Now fifty-nine, Benny managed to make ends meet by living simply on disability insurance. His big splurge was breakfast at the diner on Atlantic Avenue, a couple of blocks down the street. With the aid of his motorized wheelchair he could indulge in this trip.
On any given morning he could be spotted wearing a short-sleeved plaid shirt held tight with red suspenders, his thick salt and pepper hair grazing his shoulders touching tufts of gray hair on his chin. His muscular arms, attesting to workouts at home with a set of free weights, were a sharp contrast to the skinny legs that dropped to the foot supports. No matter the wheelchair, Benny had a sweet smile that included a twinkle in his pale gray eyes.
With talk of the diner closing, he became fearful of losing contact with his diner friends—the Butterworth sisters, the funny waiter Tyler who drew cartoons of him and his confounded wheelchair, and, of course, Star. What was he going to do?
Star told him not to worry. That when the diner closed she planned to open a little bakery —only two blocks further up from the diner on Atlantic Avenue. The bakery would have a few small round tables so Benny could have his coffee and a pastry, reunite with some of his diner friends. Not only that, but she invited him to a pre-opening, a test of sorts.
Two days before the opening, Wanda had to run to the store for some supplies. A sign in the window invited potential customers to visit the bakery from nine to eleven before the Grand Opening. Star was helping a drop-in, then another. A customer stood at the register tapping her foot, looking for Star to ring up her sale. Benny wheeled up to the cash register, stood clutching the edge of the counter and rang-up the cranky customer. There was nothing wrong with Benny’s mind, arms, or fingers. When he saw a job that had to be done he did it.
Star caught the transaction out of the corner of her eye.
She talked to Wanda when she returned with the supplies, told her what had transpired. In return, the two women conspired to give Benny a try. Maybe offer him a job. If he could handle the register for a couple of hours, a couple of times a week, he could earn free coffee, a cookie, a loaf of bread—whatever he could carry in the pouch on the back of his wheelchair. The bakery wasn’t in a financial position to hire anybody, not now, but maybe in the future.
The Monday after the opening Benny became a permanent fixture at Star’s Bakery.
Leaving his room, ground floor studio he called it, he began a routine, motoring along the sidewalk on Atlantic Avenue nodding to passersby. Stopping at the News Journal box, he pushed the coins in the slot, folded the newspaper tucking it in his chair, and rolled to the front door of the bakery. Star was waiting for him.
He rolled up to the coffee service, poured a cup adding a dash of sugar and a mini container of cream, then rolled to the bistro table to read the paper.
At the stroke of 9:00 a.m. he would be ready to take over the cash register—swing up to a higher chair Star purchased just for him, perfect to give the register a work out. Turning the page of the newspaper, he took another sip of coffee. Yup, this was going to be a dandy way to start his day.
Ka-ching!
Chapter 11
BENNY WAS ENJOYING his coffee, reading the newspaper, before beginning his day on the job. “Star, did you see the article in today’s paper? The police reports? Third one down. Seems a man’s body was found by the Ferris wheel Saturday night, late. No identification. Calling him John Doe.”
Star was adding fresh-baked cookies, arranged on a red pottery plate, to the display case. “What caught your eye, Benny?”
“His description. His clothes. There is a very detailed account of his jacket.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I wonder if John Doe is the man I talked to at your opening. Sure sounds like him … his jacket. I could tell it was expensive. The article ends with a telephone number. Do you think I should call?”
“Here’s my cell, Benny. Go for it. I have to bring a couple of cakes out.”
Benny took Star’s cell. He could have used his own but it was in a zippered pouch—much easier to place a quick call with Star’s phone.
“Daytona Beach Police Department. Can I help you?”
“I’m calling about John Doe, the man you found Saturday by the Ferris wheel.”
”Your name, please?”
“Benny Howard.”
“Do you have information, sir?”
“Well, I don’t know if I do. Probably not. But the jacket description—”
“One moment, sir. I’ll transfer you to Detective Watson.”
