“Did you know anyone who hated Gina or whom she hated?” Rachel asked instead. “Anyone who would want to harm her?”
“I really don’t,” Mrs. Bingham said tearfully. “I hardly knew Gina, to be honest. I'd met her at the cake-offs, of course… and I went to give her my bundt cake at 8am yesterday. We didn’t exactly run in the same social circles, you know. Her being all glamorous and me being... well... me.”
“You’re perfectly glamorous,” Emily said loyally, though not very confidently.
“Well, my point is, I really didn’t know her. The only time I ran into her this year was a few weeks ago at the library. Why would I want to kill her? Someone is clearly trying to frame me,” Mrs. Bingham said.
“Frame you?” Tricia’s mouth hung open. “Wait a minute. I’d never even considered that.”
“It has to be someone trying to frame me, doesn’t it?” Mrs. Bingham asked. “I mean, why use my bundt cake to poison her? There’s no other reason for it! There’s a million easier ways to kill a person.”
“Not always,” Rachel said. “For a murderer, motive, means, and opportunity all have to combine together to create auspicious circumstances, so to speak.”
“What do you mean?” Mrs. Bingham asked.
Rachel shook her head, unable to articulate what she was feeling. After the fire last night, she wasn’t quite herself, and even though she wanted to believe Mrs. Bingham, her exhausted, sleep-deprived mind was making her cynical and wary.
“You do believe me, don’t you?” Mrs. Bingham asked anxiously. “I can’t bear walking around town with people staring at me as though I’m a killer. My own neighbors have been giving me the cold shoulder. I know you have some experience with these things Rachel, so I wanted to request you. Please. You have got to help me prove my innocence.”
“Me?” Rachel was taken aback. “Mrs. Bingham, the police will—”
“I know the police.” Mrs. Bingham waved Rachel’s words away. “My brother was in the police. Now, I loved that man, and he was an honorable man, but Lloyd and his department didn’t have a brain cell among them. Everyone knows you’re the one who helped solve Stan Stickman’s murder. You have to solve this too!”
“I—”
“Please? I can’t give you much money, but—”
“But you can give her your bundt cake recipe!” Tricia jumped in. “It’s perfect, isn’t it? You can give her your recipe and agree to let her make it commercially. Maybe even just license it to her and have a cut of all the profits she makes from selling it. Win win!”
Rachel gave Tricia a stern look, then turned to Mrs. Bingham. “Mrs. Bingham, you’re very kind to praise me, but I have full faith in Scott. He’s going to catch the killer very soon. I have no intentions of investigating anything, and that’s that.”
*****
Chapter 8
Record Scratch
When her doorbell rang at eight that night, Rachel smiled. She had just finished tidying up her kitchen after a long day of baking. Her prep work for the next morning was done, and she had been planning on eating a shepherd’s pie that she’d baked earlier. Maybe Scott had decided to drop in and would share it.
She opened the door slightly and, sure enough, Scott stood there in his uniform, looking a little nervous.
“Hey.” Her voice was warm and inviting as she opened up the door. Before he could say anything, she pulled him down so that his face was level with hers and planted a deep, soulful kiss upon his lips.
The most wonderful feeling of warmth and belonging coursed through her, as did a slight ache from somewhere deep inside. She loved Scott so much that some days she thought she’d burst.
“Hello, handsome,” she murmured. How had she gotten lucky enough to find a man as handsome, smart, and flat-out good as Scott? She pulled back to look into his adorable, honey-brown eyes. As if all that wasn’t enough, he was wonderfully nerdy at times, wonderfully tender at times, and then, wonderfully funny too. Her heart fluttered a little.
“Stop it,” Scott said, his ears turning red. “If you keep looking at me like that, you’ll give me diabetes. It’s too sweet.”
Rachel doubled down and stared at him even harder.
Scott laughed and shoved the door shut behind him. “Alright, you asked for it.” He grabbed her hard and placed a hand on her waist, kissing her thoroughly. With no effort, he swooped her down until she was almost to the floor, then swept her back up again. Rachel thought she’d start seeing stars at this rate.
