daniel,” I said. “I haven’t heard from him yet.”
Eleanor took the empty seat next to me.
I was sitting in the back of the auditorium alone – Kara was on the phone, talking to John again. Meanwhile, I was watching the crowd, trying to be observant – like Daniel had said – while thinking about who might have wanted to murder Cliff Copperstone.
I was doing it mostly to distract myself from the fact that Daniel still hadn’t called. Not hearing from him didn’t automatically mean that something bad had happened.
But with each passing minute, I was having a harder and harder time keeping the faith.
“I’m sure everything’s just fine, dear,” the councilwoman said. “That husband of yours is the type who gets things done. He’s like one of those old-time law men. My daddy was one of those, too. They’re the kind you can depend on to accomplish whatever task is set before them.”
Though she was doing her best, Eleanor’s words didn’t make me feel much better.
Because even though Daniel was probably Cliff’s best shot at getting to the hospital, it didn’t mean that his dependability and can-do spirit was enough to get through that ice. It didn’t mean that right now, they weren’t in a ditch somewhere, freezing and—
I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to calm down before my thoughts ran roughshod and into territories I couldn’t afford to be in.
Eleanor handed me a paper cup that was steaming with hot, orange-tinted water.
I looked at her in surprise.
“Thank you.”
“It’s nothing special,” she said. “Some orange licorice tea that I found in one of the culinary classrooms. But it should do the trick, I suspect.”
I smiled and took a sip.
The flavor was horrible. But it was hot, and it was nice to have something warming as the wind howled and the storm raged on outside.
Eleanor shook her head.
“Well, I would never have dreamed this was how I’d spend Valentine’s Day this year,” she said. “With half the town stuck in an auditorium together, no hope of leaving anytime soon, drinking some artificially-flavored tea, and worried about the power going out again. Not the most romantic of evenings, now is it?”
I forced a smile and shook my head in agreement.
“I mean, I wasn’t expecting Prince Charming to ride up to my front door today or anything. But a bottle of wine and a nice romantic comedy would have done nicely.”
She rubbed her temple with her free hand, and exhaled.
“But I guess it’s all about attitude,” she said. “And I guess it’s just a good thing that we’re in here, safe and sound, with running water and electricity. It could be a heck of a lot worse.”
I nodded in agreement, again.
Eleanor seemed to be in a chatty way, and while I liked the city councilwoman well enough, I just wasn’t in the chewing-the-fat kind of mood.
She took a sip from her own paper cup.
“I don’t suppose we’ll even be able to award that top prize to anybody now,” she said. “We only got through about two-thirds of the contestants. And given the circumstances, it’s not like we can judge the ones that got destroyed when the power went out.
She stared off for a long moment, as if deep in thought.
“You know, it’s a real shame too. That one chocolate sculpture, you know – the castle made by that Cooley fella? That was going to be the sure winner. It was just so perfect and pretty.”
She was wrong about it being a shoe-in. Because in my book, it had nothing on the Princess Bride sculpture. Even though none of it mattered anymore, for me, Samantha Garner’s Westley and Buttercup masterpiece would have been the clear win —
I suddenly stopped mid-thought as a thunderous realization hit me like a smack across the face.
My hand tightened suddenly around the paper cup. Too tight for the flimsy paper. A second later, hot tea leapt up into the air, eventually finding a landing place on my jeans.
“Mother of Aphrodite!” I shouted as I felt the first fiery inklings of the liquid touching my skin.
“Dione,” Eleanor exclaimed as if answering a question on Jeopardy.
“What?” I said.
“The mother of Aphrodite is Dio— oh dear,” Eleanor said, seeing for the first time what had happened. “Are you okay? That tea was quite hot.”
Tell me about it, I thought as the pain grew in intensity.
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “But I’ve got to… I’ve got to go.”
I ran up the steps of the auditorium toward the bathroom like my pants were on fire – because for all intents and purposes, they were.
But that wasn’t the only reason I was rushing.
I’d just come to a startling revelation.
One that changed everything about how I was looking at Cliff Copperstone’s potential murder.
Chapter 31
“Where’re you headed in such a hurry, cupcake?”
The voice jarred me out of my very singular mission of getting up the auditorium stairs and to the bathrooms to inspect the damage caused by the orange licorice tea.
I didn’t have to look up, though, to realize who had uttered that sentence.
