Scornful Scones

by Mildred Abbott

  No, no… fear was the right word. Fear and dread, with a little wave of nausea thrown in. “Well… that sounds… just…”

  Mom squeezed my hand. “Lovely. Very soothing.”

  Zelda beamed. “It’s going to be wonderful. A little oasis of tranquility in the center of the downtown bustle.”

  I had to bite my lip to keep my smirk from turning into a laugh. The downtown bustle. As if it was going to be on the chaotic streets of Kansas City’s Plaza district.

  Proving that I’d done a good job masking my reaction, Verona leaned in with lowered voice, even though there was no one else to overhear. “Zelda and I have massages scheduled at Pinecone Manor tomorrow. We’re going to talk to some of the massage therapists and see if they’d be interested in a side gig at Chakras. We were thinking we might set up one of those little massage chairs in the backend and have guest massage therapists come in to offer tranquility sessions to our patrons.”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. I haven’t had a treatment at Pinecone Manor since I moved back here,” Mom chimed in, ever graceful.

  As one, the twins each reached for one of Mom’s hands. “Come with us. We’ll treat you to a full half-day experience. It’s the least we can do for all the help you’ve been.”

  Sometimes Verona and Zelda were a little too much for me, especially combined with their husbands and children. It all took some getting used to, but moments like these, when they were so kind to my mother, made up for a world of idiosyncrasies.

  “Make sure you let them know you’re my daughters. I’m sure you’ll get a discount.” Barry finished rubbing Watson’s belly and stood, eliciting a heartbroken stare from my little man that Barry didn’t notice. “But don’t mention you’re trying to steal their employees.”

  My hippie-dippie stepfather. It still baffled me how he seemed to have a touch point for every place in Estes. Even at one of the most exclusive bed-and-breakfast and spas in Estes. “Don’t tell me you own Pinecone Manor, too?”

  He grinned at me and shrugged. “I did, sort of.”

  Mom sucked in a gasp. “Oh, right. I’d forgotten. You all bought that property your senior year in high school. You closed on it right after graduation.”

  Barry slipped his arm over Mom’s shoulder and pulled her close. “Good memory, my dear.” He waggled his eyebrows at Verona, Zelda, and me. “It was the first property I ever bought. An act of rebellion more than anything, trying to prove to my parents that I could make my own way.” He chuckled. “Though considering there were five of us, I suppose that hardly proved anything.”

  “You bought your first property before you even graduated high school?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much. It was just an empty stretch of land back then. Beautiful, but completely undeveloped, and nothing around it at all. The man who owned it—” He snapped his fingers as he tried to recall. “—Mr. Bruce something.” More snapping. “No, Bruce was his last name. Mr. Something Bruce.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, beside the point. Either way, Mr. Bruce died, and his wife decided to sell everything and move back east. Sold her house and a few different pieces of property they owned. That particular lot was the farthest out of town and the cheapest.”

  “You talking about Pinecone Manor?” I hadn’t noticed the door opening, but Percival and Gary walked in, late as normal. Percival limped and held Gary’s hand for support as they shut the door and walked toward us. Though he clearly was hurting, he grinned at Barry. “Still kicking yourself for selling too early?”

  “I’ve done all right—in case you haven’t noticed.” Barry winked, and there was a quick round of hugs in way of greeting.

  Mom rubbed Percival’s arm. “You look worse today.”

  He shrugged. “Well, baby sister, we’re not as young as we used to be. Granted, I’ve never almost been run over by a car before, but for being a man in my seventies, I think I’m managing pretty well.”

  “You should see him in the mornings, he’s as stiff as a scarecrow nailed to a cross.” Gary cast a loving, yet exasperated, eye roll toward Percival. “And he won’t even use any pain-reliever ointment to help loosen him up.”

  Percival let out a shocked gasp and swatted at Gary. “Dear Lord, quit bringing that up. Just because I’ve turned into an old man doesn’t mean I have to smell like one!” He noticed Watson at Barry’s feet and started to bend down with a flourish. “Well, hello there, little—” His words broke off with a sharp intake of breath at the exact moment Watson darted away. Percival attempted to straighten with a wince and narrowed his eyes at me. “Moved a little too quickly there. I swear that dog of yours hates me.”

