Pastry Penalties

by Jessica Beck

  “What if he misinterpreted what he saw, though?” Jake asked.

  “What do you mean?” My husband had clearly given this some thought, and I believed it was only fair to hear him out, despite my core belief that Max couldn’t have ignored the situation if his life depended on it.

  “What if he thought Emily was a willing participant to the embrace? Would he still rush in to confront them? I’m asking you because you know him better than anyone else.”

  “Maybe anyone but Emily,” I amended. I thought about the scenario Jake had laid out, and I had to admit that it was a possibility. Max would have been hurt if he thought Emily was cheating on him, and he could have run away in reaction to it. That possible scenario actually played out in my head for a moment before I spoke again. “I suppose it’s possible,” I said, “but it’s a moot point, since Max isn’t even in town.”

  “Maybe he isn’t, but then again, maybe he came back early,” Jake said as he pulled out his cell phone.

  “Who are you calling? You don’t have Max’s number in your phone, do you?” For some reason, the idea that my current husband had my ex on speed dial unsettled me.

  “Relax. I’m dialing Information,” he said as he held up one finger to silence me.

  Normally I wouldn’t have complied with that request, but I was too curious to see where he was headed to interrupt.

  “The Restchester,” he said, and I nodded. Emily had told us that was where Max always stayed when he was in LA. “Connect me, please.”

  After a moment, he asked for Max’s room.

  “Since when? Okay. Thanks.”

  After Jake disconnected the call, he said in an even voice, “Max checked out two days ago.”

  “Maybe he moved to another hotel,” I suggested.

  “Or maybe he got fired and came back early,” Jake speculated. “Is that anywhere in the realm of possibility?”

  “Oh, yes. Max has been fired from more jobs than he’s finished,” I admitted after remembering how frustrated I used to get with him for constantly sabotaging his own career.

  “I wonder if I can pull some strings to see if he flew back home early,” Jake mused aloud. “I have some friends who moved to Homeland Security who might be able to help.”

  “Hold on there, partner,” I said. “I’ve got an easier way to find out than that.”

  “You have connections like that?” Jake asked with surprise.

  “No, I know someone even better,” I said. I called Nina Garringer, a customer of mine who was a huge fan of pumpkin donuts. Every fall she’d order a dozen a week until they were nearly gone, and then, in one last rush of glory, she’d commission me to make ten dozen just for her. Those promptly went into her freezer, and she hoarded them until pumpkin donut season came around again. Nina also happened to be Max’s current landlord. Max, along with a few other folks, rented rooms from Nina, a relatively new occupation the widow had been forced into after her husband’s sudden death.

  “Nina, it’s Suzanne Hart.”

  “You don’t have to identify yourself to me, sweetie. What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you could tell me if Max is back in town,” I said.

  “No.”

  What was it with short answers to the questions I was asking today? “No as in you can’t tell me, or no as in he’s still in L.A.?” I asked her.

  “You knew about that?”

  “We keep in touch,” I said. “Please?”

  Nina’s voice lowered as she replied, “It’s on the hush-hush. I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “What if I guess?” I suggested.

  “There’s no law against that,” she said, laughing a little at my suggestion.

  “Did Max get fired from the commercial and come back early, but he didn’t want to have to explain it to Emily or anyone else, so he asked you to keep quiet about it?”

  There was nothing but dead silence.

  “Nina?” I asked. “Are you still there?”

  “I am.”

  “Well, how’s my theory?”

  “We never came up with a code,” Nina explained.

  I laughed for a moment. “You are absolutely right. Okay, how’s this? If I’m right, comment on the weather. If I’m wrong, tell me I’ve got the wrong number. Those choices are innocent enough, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to rain today, but those clouds are pretty dark, so it might. You just can’t tell these days, can you?”

  “Thanks, Nina. Is he there right now?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong number,” she said, and then she whispered, “Bye, Suzanne. Mum’s the word, remember?”

  “I’ll remember,” I said.

  “You were right,” I told Jake after I hung up. “Max got fired and came home early. He could have killed Dusty, couldn’t he?”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Jake said. “Just because he was in town doesn’t mean anything just yet.”

  “It means he needs to be on our list of suspects,” I corrected him.

  “True. But first we have to find him. Did Nina know where he was at the moment, by any chance?”

  “No, but I have a few ideas of my own about that. I need to make a few phone calls, and that’s going to take some time. Should we go ahead and look for him, or should we wait until after we talk to Hattie?” I asked as I started the Jeep back up.

  “Ordinarily I’d say we should delay Hattie and find Max first, but something in my gut tells me that we should go ahead and speak with her before we do anything else. After that, we can look for Max all we want.” Jake paused, and then he added, “Maybe we can grab a bite at the Boxcar in between while you’re making your calls.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I said. “I’m starving, too.”

  As I drove to Hattie’s place, I couldn’t help wondering if Max had indeed committed murder. It wasn’t something I wanted to even consider, but what choice did I have? If he felt as though he’d lost everything he’d ever really cared about, he just might have done it. I needed to speak with him and hear him declare his innocence directly, but before I could do that, Jake and I needed to talk to Hattie.