Benny chuckled while he waited for the detective to pick up. Small world, he thought. He had met the detective, at least if it was the same Watson, a few months back. A Detective Watson had interviewed him about a robbery at the diner.
“Detective Watson.”
“Hi, you probably don’t remember me … well maybe you do … name is Benny. You questioned me at the diner robbery. I’m the guy in the wheelchair.” Benny chuckled. Dang chair was good for something.
“Sure, I remember you, Benny. So, you think you might be able to identify John Doe?”
“I don’t know … but the jacket sounds very unusual.”
“If we picked you up, do you think you could come down to the morgue, take a look to see if it’s the man you … exactly how do you know John Doe?”
“Saturday night. Star’s Bakery opening. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I know him, but there was this man. He and I chatted for at least a half an hour.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“Sorry, Detective. We didn’t exchange names.”
“Okay, well an officer will pick you up, say in an hour? Where will you be?”
“That would work. I’ll be at Star’s Bakery, Atlantic Avenue. I’m the cashier.” Benny grinned. Wow, he had a title.
• • •
“STAR, I HAVE TO RUN an errand but I’ll be back.”
“Anything I can get for you?”
Benny grinned. “Nah, it’s police business. Official police business.”
They both looked up as Manny and Liz strolled into the bakery. Star and Liz hugged leaving Manny to grin at Benny as they shook hands.
“Come on, Liz. There will be time for hugs later. We’re here on police business. We’ve been tasked with picking up one Benny Howard. Escort Mr. Howard to the morgue.”
Star looked bug-eyed at Benny. “You didn’t tell me they want you to go to the morgue.”
“Well, as Tyler would say, ‘Miss Bloom, I’m just following orders.’”
“Hold on you two,” Star said, yanking off her apron. “Benny goes, I go. Just let me tell Wanda. I’ll be right with you.”
“Okay,” Manny said as Liz linked her arm through his. “So, Benny, you think you can identify this John Doe guy?”
“Maybe, yes. Maybe, no.”
Settling Benny in the front seat of the black SUV, which wasn’t all that easy given the height of the first step, Manny stashed the wheelchair in the back as Liz and Star climbed into the backseat. Waving to Wanda, the trio disappeared down the street, chauffeured by a retired police captain.
Detective Watson met them at the front door of the morgue, escorting the group to the refrigerated vault. Watson was a formidable figure. The six-foot black man came from Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he worked in law enforcement as a border guard. His muscular, burly body was intimidating. A scar across his left cheek spoke clearly that not all were intimidated.
Identification of John Doe was quick.
“Yup, that’s the guy,” Benny said, grim faced, shuddering at the sight of the body.
Star stepped back, looked the other way. She had never seen a dead person like that, face drained of color.
The lab tech slid the body back into the vault. Watson asked the group to follow him to a small conference room. He had a few questions for Benny. On the way he asked Star if she recognized John Doe. She shook her head. She had been totally occupied with Superman.
Watson laid a recorder on th
e conference room table. “Okay, Mr. Howard—”
“Can we keep it to Benny, Detective?”
“Sure, Benny. Tell me everything you remember about when, what time exactly, how, what the man said to you Saturday night.”
“Whew. Let’s see. Not much to say really. I was chatting on and on about Star, about how great she is getting the bakery going. Oh, and about her grandmother. Her name is Mary Bloom. As I said, chatting with him, small talk. You know, being polite.”
“Name?” Watson asked.
“Sorry, Detective. Like I said on the phone, we never exchanged names. I guess I did most of the talking. Come to think of it, he didn’t say much of anything. I did ask him where he was from.”
“What did he say,” Watson asked.
“Texas. Oil fields of Texas. That was it. Ate a pumpkin cupcake and left. Like I said, I did all the talking.”
• • •
WATSON CLOSED THE FILE FOLDER. John Doe’s death was not adding up no matter how he figured it. The man bought an expensive designer jacket at Goodwill priced at fifty dollars but paid five hundred. Of course, there could have been another owner in between Goodwill and John Doe, but for now he’d stick with what he had.