“OK. I’m dizzy now,” Rachel said.
They settled down on the little counter in the kitchen, and Rachel poured him some coffee.
“I didn’t get to say it much earlier, but I’m really proud of you, Scott,” Rachel said seriously. “You’re so busy and you still have time for doing what’s right. You inspire me. I’m going to look up volunteer opportunities, too.”
His ears turned a little red again. “It’s not like that.” Scott shrugged. “It’s really not a big deal. Let’s not talk about it anymore.”
“It’s really cute how modest you are too, you know,” Rachel said.
“Well, since you’re praising me so much, I guess now’s as good a time as any.” Scott took a breath. “Rach. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while now.” He fumbled in his pocket, and Rachel felt her heart stop.
Was he about to propose to her? Was this really happening? Rachel couldn’t believe it. It was all too fast. Of course, their one year anniversary as a couple was coming up soon, but she couldn’t believe this was real. Marriage?
Another part of her felt as though the warmth of the evening had suddenly been replaced with ice cubes sliding down her spine. She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t even close to ready. One year! She’d only known Scott one year. Sure it felt right. But she’d been dating her ex, Brandon, for eight years before he betrayed her. How could she be sure of Scott? It was too soon. She should be happy. Logically, she knew she should. But her emotions were all over the place yelling at her to drop her apron on the floor and run. Run as far away from Scott as possible. What was wrong with her? One moment she was head over heels and the next she was afraid.
When Scott brought his hand out of his pocket, it didn’t hold a ring, but a key. Rachel stared at it, then at him. He grinned, and she could only blink, unsure of what he wanted.
“I want you to move in with me,” Scott said.
When her face remained frozen, he joked, “Well, actually, I want Scooter to move in with me. But you’re welcome to join too.”
She still didn’t reply, and Scott looked a little more worried. “Well?” he probed. For the first time, the cocky grin was wiped off his face, and replaced with a hint of vulnerability.
“Scott… this is...” Rachel hesitated. “Well, it’s really sweet. It’s really nice of you.”
Scott grinned. “You’re overthinking it, aren’t you? Come on, Rachel. Be a little impulsive. It’ll be fun. We hang out together all hours anyway, and I’d love to have a dog pepping up my place.”
“I—”
Before she could say anything, the radio on Scott’s hip crackled to life. Scott gave an impatient little grunt and spoke into it. He listened for a few minutes, then nodded and hung it back on his hip. He sighed and closed his eyes for a second.
“I have to go.” His face was suddenly serious. “A fight’s broken out at The Corrupt Jackal. Bar fights don’t always escalate, but if Randy called it in, this must be serious.”
“Oh, Scott...” Rachel felt a little twist of fear for him. “Be careful, sweetheart.”
“Here.” He took her hand in his, pressed the key into it, and gave her a brief kiss. “I’m sorry, but I really have to run. Why don’t you hold onto this and think about it? We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Rachel managed in a small voice, as he ran out the door. She sat in the kitchen, a little stunned, feeling as though her world had just been twirled upside down. Move in wit
h Scott? What did that mean? Was that even right? She’d read a study somewhere saying couples who moved in together before marriage broke up more often than not. Was she ready for something this big? She was so comfortable right now. She had her bakery, and her dog, and her life all in order. Why did Scott want it to change? Now, when she told him, “No,” he’d be angry and they’d have to talk, and what if he broke up with her? What if he thought she wasn’t serious about him? Was she serious about him?
“I am serious about him. I just want to pump the brakes a little. Is that so wrong?” She spoke this out loud to Scooter, who was licking the floor as though it were candy. He looked up at her, then went back to his studious licking.
The doorbell rang, and Rachel jumped up. Scott again. She was sure of it. Maybe he’d come back to take his key. Maybe he’d tell her it was all a joke. Taking the time to check herself out in the window and adjust her hair, Rachel moved to the door and swung it open. But it wasn’t Scott. Tricia Crane was standing there instead, a big smile on her face and an eager look in her eyes.