  “Well, I’m sure lurching at him like a zombie makes him feel perfectly safe and secure.” Though Gary sniped at him, he assisted Percival in standing upright.

  Barry sank to one knee and offered Watson all the comfort he could desire before focusing on Percival. “Yes, I was talking about Pinecone Manor. And, no, I’m just fine how the whole thing turned out.”

  Percival chuckled happily. “Me too, believe me. Gary’s and my little antique store wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

  I latched on to the topic. A family history lesson would help distract from thoughts of Nick that were fighting to come back in. “How in the world is Pinecone Manor associated with Victorian Antlers?”

  “It’s not, other than it helped pay for the place.” Percival motioned toward Barry. “Go ahead, sounds like you are in midstory anyway. I’m fairly certain I have a rib out of place that makes even talking exhausting. Therefore, I defer to you, good sir.”

  Barry launched in again, just as it looked like Mom was about to begin a concerned lecture over Percival. “Well, like I was saying before, for all my desire for independence, I didn’t have enough resources to buy the property outright, despite it being dirt cheap. So two of my classmates joined with me, and a couple of older guys who’d graduated a few years before”—he nodded toward Percival—“joined in.”

  “Sure, rub it in that I’m older.” Percival scowled at Barry. “Although I’ve outlived Eustace, so I suppose that means I win.”

  “Percival, really!” Mom swatted at him gently, causing Percival to attempt to duck and wince once more.

  “I suppose you’re right, there.” Barry chuckled.

  Before Mom could scold him, Zelda surprised me by voicing the question I was about to ask. “Eustace Beaker was the other guy who’d already graduated?”

  Percival nodded. “Yep. And the only one of the lot of us who had more than a dime to his name. But still not enough to buy it on his own.”

  “Eustace more than made up for it in time, though, didn’t he? Mr. Moneybags.” As he spoke, Barry had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were far away. “Sally and Dolana and I were afraid once Eustace got involved that he was going to go behind our backs and buy our shares before closing. Still surprised he didn’t.”

  “Sally?” Surely I was hearing wrong. “Sally Apple?”

  “Yep.” Barry turned to me, coming back to the present. “She, Dolana, and I all graduated together.”

  I hadn’t placed that name the first time. “Dolana… Carla’s grandmother?”

  “Sure enough.” He grinned over at Percival. “Of course that’s what this one gives me a hard time about. Dolana and I both sold our shares within a couple of years. She was getting married and needed to pay for a dress and the wedding, and I found a store downtown I wanted to invest in.” He pointed as if through the wall. “Your bookshop, actually, Fred.”

  “Worked out well for the rest of us. We made a fortune off that deal.” Percival nodded along cheerfully.

  “Took you long enough. You all had to sit on that land for thirty years before Clyde and Meisel bought it from you to build Pinecone Manor.” Barry shrugged. “I used the rent I received from Fred’s bookshop to help buy the next property. If I’d waited thirty years, I’d have nothing.”

  “Yes, I can’t argue with you. You’ve done just fine.” Percival also se
emed lost to the past. “I asked Dolana about the property not long before she died, asked if she had any regrets about it. She didn’t.” He gave a soft, affectionate laugh. “She was a treasure, that one. Said it was the best decision she’d ever made. She took out that locket of hers that she always wore, showed the picture of her and Harold on their wedding day. Said she never would’ve been able to have such a beautiful dress if it hadn’t been for selling her portion of that property. Even had enough for the down payment on the first house too.”

  I stared at Percival, then looked at Barry, then back again.

  Maybe it was a gut feeling, maybe it was just common sense, maybe it was just one more factor of me being my father’s daughter. Whatever it was, I knew the answer was in that story. Had to be. I felt it. Just as surely as I knew that Nick hadn’t killed anyone.

  A couple of hours later, Watson and I left the soon-to-be-renamed Healthy Delights. The family hadn’t accomplished all that much. A little cleaning, but mostly we’d gotten lost to ordering pizza, one with vegan cheese for Barry, and simply enjoying one another’s company.