“Marty,” I said, forcing a smile.
I winced slightly as I caught sight of the large Band Aid straddling part of his forehead.
“How’re you doing? How’s that nasty cut?”
After hearing Holly scream and seeing Cliff Copperstone so badly injured, I had completely neglected Marty. I’d left him behind to tend to himself, and even though Cliff had been the one who desperately needed attention, I still felt a little bad for leaving my old comrade behind like that.
He touched his forehead.
“Oh, you mean this little scrape?” he said. “I’ve gotten worse injuries building fold-out tables for city council meetings.”
I
smiled.
It would have taken a serious, life-threatening injury for Marty Higgins to admit that he felt even a little bit of pain.
“Well, I’m really glad you’re okay,” I said. “Sorry I just kind of abandoned you like that.”
“Aw, you didn’t abandon me,” he said. “You were helping a fella who was in greater need than I was.”
I was half surprised that Marty had stuck around and not tried to brave the icy roads. He had a big SUV with all-wheel drive and studs, and Marty wasn’t the type to be snowbound.
But maybe the cut on his head had jarred him a little bit. That, or maybe he felt that by sticking around, he could be of more help to the folks here. Marty did always have a big heart, and he liked to help people when he could.
I dug my hands into my pockets out of habit, and flinched slightly as my jeans touched my raw, singed skin.
It wasn’t a serious burn. Or at least, I didn’t think so.
But it sure hurt like hell.
“Well, thanks for your understanding, Marty,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
I started to move past him up the steps.
I didn’t want to be rude. But I was in some dire need myself.
“Say, have you heard from the Sheriff since they set out for the hospital?” he said.
I stopped in my tracks.
“Not yet,” I said, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.
Marty peered at me, his aging, deep-set eyes full of compassion and understanding.
“Well, don’t let that worry you, cupcake,” he said. “I’m sure everything’s just fine. Might just be bad reception with this weather. Nothing to be concerned about.”
I nodded, biting my lip.
“You’re right,” I said, weakly. “My phone coverage has been bad all day.”
I’d spoken to Warren for just a couple of minutes earlier, and the reception had been relatively garbled. But luckily, I’d been able to gather enough of the conversation to learn that their second flight to Phoenix that day had been cancelled, too. And that the old man and Aileen had been kind enough to go to our house and wait out the storm there with the pooches.
“Aw, sweetheart,” Marty said, still peering into my face. “Don’t be upset. Here: let big Marty give you a hug.
Before I knew it, I was drowning in the folds of Marty’s wool sweater, having a tough time breathing as the big guy gave me a hug worthy of his size.
“Back in the day when I was a young whipper-snapper and used to drive semis cross-country in the wintertime, the old lady used to worry herself sick the way you’re worrying yourself now,” he said, his voice booming through his chest. “But I always told her ‘Don’t go jumping to conclusions like you know everything, now. It don’t do either one of us any good.’”
I nodded into his scratchy sweater.
“I know this is all a little scary, but like you said earlier: if we just keep our heads and make sure to be nice to each other, then everything will be all right,” he added.
Good old Marty. He really was a—
I felt my arms go slightly limp as something suddenly hit me.
Or didn’t hit me, more like.
“Say, Marty,” I said, pulling away and looking up at him. “Where’s that hammer you always carry on your tool belt?”
I wasn’t as detail-oriented as all that. But Marty was most definitely a hugger. And over the years, I’d been jabbed every now and again by the items on his tool belt as the big man would greet me.
And I knew that it was a rare occasion indeed when he didn’t have that old hammer with him. He told me once that the tool had been his grandfather’s, and that he used it every day to honor the man’s memory.
“I… uh…”
He searched the leather tool belt around his waist, a flicker of panic in his eyes when he didn’t find what he was looking for.
“Well… I’ll be damned. I must have lost it sometime during the outage,” he said. “Probably right around the time I got this bump.”
He shook his head for a moment in disbelief.
“I’ve got to go find it,” he said. “My grandfather gave that hammer to me. I’ve used it every day of my life since he passed.”
A worried look came across his face.
“It’s got to be somewhere in the auditorium,” he said. “But I didn’t hear it fall or nothing...”
Maybe it didn’t fall at all, I thought.
Maybe it didn’t make a sound.
I could have been wrong altogether.
But it seemed like a very strong possibility that I had found the heavy, blunt object I’d been looking for.
