Chime and Punishment

by Julianne Holmes

  “What is the matter with you?” Moira said. “You’re going to arrest my mother?”

  I heard a deep mumble, presumably Jeff.

  I focused on the timer. Thirty seconds to go. What was going on in here?

  “You want me to shut down my business? Are you freaking kidding me?” Moira shouted.

  More mumbles, then the timer went off.

  I pulled two trays of muffins and one of scones from the industrial oven. I’d never actually helped prep baked goods before, but I knew enough to move all three trays to racks to cool for a minute. I wanted to ask Nancy what I should do next, but I was afraid Ro would reconsider and kick me out, so I grabbed three baskets and lined them with a cloth and then with brown parchment paper. The muffins were wrapped in parchment paper, with corners sticking up. I lifted one out by the corners. Hot, but I could deal with it. I loaded up the baskets. I didn’t look at Ro for permission. Instead, I carried the brimming baskets out front.

  “I’ll be back with the scones in a second,” I said once I’d placed the muffins on the counters in reach of the hungry customers crowding the shop.

  “I take it we’re not serving hot breakfast?” Ben asked.

  “Not likely. Let me go get the scones,” I said, stealing back through the doors.

  I went back to the kitchen, doing my best to ignore the quietly urgent conversation that was threatening to explode between Ro and the Reeds. I put the orange-cranberry scones—or were they lemon-raspberry, I could never tell one from the other without tasting them—on half the basket. The other scones had chunks of brown in them. Maple-walnut?

  “Don’t these need some glaze?” I asked, glancing up at Nancy and attempting to act as if it were a normal occurrence to be crammed into the tiny kitchen with three extremely tense people, watching two more outside.

  Silence met my question.

  “Maybe there’s some in the refrigerator?”

  “The fridge is off-limits,” Ro said, her official voice in place again.

  “Off-limits?”

  “We need to inventory it.”

  “Ro, what’s going on?”

  “I’ll let the chief fill you in,” she said.

  I didn’t have to wait long. Jeff Paisley pushed the back door open, followed closely by a still-ranting Moira.

  “If you can’t trust my family—even after everything we’ve been through—then I guess it’s over,” she said, tears running down her face. “I can’t believe you think my mother’s a murderer.”

  • • •

  “What are you talking about?” I asked Moira. Then I turned to Jeff, who was just staring at Moira. “What is she talking about?” I looked over at Nancy, who wouldn’t meet my eyes. I hoped she hadn’t mentioned her lack of remorse about Kim’s death to anyone else. It sure could make her sound guilty.

  Not unsurprisingly, Jeff ignored me.

  “Nancy, would you mind coming down to the station so we can ask you a few questions?” Jeff said.

  “Are you arresting her?” Moira said.

  “Shh, Moira, keep your voice down,” Nancy said. “I’d rather go down there than stay here and answer questions. At least that way you can go back to work. Poor Ben, he came down for a cup of coffee, now he’s—”

  “We need to close the store . . .” Jeff said.

  “What?” Pat said, incredulous.

  “Hopefully not for long,” Ro said, shooting a glance at Jeff.

  “For as long as it takes,” Jeff said. “Nancy?”

  “Can Pat come with me?”

  Jeff sighed. “Yes. I’m going to have to ask you not to talk to each other—”

  “Oh, for the love of—” Moira said.

  “Enough,” Pat said. “He’s doing his job. Your mother didn’t do anything wrong. It will all be fine.”

  “Dad, how can you—”

  “It will all be fine. Right, Ruthie?”

  What was going on here? Why was Jeff closing the Sleeping Latte? I’m not sure why Pat brought me into it, except that I was the coolest head in the room.

  “Nancy, I’m going to text Kristen Gauger and see if she can meet you down at the station,” I said, fingers flying over the screen. Texting Kristen was the best way to get hold of her. I’d learned that the hard way.

  “She isn’t under arrest,” Jeff said.