  There would be time to talk to Max soon enough if I was ever able to track him down. When my ex didn’t want to be found, he was very, very good at hiding, but he’d met his match with me.

  At least I hoped so.

  Chapter 10

  “Her tricycle is gone,” I said as I pulled up in front of her place.

  “That’s a crazy kind of transportation for a woman her age,” Jake said. “Does she really ride it everywhere she goes?”

  “Rain or shine, it’s the only way she can get wherever she needs to go,” I said.

  “She doesn’t even own a car?”

  “She hasn’t had one for as long as I’ve known her, and that’s been most of my life. Hattie has always been what you’d call a little flamboyant. I’ve never seen a woman go to such great lengths to dress in garish colors. She marches to the beat of her own drummer.”

  “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Jake said as his stomach grumbled. “Should we forget about eating and go look for Max?”

  “You poor thing. You’re starving, aren’t you?”

  “I could eat,” he said with a shrug, “but I’ve skipped meals before when I was working on a case, and I have a hunch it will happen again.”

  “Not on my watch, it won’t. Stopping for fifteen minutes to grab a bite at the Boxcar isn’t going to make any difference in the scheme of things.”

  “I don’t know how you can say that,” Jake replied. “I’ve seen a matter of seconds make the difference between life and death.”

  “I’m sure that you have, but I can’t see that applying in this particular case. Come on. Let’s go get something to eat.”
>
  “I’ll do it for you, if you’re really hungry,” he said.

  I looked over at him and saw that he was grinning. “Sure. I’m the only one who’s hungry. If you don’t want to eat, you could always just sit across the table from me and watch.”

  “I don’t know,” he answered as his eyes started twinkling. “That would be kind of rude. I’ll probably order something too, but just to keep you company.”

  “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the sacrifices you make for me,” I said with a laugh. At least we weren’t very far from the Boxcar. Not only would it be good to get something to eat, but Trish, the diner’s owner, might have heard something about Dusty’s murder she could share with us. After all, not much in town occurred without her knowing at least something about it. Even if she didn’t, though, we’d still get a hearty meal and a bit of lively conversation.

  That much I knew that I could count on.

  “What’s new?” I asked Trish as we walked into the diner. The dining room had once been a train boxcar, hence the name. The kitchen was another boxcar, and Trish had been threatening for years to buy yet another to expand her operation. I liked things just the way they were at the moment. Not only was the place charming and cozy as it was, but it was also what I was used to, and there was something to be said for the familiar.

  “Do you mean besides the fact that somebody bumped off Dusty Baxter?” she asked me. Her long blonde hair, pulled back in its ever-present ponytail, bobbed as she talked. “Do you really need anything else going on at the moment?”

  “What have you heard?” I asked, lowering my voice in the hopes that she would follow suit. Trish didn’t much care who overheard her, but I would be happier if we didn’t include everyone there in our conversation if I had anything to say about it.

  “Are you seriously asking me? You’re the one who found the body, and I’ll bet good money that you and your hubby are looking for his killer even as we speak. Suzanne, don’t you ever get tired of stumbling over corpses?”

  “More than you’ll ever know,” I said softly, reliving the moment despite my best wishes not to picture the crime scene ever again. “It was just awful.”

  Trish took a moment to think about what I said, and then she gave me an enveloping hug. We’d gone to school together, and besides Grace Gauge, she was just about my best friend ever, if I didn’t count Momma and Jake. I knew that not everyone could say that their spouses and parents were also their friends, but I couldn’t imagine living my life any other way.

  “Can you ever forgive me? I don’t always think before I shoot my mouth off. Obviously. How are you doing, darlin’?”

  “I’m okay,” I said.

  “So then, you’re not digging into Dusty’s murder?”

  “How can we not?” I asked her softly. “Finding the body like that kind of makes it our business, you know?”

  She finally got the hint and lowered her voice to match mine. “Suzanne, is it true what they are saying?”

  “I don’t know,” I said in all honesty. “What exactly are they saying?”

  “That Emily’s stuffed animals were found at the crime scene, and that there was blood everywhere, including on them. From what I’ve heard, she’ll have to throw them away, things were so bad.”

  I knew better than just about anyone else about the condition of Cow, Spots, and Moose, but it wasn’t my place to share everything I knew. Still, I could at least dispel one rumor. “There wasn’t much blood at all, and what there was wasn’t on the guys, at least as far as I could tell.” I glanced over at Jake, who wasn’t thrilled with me sharing so much of what I knew, but while I had promised to keep the police chief’s confidence about staying silent about Spots holding the knife, I hadn’t said anything about confirming or denying that they were even there. I knew that Jake wouldn’t have said anything, but we were two different people, despite how close we were. Getting married hadn’t stopped either one of us from having our own opinions, and they didn’t always have to go hand in hand.