“We’ll find it, Marty,” I said, reassuringly. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled and let you know if I come across it. Right now, though, I was just on my way to the ladies’ room. You see, I–”
“No need to explain, cupcake,” he said. “When nature calls, it calls.”
I forced a smile.
“We’ll find it,” I said, again.
But as I said it, I had serious doubts as to whether we actually would.
That hammer wasn’t on the auditorium floor. It hadn’t fallen out in the pandemonium.
Somebody had taken it out of Marty’s tool belt.
I would have bet 100 bucks and a box of heart-shaped chocolates on that.
I walked quickly away toward the restrooms, each step filled with even more purpose than the last.
Chapter 32
It wasn’t pretty, but I would survive.
The skin on my upper left thigh was red and irritated and painful to the touch, but there was no blistering. I’d had worse burns in the pie shop kitchen, and I knew that all I would need was a little Neosporin cream, and some time to heal.
I grimaced as I walked over to the sink to wash my hands. I turned the faucet on, and as I did so, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Maybe it was just the fluorescent lighting, but I couldn’t deny that I was looking haggardly. My skin was pasty, and my eyes didn’t look quite right after being mercilessly whipped by the wind outside.
I was exhausted. Even though I was used to working hard baking pies all day long, today had been a different kind of work, altogether.
It had been much more stressful than an average day at the pie shop – that much was certain.
And it wasn’t even over yet.
The thought of finding a quiet culinary classroom somewhere in the building and curling up underneath a desk sounded tempting.
But I couldn’t do that.
I grabbed a couple of paper towels and dried my hands off.
Because I needed to find somebody. I needed to—
I stopped mid-thought as I heard a voice coming from one of the occupied stalls.
I strained to listen as it became slightly louder.
Though it was faint, it didn’t take me long to figure out what I was hearing.
Somebody was sobbing behind one of the doors.
“Excuse me, are you ok—?” I started saying, but just as I did, I heard something I’d been waiting for since the moment I watched Daniel’s headlights disappear into the whiteout earlier.
I quickly walked out of the bathroom, pulling my phone from my pocket and answering it.
“Daniel?”
“Cin.”
I let out one of the biggest sighs of relief of my life at the sound of his voice cracking over the speaker.
Chapter 33
“It’s so good to hear your voice,” I said, trying to hold my own steady. “Is everything okay?”
“It was… It took us a… time to g… to the hosp...”
His voice wavered in and out of white noise.
I hung on every word I could make out.
“How’s every… there?” he said, his voice garbled.
“Everything’s okay here,” I said, raising my voice, as if that would somehow improve the reception. “The power came back on and most people decided to wait the storm out here.”
There was a long silence on the other side of the line, and I couldn’t tell whether or not Daniel meant it, or whether he was cutting out again.
“How’s Cliff doing?”
There was another pause, followed by some static.
“…He didn’t...”
My heart thundered in my chest.
“Say that again? You’re breaking up.”
“Cin, the doctor said… I think… Will try to get… soon… bad, but… will try…”
I couldn’t tell exactly what he said, but I’d heard enough to be able to piece it together.
“No,” I said. “Don’t come back yet. Wait until the roads are better, Daniel. We’re okay here for a while. Don’t risk it. Please.”
There was another long pause.
I hoped he had heard the important parts of what I had said, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Daniel?” I said after a few moments more of eerie silence. “Did you hear me? Don’t risk it.”
“…I can’t… be care…at… murder...”
“Daniel?”
But there was nothing more.
Just the hollow sound of the line having gone dead.
I swallowed hard.
The little I’d heard hadn’t sounded promising in regards to Cliff’s condition.
And that hit me harder than a freight train.
I took in a deep breath, fighting back tears, trying not to let my fears overpower my sensibility.
I prayed to God that Daniel would stay put and not try to get me.
I would have spent a dozen years in this place just so long as I knew he was safe and sound somewhere.
I quickly hammered out a text message to him, telling him what I had found out and reiterating the fact that I didn’t want him on those roads tonight.
Then I slid my phone in my pocket, and resolved to do the thing that I’d set out to do before I spilled hot tea all over myself.
I set out to find Samantha Garner.
Chapter 34
“Well, unless she’s hiding under a display table somewhere, I can say with certainty that there is no brunette soccer mom anywhere in this place,” Kara said.
“Hey – I never said she looked like a soccer mom.”