  “Still, better to have her lawyer there, right?” I said, forcing a smile. “Jeff, we all trust you with our lives, but we’ve got to watch out for each other here.” Jeff Paisley had a wicked glare, and I was getting it full force.

  “So, when you say we need to close the Latte, what do you mean? Can the folks out there finish their coffee?” Moira asked.

  “People are drinking coffee?” asked Jeff.

  “And eating muffins,” I said.

  “Where did they get the muffins?” Jeff asked.

  “I put them in the oven when I got in this morning,” Moira said. “Thanks for taking them out, Ruth.”

  “No problem,” I said. “These are the scones. I was trying to figure out how to get them frosted.”

  “What part of ‘we need to close the store’ was unclear?” Jeff asked.

  “To be fair, you told her that you’d let the technicians do their work. You never said close the shop, ” Nancy said.

  “Nancy, we need to process the Sleeping Latte,” Jeff said. “An anonymous tip said that whatever killed Kim came from here. I have to take it seriously. We need to proceed carefully. If I don’t shut the Sleeping Latte down and run tests, you will always be under suspicion. I’ll probably lose my job because I showed bias toward your family due to my relationship with your daughter.”

  “So you think the food is poisoned? Or the coffee? Is that what you’re saying?” Moira said, putting her hands on her hips and squaring off right in front of Jeff.

  “Moira, I know you’re angry. But I wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors if I didn’t do my job,” Jeff said. I had to hand it to him, he met her angry gaze straight on and let the conflict show on his face. “For the record, of course I don’t think the food is poisoned. But I have to proceed with caution. Where did this muffin mix come from?”

  “The batter was from yesterday,” Moira admitted. “All I did was stir it up and put them in the tins. They’re fine. See?” Moira ripped a piece of muffin and put it in her mouth, chewing furiously. Before Jeff could stop her, she took a piece of the other muffin, then the scone, and jammed them in as well. Crumbs tumbled down her chin, and she put her hands on her hips, chewing furiously, glaring at Jeff.

  “Chief, Moira served food all day yesterday, and nobody died,” Nancy said.

  “Any fresh baking done yesterday?” Jeff said.

  “Yes, by your mother mostly. Are you going to haul her down to the station too?”

  “I may have to,” Jeff said, rubbing his temples. “That will go over even better than this is.”

  “I helped a little, but mostly with recipes. Tarts, muffins, and scones for the morning, and some cookies for the afternoon,” Nancy said.

  “Today is our leftover day. We weren’t planning on baking anything new, only prepping for the rest of the week,” Moira said. “Mondays are usually our slowest day.”

  Jeff and Moira kept staring at each other. It was as if they were daring each other to make the first move, but no one would blink. So I did.

  “I’m going to go tell Ben and Freddie that we’re closing down,” I said.

  “Freddie is here?” Jeff said, glaring at Ro.

  “I didn’t know she came in,” Ro said steadily, refusing to take the blame.

  “Ben pulled her right in to work the register,” I said. “Do you want to talk to her?”

  “You might say that,” Jeff said. “Ro, could you go and get Freddie? Ask her to come out here. I’ll wait.”

 
“Jeff, what should I . . .” I asked.

  “Ruth, go and help Ben get this place closed. Once the doors are shut, leave everything where it is. I’ll come out to let you out, and seal the space.”

  My phone buzzed. “Kristen will meet you at the station,” I said, reading the text. What she’d actually texted back was Again? You need to put me on retainer. She had been at the station for one reason or another a lot in the past few months. I leaned over and gave Nancy a hug. “Hang in there,” I whispered.

  “Pat, call me if you need anything,” I said for everyone to hear. “Moira, are you going to go to the station?”

  “No, she isn’t,” Pat said firmly.

  “I guess I’m not. How about if I go and help you and Ben clear the house. Would that be all right?” she asked, glaring at Jeff. “Or am I still on some sort of death watch because of my muffins? Wait, correction. Your mother’s muffins.”

  “That would be fine,” Jeff said. “Just don’t throw anything away.”