The lab report showed he had a significant amount of barbiturates in his stomach along with pumpkin, and the kicker—arsenic. The word arsenic jumped out of the screen at him—rat poison, an over-the-counter killer.
It was clear the case called for two actions. Watson hated to do it, but he couldn’t play favorites with a potential murder. First, given Benny talked to Doe at the bakery, and the man had pumpkin in his stomach along with the arsenic, he had to dispatch an officer out to the bakery, unannounced, to shut it down while they searched the premises for rat poison. He couldn’t fathom any reason why a person at the bakery would feed John Doe poison, but he had to check the possibility off his list.
The second course of action was to contact his counterpart in Dallas, Texas. The only clue that Benny could remember—Doe said he was from, lived, or at least worked in Texas.
Watson called Dallas PD, told the operator he wanted to be connected to a detective. He had a John Doe and there was a chance he was from Dallas, or, heaven forbid, somewhere else in the vast state of Texas.
The Dallas detective came on the line, asked Watson to send a picture and a description of the John Doe as well as his rather unusual clothing. He would see that the item was included in the next police department article, run it for a few days in all the major newspapers—Dallas, Houston, Austin, to name a few.
Chapter 12
THE DRIVE BACK to the bakery was a double Q—Quick and Quiet. Benny staring out one window, Star the other. Liz exchanged a glance or two with Manny.
They all trooped inside. Star pushing Benny’s chair, Liz holding the door open. Manny bought a loaf of rye bread, and Liz decided to pamper her sweet tooth with a half-dozen cupcakes. Saying goodbye to Star, Manny paid the cashier for the items, exchanging grins with Benny. With their purchases on the backseat, Manny pulled out of the parking lot, spotting a black and white pulling to the curb parking in front of the bakery.
Inside the bakery, Benny was surprised to see two officers walk in the door. He remained at his post at the cash register.
Star smiled at the officers. “Hi, something I can package up for you two?” Star asked.
The first officer showed Star his badge as the second officer strode past Benny, walking straight through the swinging doors, disappearing in the back.
“Officer Trippy, Miss. Your name?” Trippy asked pocketing his badge.
“Star Bloom. This is my bakery. Is something wrong?”
The officer glanced at Benny squinting back at him. “Are you Mr. Howard?” Trippy asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Turning his gaze back to Star, Trippy said, “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Ms. Bloom, but I have to ask you to close the shop while we conduct a search of your bakery. Do you have a We are closed sign or something like that?”
“Come on, Officer. What’s this all about?”
“A routine search. Probably nothing to be alarmed about. Seems Mr. Howard talked to a man we found Saturday night—”
“We were just at the morgue. Benny identified the body as the man he talked to at the opening of the bakery. So you know the man was here. What are you looking for? We really can’t close the bakery. We’re in the process of baking, of trying to fill the orders for Thanksgiving. Officer, I can’t spare a minute, let alone an hour, let alone closing the shop.”
“The sooner we can look around the sooner we’ll be out of your hair. Is there anyone in the back?”
“Yes, Wanda Armstrong, my office manager. Actually she does most everything, and my grandmother. As I said we’re trying to fill the orders. I’m sure you can smell the bread baking. Now, tell me what you’re looking for.”
“Do you have any rat poison, roach bait, or anything like that for pests?”
“Heavens no. Why would I—”
The officer who had breezed through the swinging doors to the kitchen returned, Gran sputtering behind him that she personally had purchased the bait. She’d never seen any critters, and she wanted to make sure it stayed that way. She added that a local company had come to spray twice while she and her granddaughter were cleaning, and why was the officer looking for roach hotels anyway. “This is all so upsetting.”
The officer held a box labeled, Twelve Roach Hotels. Guaranteed to stop roaches and ants in their tracks. Bagging the box of hotels, he quickly finished up the search of the shop while Gran continued protesting.
Star looked at the officers in disbelief.
Benny was scowling. This would be the last time he called a tip line.
“Ms. Bloom, who purchased the poison and how could it end up in your baked goods?”