  Watson and I crossed in front of the Cozy Corgi on the way to the Mini Cooper. It wasn’t until we were even with the plastic-covered hole in the side of Sinful Bites that it clicked. It was so obvious, I wondered how it hadn’t hit me earlier, as soon as I’d heard Barry and Percival’s story. Without waiting, I pulled out my cell, dialed Paulie, and asked for Athena’s number. He took very little convincing, and then I called Athena.

  She answered on the second ring. “This is Athena Rose.” Even though it was pushing ten in the evening, she sounded like her ever cool and classic self.

  “Hi, Athena, this is Fred. I have a favor to ask.” For just a moment, I thought about reconsidering—really thinking through it—then shoved it aside. There was no more pondering required. I was sure. “You think there’s any chance you could write a review tonight and get it up on your Sybarite blog by morning?”

  Harold White glowered at Watson. Though, if I was reading him correctly, he was attempting to disguise his irritation that I’d brought my dog with me. The change in Harold was remarkable from the other time I’d visited with Barry. It looked like Mom had been right. Having Nick Pacheco in jail for the murders had put his fears for Carla at ease.

  For his part, Watson didn’t notice Harold’s distaste for his presence. Then again, Watson had a general distaste for most people himself. Maybe he thought he’d found a kindred spirit. Either way, he curled up under the chair I’d sat in by the window and fell promptly asleep.

  As Harold and I occupied the only two chairs in the room, Barry sat cross-legged on Harold’s bed. He snacked away on one of Katie’s chocolate chip scones, crumbs falling like snow over lime-green yoga pants and the bedspread. “Thanks for letting me have one of the pastries, Harold. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re the one who brought them; technically they’re yours.” Harold cast another glower, this time at the Cozy Corgi box, then offered what seemed to be a genuine partial smile at Barry. “Besides, they just fed us breakfast less than fifteen minutes ago.”

  “Well, I’ll make sure to only have one, leave the rest for you to…” Barry’s gaze flicked to me, and I could read the guilt in his watery blue eyes. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ll leave the rest for you to enjoy later.”

  Perhaps I should’ve felt guilty about having Katie box up an assortment of scones of all things. Should’ve felt guilty for what I’d asked Athena to do. Maybe even have a twinge of remorse for what I was getting ready to do to Harold, and by extension, Carla.

  The Winifred Page of a few months ago would have. So much so, I doubted I’d been able to have pulled it off. Although, I hadn’t done so yet, so I suppose that remained to be seen.

  But I didn’t. Not the slightest tingle of guilt, not for any of it. Save for one thing. When I’d moved to Estes Park half a year before, Barry was little more than my mother’s husband. A man I liked but felt distant around, and a little apathetic toward. That was no longer the case. I positively adored the man. And what did he get for my love?

  Me requesting things I knew cost him deeply, that’s what.

  He considered Harold a friend. But he knew I wouldn’t be able to pull this off without him. Harold would be too much on guard if I were by myself.

  Though I’d already known Barry adored me just as much as I did him, if I hadn’t been clear on that fact, his willingness to take part in my plan, even though he wasn’t convinced, proved it.

  Maybe I could take a little pressure off him, or at least set the stage to ease him into it. I turned back to Harold. “You look a lot better than when we visited the other day. Brighter. Ms. Booger said your seizures have gotten less frequent.” I’d already committed to lying my way through this gamble, might as well get started.

  “Really?” Harold squinted at me. “Martha and I despise each other. I can’t believe she’d even check up on me.”

  From what I’d seen of the receptionist, Martha despised most living creatures, and it also looked like I was already too free with my lies. Or at least not careful enough.

  Barry saved me. “Everybody just wants you to feel better, Harold.”

  The old man actually smiled. “I do. This whole thing was nearly the death of me. Now that they’ve caught the culprit, Carla’s coffee shop can open again.” He grimaced. “And even though that means she’ll put me back to work, at least this will be over for her, and she can move on. She’s been through enough.”