  Moira and I walked toward the swinging door that led out to the dining area. She stopped short before she pushed it open. Her hand was shaking, and she ran it down her pant leg.

  “Want me to do this?” I said.

  “Would you?” she whispered, seemingly paralyzed.

  I pushed the door and took a deep breath. I walked over to Ben, who was steaming milk for a cup of coffee. The line was gone, and there were only a few people in the dining room. Moira grabbed the baskets of baked goods, which had been severely depleted, and brought them back to the kitchen.

  “Make that to go,” I whispered. “We’ve got to close down.”

  I walked over to the front door and turned the lock. I flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED and pulled the front blinds closed. “Folks, we’ve had an emergency in the kitchen. I’m afraid we need to close the Sleeping Latte for the rest of the day. If you’d like to bring your mug up to the front, Ben will put your coffee in a to-go cup.”

  It took only a couple of minutes for the shop to clear. Once I’d closed the door for the last time, Ben turned to me.

  “What the hell is going on?” he asked.

  • • •

  “How can he possibly think my mother had anything to do with Kim’s death?” Moira said. The question was directed at me. She was making coffee in my kitchen, and I was setting the table for the three of us. Blue and Bezel didn’t get to have breakfast again, as much as Blue begged.

  “Do you know what happened to make them check the Sleeping Latte?” Ben said, chopping more ham and tossing it into a large fry pan, where it sputtered and splatted alongside the turkey and onion he’d been frying. He went back to the eggs he’d whisked and added a handful of cheese, and then poured them over the meat. He gently pushed and prodded the eggs.

  “He’s pulling stuff out of the air,” Moira said. “Listening to anonymous tips that are called in.”

  “Moira, he’s doing his job,” I said quietly. “He has to let it take him where it leads.”

  “He can’t think my mother—”

  “Of course he can’t. None of us do,” I said. “But his job isn’t to get the evidence to fit what he knows. His job is to follow the evidence and figure out what happened. Maybe they’re crossing t’s and dotting i’s. Or maybe they found something that indicates that Kim didn’t die of natural causes. Besides, if someone called, he had to check it out.”

  “How is a bell on her head natural causes?” Moira said. I winced. I took it personally when a clock part was implicated in a death. I put two more pieces of bread in the toaster. I moved the butter crock from the counter to the table.

  “She didn’t die from the bell,” Ben said, still pushing his eggs around. Ben’s breakfasts were not to be rushed, but they were worth the wait. “She died from an allergic reaction. Not that I should know that, but that’s Orchard for you. I wonder if that’s what’s going on? He has to be really careful to do due diligence in case her death wasn’t an accident.”

  I went over to the cabinet and took out three plates, putting them on the counter beside Ben. “Can you be forced into an allergic reaction?” Moira said.

  “Of course, if you knew what triggered it,” I said. “She was allergic to nuts.”

  “There weren’t any nuts in the food we brought over to the party,” Moira said. “We were really careful about that. Too risky these days when so many people have allergy issues.”

  “But you do serve food with nuts at the Sleeping Latte.”

  “We do, but Kim doesn’t eat food at the Sleeping Latte. Ever.”

  “Never?” Ben said. “How do you know?” He separated the plates and spooned eggs on each.

  “She makes a point of it, though she lets my mother bake her cherry tarts. She hates the Reed family, plain and simple.” Moira sat at the table and moved her juice glass around. “Hated. Yeesh, I keep talking about her in present tense.”

  “I keep forgetting too,” Ben said. “Aunt Flo said Beckett is trying to get a committee together to plan a memorial service for her. He’s having some trouble getting folks to step up.”

  “I wonder if they’re going to find her family,” Moira said. “It almost makes me feel sorry for her.”

  I took a bite of the eggs and closed my eyes in a food swoon. Included in Ben’s many talents was his ability to cook. I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “These are amazing.”

  “Thanks, babe,” he said. “What do you think, Moira?”

  “I’m not that hungry. Maybe I should go down to the station?”