“Oh… hey.” Rachel couldn’t help but sound a little unenthusiastic. It wasn’t that she wasn’t fond of Tricia, but right now, all she wanted was some quiet time alone.
“I know that look,” Tricia said. “It’s the kind of look I get when a book’s waiting for me, and a glass of wine is calling my name, and I just want to curl up on the sofa and space out for a while.”
Rachel grinned. “Well spotted. Still, I wouldn’t mind sharing that wine with you if you want to come in.”
“Me? I’m not coming in. You’re coming out.”
“Now?” Rachel looked at her oven. “I’ve got a shepherd’s pie resting in there, actually—”
“Oh, forget the pie! Mrs. Bingham gave me an absolutely brilliant idea,” Tricia said. “A magnificent stroke of genius.”
“Is this about Gina’s death?” Rachel asked. “Tricia, we really shouldn’t stick our noses in it.”
“What’s with you?” Tricia raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t this coy when Stan Stickman was killed.”
“That was different,” Rachel said. “I thought... well... I thought a friend was involved. I didn’t know Gina, plus the police have fingerprints, so there’s nothing much for me to do here.”
“Pfft,” Tricia said. “Those fingerprints aren’t worth a cent. Do you know how many people came to drop off cakes at Gina’s house, yesterday? All of their fingerprints are all over her house. Including yours and mine, by the way. We touched things when we went into the house.”
“Oh.” Rachel was startled. “I guess I’d assumed...”
“The killer is smarter than you think,” Tricia said.
“Not quite that smart,” Rachel said, thinking back to the cloth fragment she’d found during the fire. Scott had bagged it as evidence immediately, and it gave Rachel hope.that the killer had grown careless and was making mistakes. That was a good sign.
“Smart enough to kill a woman and start a fire,” Tricia said.
“How do you know this, anyway?” Rachel asked.
“It’s a small town and not everyone is as close-lipped as your boyfriend.” Tricia winked. “Let’s just say I have friends in the sheriff’s office.”
“That’s not—”
“Oh, don’t lecture me about ethics,” Tricia said. “We’ve got work to do, you and I. So far, I’ve found out that the fingerprints are useless, and that the bundt cake had some sort of poison injected into it. So that’s definitely the murder weapon.”
“Hmmm.” Rachel processed this, stepping back a little.
“Anyway, Rach, remember what Mrs. Bingham said earlier today?”
“That someone was trying to frame her?” Rachel tapped a finger against her chin. “I’m not so sure of that. I mean, that’s what a murderer would say, right?”
“Well, obviously Mrs. Bingham is not the murderer. I totally agree with what you told me the other day. Why would she be so dumb as to return to the crime scene? Plus she showed me the email on her phone from Gina’s iPhone. Gina definitely asked her to come over, and the email was sent at 11am.”
“Huh,” Rachel said.
“Which ties in nicely with forensic reports that the murder happened anywhere between ten and 11am that day,” Tricia chirped on. “And what does that suggest to you?” She looked as though she were about to burst out with the answer, but was just barely holding it in.
“What does it suggest?” Rachel asked.
“Why, that Mrs. Bingham is innocent! Obviously! She delivered the cake at eight thirty, and there were others there to corroborate that story. Then she got an email from Gina at eleven, so Gina was still alive. By the time she arrived at twelve thirty, Gina was dead!”
“But if she’d poisoned the cake already, she didn’t need to be there,” Rachel pointed out.
Tricia wrinkled her nose at her. “Honestly. Stop being so pedantic. I think we can now just safely rule out Mrs. Bingham. But here’s the thing: unknown to her, Mrs. Bingham did give us an excellent idea.”
“What’s this idea then?”
“She said she met Gina at the library a few weeks ago!” Tricia exclaimed. “You know how rare that is?”
“What? Going to the library?”
“Yes! Very rare in this day and age! Especially for Gina. I know she had a Kindle and read most of her books on it!”