  Once more Barry glanced my way. This was the cue. Somehow, we’d gotten there quicker than either of us had expected. “Actually, Harold…” He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and let his nerves show. “I’m afraid we… that I have some bad news. Part of the reason we came out here so early. I thought you’d want to hear it from a friend.”

  Harold flinched, sat a little straighter, and his left eye twitched. “What? What’s wrong with Carla?”

  Barry just shook his head, unfolded his legs, and slid off the bed. He held out his hand to me. “May I borrow the tablet?”

  At his nearness, Watson emerged from under my chair as I pulled Katie’s tablet from my purse, and he took his place by Barry’s feet.

  After I unlocked it, Barry took the tablet and turned it to Harold. “Have you heard of that food blog, the Sybarite?” His voice shook, and once more I hurt for having asked him to do this.

  “Of course I have. Carla’s been desperate to get into that. Thought she was going to have a conniption when that other stupid…” Harold’s voice trailed off as he glanced my way, and then he changed directions. “Carla talks about it all the time. Reads it like it was the Bible.”

  Barry handed him the tablet. “Unfortunately, she finally got in it. But it’s not good.”

  Harold paled and seemed to search Barry’s face but accepted the tablet, and after a second, began to read.

  Instantly he began to mumble, and his eyes grew wide.

  “No… no…” His hands trembled, and he growled in frustration, then placed it on his lap so he could continue to read. “This says… It says…” He sucked in a breath, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Of all the parched and pedestrian pastries I’ve tasted, only the scones of Black Bear Roaster are so repugnant that they exterminate everyone who partakes.” Harold’s gaze flashed up, panic filling it as he looked between Barry and me, then returned to the review. “Not to seem callous, but this food blogger has determined that those poor souls who perished had it coming. A review from years before warned of the dangers of giving patronage to Carla Beaker’s Black Bear Roaster. The public has had ample warning. Unfortunately, now there’s unadulterated proof. Hopefully, the coffee shop can be put out of its misery so it can quit inflicting the same unto others.”

  Harold was shaking so hard, I wasn’t certain if it was nerves or if he was entering another seizure.

  “We’ll sue her,” Harold practically growled. “We’ll sue that Maxine Maxwell w
oman for all she’s worth. Then Carla can open a chain of coffee shops. This is slander. And libel.” He turned to Barry. “Get Gerald Jackson in here. Right now. I’m serious. We’re going to destroy her.”

  Barry knelt on one knee and placed his hand over Harold’s. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, friend.” Though his voice still trembled, I was surprised. I’d been prepared to jump in and take this part as I doubted Barry would be able to follow through. Maybe having Watson pressed against his leg as he began to lie gave him a little courage. “It’s only libel and slander if it’s not true, Harold. The police released the Pacheco kid this morning and arrested Carla for the murders of Eustace and Sally.”

  Harold reeled back in his chair, the tablet slid from his lap and the glass shattered on impact with the floor. Watson jumped at the sound but didn’t leave Barry’s side.

  No one bothered with it.

  “No, that can’t be.” Harold shook his head violently. “Carla didn’t do it. She didn’t. They can’t arrest her.”

  “They found proof. Bananas had been added to several jars of the apple butter. Bananas that Carla had bought.”

  Barry had fumbled that line. That logic wouldn’t be enough to place blame on Carla. I nearly jumped in to offer another reason, but it wasn’t needed.

  “I did it. I put the bananas in the apple butter.” Harold’s voice still trembled, but this time with rage.

  Barry flinched, and he pulled his hand away.

  I could tell he’d reached his limit. Knew he hadn’t really believed Harold would say those words.

  But Branson had prepared me for it. Made sure I knew exactly what they would need.

  “Harold, it makes sense that you would want to protect Carla. She’s your granddaughter, you love her.” I leaned forward, making my voice as compassionate as I could. “But I was there when Sally died. You weren’t. I saw you, Jonathan, and Maverick leaving as I walked in. Even if you had put the bananas in the apple butter at some other time, Sally would’ve had her EpiPen with her. Someone in that coffee shop hid her purse.”