“Don’t say a word, Star,” Gran said. “Officer, I told the other officer, that I bought the bait. You can’t be too careful when you’re serving the public. As for any of it getting into our batter, it is absolutely impossible. Just ask your fellow officer where he found it?”
“Tell you what … Mrs. …
“Mary Bloom. I’m Star’s grandmother.”
“Okay, Mrs. Bloom, why don’t you come down to the station with me, give your statement to Detective Watson. We’ll bring you back.” Looking at his partner poking in the cabinets, Trippy asked, “Find anything else.”
“No, only that one box.”
“Mrs. Bloom, come with us. We’ll have to take the box, test it to see if it matches the contents in John Doe’s stomach … you know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I know exactly what you’re saying. You are accusing me of poisoning someone. It’s preposterous. I’m going to report you to … to … my personal private investigators. Star dear, you call … you know who I’m talking about.”
“Gran, I’m sure they’re not charging you with murder. Officer Trippy, can I open the shop?” Star asked.
“Not until we verify it’s not the same poison we found in John Doe’s stomach.”
Star sighed, looking at Gran then Officer Trippy. “Please hurry. We only have one more day to fill the orders. Our customer’s will be coming tomorrow afternoon to pick up their Thanksgiving trimmings.”
Star slumped in the chair as a puff of air breezed in the door behind Gran and the officers. One officer carried the bagged hotels as if it was a bomb, Gran continuing her protestations.
Retrieving her phone, Star sent a quick text message to Tyler.
• • •
“You’ll never believe what just happened. S.”
Star relayed the bakery’s predicament … she waited for a reply … waited.
“Ty, did you get my message? S.”
“Ah, yes, sorry … I’m sketching … the little baker girl is waging a fierce battle against evil black bugs with big yellow eyes, green teeth and glowing orange horns. A swashbuckling officer, armed with a gold bat, is fighting valiantly to prote
ct the little blond baker girl. Sorry, I have to run. Later. T.”
“Cute. Let me know if the swashbuckler wins. Have to run too. S.”
• • •
STAR SNAPPED TO attention and called Liz thinking Gran’s suggestion was right on point. This is ridiculous. Taking Gran in for questioning. She was sure their personal PIs would put an end to the harassment.
• • •
RECEIVING STAR’S CALL FOR HELP, Manny stormed into police headquarters, breezed by the window in front of an alarmed duty officer, and into Detective Watson’s office. “What’s with hauling a sixty-nine year old grandmother in for questioning about a box of rat poison?”
“We had to be sure the bakery wasn’t involved and … it was a good lesson for your friend, Ms. Bloom, to be careful. I’ll call her to explain and tell her why it was necessary … and tell her I’m sorry. But an investigation has to be thorough.” Detective Watson smiled, his pearly white teeth against his black skin brought a smile from Manny.
“Yeah … well … where is Mary Bloom?”
“She’s probably walking in the bakery as we speak.” Pearly white teeth again.
“Well, okay. See ya.” Manny showed his pearly whites back at the detective.
“See ya.”
Chapter 13
A BLACK AND WHITE squad car pulled around to the back of the strip mall, rolling to a stop at the bakery. An officer hopped out, held the car door open extending a hand to his passenger. The officer said goodbye to the woman who brushed by him.
The back door to the bakery swung open and Gran strolled in, Star raced to her, folded her in her arms. “Are you all right?” Star hugged her again, kissed each cheek.
“Rather exciting, dear. But a nice hot cup of tea, chamomile I think, would help. Soothe my nerves. I hear the cash register. Are we open for business?”
“Yes. Detective Watson just called. He was sorry for any inconvenience. Can you beat that … inconvenience? I wanted to scream at him that he caused way more than an inconvenience.” Star’s blood pressure shocked her veins as she whirled away, took several deep breaths, slumped on a stool and looked up at Gran. “He said arsenic from rat poison was found in John Doe’s stomach. Did he tell you that?”
Promises: Star's Bakery (The Baker Girl Book 2) Page 4