“Well—”
“So that suggests...” Tricia took a deep breath. “That she was working on something! Maybe researching something that can’t be found online, only in local records!”
“Wow.” Rachel was impressed. “Ok, that is a smart thought, Tricia.”
“Exactly! And since Annie is my best friend.” Tricia winked. “I convinced her to meet us at the library in fifteen minutes. We can take a look at Gina’s records. Figure out what she was doing there. Now come on! There’s no time to waste.”
Tricia’s enthusiasm was infectious. Ignoring her grumbling stomach, Rachel grabbed her jacket and keys and hopped into Tricia’s car. In minutes, they screeched to a halt in front of the library.
The Swaddle Library was a grand monument to times gone by. When the town had been a roaring center of industry seventy years ago, the local businessmen had all chipped in to create a Greek-style, neoclassical building. Even now, it stood like some temple to the gods of knowledge, along an otherwise sober residential road. Wide marble steps led up to seven Doric pillars that held up a triangle on which was written: “Quaerite Me Sapientia”—Seek Wisdom Within Me. Halfway up the steps, Annie was sitting with her knees drawn up to her chin. She stood up as Rachel and Tricia approached.
“Alright, what’s all the fuss about?” she asked, swinging a key ring around one finger like a discus. “What’s this urgent matter that can’t possibly wait till tomorrow morning?”
“It’s about Gina!” Tricia exclaimed.
Annie looked uncertain. “What?”
“We want to look at her library records!” Tricia said. “How about it? We think we could find a clue.”
Annie looked shocked. “Tricia, you can’t be serious. Do you know how much trouble I’d get into if people found out I was leaking their private information? I’d be fired, for one.”
“Well, don’t be such a wuss,” Tricia said. “It’s just the three of us here. Nobody’s going to find out.”
“Sorry. I’m not doing it,” Annie said, crossing her arms across her chest.
Tricia sighed. Rachel nodded. “I understand, Annie,” she said. “Cheer up, Tricia. It’s still a good idea. I’ll tell Scott to officially look into it. You might still help the police catch the criminal.”
“Yes, but I wanted to catch the criminal.” Tricia sighed. “I mean, I’ve never done anything like this, you know?”
She looked so crestfallen, that Annie relented a little. “Fine. Look , I can’t give you Gina’s records. But, I can go look at them myself, right? And after that, if you should happen to ask me for book recommendations, well,
who’s to say what I might recommend.”
Tricia brightened immediately. “You’re a genius Annie! That way nobody can claim you leaked info.”
“Come on.” Annie twirled the keys around again, then looked around to her left and her right, as though the police might jump out and arrest her for privacy infringement. “But you owe me one, Trix. This is super shady of me.”
“I owe you. I owe you. You get a batch of cupcakes free—on me.” Tricia hopped up the steps like an eager rabbit, her nose practically twitching with excitement. Rachel ran up too, feeling a little out of breath by the time she reached the large double doors.
It was a treat to be inside the library all by themselves so late at night. Annie made them wait in the great hall while she went into the records room on her own. The musty smell of the books, and the gentle creaks of the building made Rachel feel like she was an ancient scholar, surrounded by friendly voices and wise writers.
“Libraries always make me happy,” Tricia said, speaking in a whisper, even though they were alone.
“I know. It’s like you can hear the books calling to you.” Rachel smiled. “And telling you that there are secrets in them, secrets that could change your life forever.”
“Or just stories that will take you to new lands and new friends.” Tricia smiled. “Sometimes, when I can’t sleep at night, I go down to the bookstore with just a flashlight and a blanket, and curl up on the window-seat reading an old classic. I love falling asleep that way, and waking up the next day to a bright sunny morning with all my books keeping guard of me as I sleep.”
Rachel smiled, and had a sudden image of Tricia, with her neon green hair and oversized pajamas, cuddled up with a pile of books.
From the back room, they heard a frustrated grunt, then the slam of a few drawers. Annie ran out of the records room, her face very pale. Tricia and Rachel turned to her, instantly alert.
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