  “You have to eat,” Ben said. “I have a feeling it is going to be a long day.” He pushed her plate a little closer to her, and she capitulated and took a small bite of eggs. Then a larger bite. “I’m going to check in with Jason and make sure he’s set in the store,” Ben said, handing us each a piece of toast. “Flo already said she’s all set in the shop. Monday’s she’s usually closed, but she moved some of her Saturday regulars over, so they could go to the Signing Ceremony.”

  “I obviously have nothing to do today,” Moira said, playing with her food sulkily.

  “You could help out here in the shop until your dad gets back,” I said.

  “What could I do?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about clocks.”

  “But you know about people,” I said. I was improvising, but knew Moira well enough to know that she had to keep busy today. “Zane’s coming in, and if nothing else, you can talk to him about the figures and what he needs to get them done.”

  “What do you mean, what he needs?”

  “He’s carving them to look like people. He made a model of my grandmother’s figure already. Did you see it yesterday?”

  “I did, but I didn’t really look at it up close.”

  “He’s probably going to have it with him and will show it to you. As he said, he’s working on perfecting the solution that he wants to use on the figures— Did you move the test boards?”

  “Checked this morning when I took Blue out for his run,” Ben said. “Pat must have done it last night. Moira, I think you, Ruth, and I need to stay nimble today.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, pouring more coffee in my cup and then in his. “Something’s happening. If Kim was killed, Jeff needs to follow the evidence. I keep wondering about that. There’s a narrative arc—”

  “Narrative arc? Who talks like that?” Moira said, smiling for the first time this morning.

  “The English major with a computer minor,” I said. “Go on, sweetie. Tell us about the arc.”

  “Are you both done? Good. The great thing about being an English major is that I look at the story line. What makes sense? What elements are missing? Who are the characters in the story? Ruth brings the clockmaker’s careful eye,” Ben said. “How does it all work? What isn’t working, and why? How do we
fix it?”

  “What do I bring to the table?” Moira asked as she nibbled on a piece of toast.

  “You bring heart,” Ben said. “Ruth and I both care, but you are a fierce warrior.”

  “‘Fierce warrior’ is one way to put it,” she said, almost to herself. “Jeff would probably use another phrase.”

  “I don’t think so,” Ben said.

  “Jeff’s crazy about you,” I said. “He’s got a strict moral code that makes him great at his job, which he puts first. He fights for the greater good at his own expense. This must be tough on him.”

  Moira looked down at her plate, blinking back the tears that had risen up.

  “You know, ladies, together we have superpowers. Moira’s passion, my love of story, and Ruth’s innate ability to fix things. We need to make this right, not only for Kim, but for us all.”

  “That’s pretty dramatic,” I said.

  “No, Ben’s right,” Moira said. “Things were so bleak for so long. It’s gotten so much better . . .”

  “Since Ruth came back.” Ben finished her sentence and took my hand in his. With his other hand, he grabbed Moira’s.

  I squeezed Ben’s hand. “Let’s keep our eyes on this prize, my friends. Orchard needs us. We’ll figure out what happened to Kim,” I said.

  One way or another.

  chapter 17

  Ben went to take Blue out for another walk and asked me to go with him. Much as I wanted to, I had to say no—too much to do and no time for distractions. Moira had the good grace to leave us alone for a few minutes, so at least he could kiss me good-bye. With a stupid grin on my face I finished loading the dishwasher.

  I took out my notebook and made lists. I didn’t have answers, but I had a lot of questions. Who had a motive to kill Kim? The list of people who considered her an enemy was long, but who was capable of murder? I’d need to think about that, much as I hated to go there. If I’d learned nothing else in the past few months, I’d learned that anyone was capable of anything, given the right push.

  Next to motive was opportunity. Who could have killed her? I’d need some help with that, thinking about who was where when. I wish I’d paid more attention to Jeff’s diagram yesterday, though I wasn’t sure I’d make sense out of it. He had his methods, and I had mine. I jotted down a few more thoughts. How exactly did she die? Why was the bell used? Why was Kim back there in the first place? Lists and questions. No answers, not yet.