  “That’s a relief, anyway,” Trish said. “I’m guessing you don’t have much time to hang around gossiping with me, not if you’re hot on the heels of a killer. The special today is excellent, and what makes it even better is the fact that there’s no waiting. We were all missing our Thanksgiving feast here, so we decided to do a spread out of season.”

  “Turkey and all the fixings are always in season as far as I’m concerned,” Jake said. “We’ll take two, right, Suzanne?”

  “Sure, but then what are you going to eat?” I asked, teasing him.

  “So, should I bring two plates, or three?” Trish asked me.

  “Surprise us,” I said at the same time that Jake held up two fingers.

  “Seriously. We just need one apiece,” he said.

  Trish glanced at me, and I pretended to be a little put out. “Fine, but if I’m still hungry, will you bring me another one after I finish with the first one?”

  “If you’re still hungry after polishing one of these plates, I’ll pay for the second one myself,” she said with a grin.

  “Don’t encourage her,” Jake said with a grin. “Now she’s going to do it just to prove that she can.”

  “I don’t need any proof,” Trish said. “I’ve seen her eat, remember? If she says she can eat two specials, I believe her.”

  “Okay, enough chitchat. Go fetch our food, woman,” I said with a smile.

  “You bet,” she said. “Two teas with it?”

  “That sounds great,” I said.

  After we took a table near the back, I pulled out my cell phone. Jake looked at me inquisitively. “Who are you calling?”

  “I thought I’d put out a few feelers on where Max might be,” I said. “Do you mind?”

  “No, go right ahead.”

  I called a few people I thought might know my ex’s whereabouts, but I hit three dead ends in a row.

  “No luck?” Jake asked me as I put my phone away.

  “Not yet, but I’m not ready to give up that easily.”

  As I looked around to see who else was eating at the Boxcar, I overheard some of our fellow townsfolk talking about the murder, which was no great surprise. After all, it was a big deal for a small town to lose one of its own to homicide. I started sampling the conversations, listening in when I thought it might be relevant. I’d mastered the art of eavesdropping over the years, so as Jake and I held an inane conversation about the weather, I listened in to bits and pieces of chatter.

  Most of it was just idle speculation until I heard something that certainly caught my attention. “…screaming in his face that he wasn’t going to get away with it, and not twenty-four hours later, the man’s as dead as a doornail. That’s a funny expression, isn’t it? What’s a doornail, and why on earth would it be dead, if it were never alive in the first place?”

  “Actually, there’s an interesting story to that,” her companion said. “It dates back to the fourteenth century, and even William Shakespeare and Charles Dickens used the phrase.”

  “Charles Dickens wasn’t born in the fourteenth century,” the first woman said. “I wrote a history report on him in high school, and I still remember his birthday, February 7, 1812. It was the same date as my first boyfriend.”

  “You dated a boy born in 1812?” the woman asked her incredulously. “I knew that you’d been around awhile, but that’s frankly unbelievable.”

  “February 7, not 1812,” the other woman said with a mean bark to it.

  “So then he was born after Dickens. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Considerably. How did we get off on this tangent?”

  “You were telling me about Hattie arguing with Dusty just before he died.”

  That was all I could take. I stood up and walked straight to the table, where Minerva Gant was talking to Jillian Moore. “Minerva, what
were they fighting about?”

  “Hello, Suzanne. I’m sorry, was our conversation bothering you? We’ll try to keep it down from now on.” Minerva had a wicked look in her eyes. It was clear that she was enjoying the attention and the power of knowing something that I didn’t.

  “Minerva, what were they arguing about?” I repeated.

  “What’s in it for me if I tell you?” she asked coyly.

  I was about to tell her that I might let her live if she talked, but then I remembered Minerva’s famous love of raspberry donuts. “How does half a dozen raspberry donuts sound tomorrow morning?”

  “I don’t know. A dozen sounds better,” she said.

  I wasn’t about to quibble over six donuts. “Done. Now talk.”

  Jake had joined us, and he was clearly just as interested in her answer as I was. Minerva nodded, satisfied with our agreement. “It was over money.”

  “There has to be more to it than that. Think, Minerva. Otherwise your dozen raspberry-filled treats just got knocked down to two single glazed donuts.”

  Minerva clearly didn’t like that, and she realized that playing any more games with me wasn’t going to work. “I happened to be dozing in the sun when I heard Hattie call out to Dusty. They met in front of the bench by the clock, and if either one of them noticed me, I’ll pay you a dollar each. Anyway, Hattie asked him where the first payment was, and Dusty acted as though she was speaking Latin. When she pushed him on it, he just shrugged and said, ‘You never said when you wanted the money paid back, so I just figured I’d wait a few months.”

  “‘That is a lie, and you know it!’ That’s what Hattie screamed at him as she poked him in the chest. ‘You have until sunset tomorrow to pay me back in full, or else.’ I couldn’t believe how angry she was. I was afraid the poor dear was going to have a coronary on the spot.”

  “How did Dusty react to that?” I asked.

  “He just laughed. Wow, Hattie didn’t like that, let me tell you. She got kind of quiet, and when she spoke again, her words were like tiny little daggers.”