She went to the less-crowded section of the bar and waited for the man to come up to her.
“What can I get you?”
“I was told by Kristy that I could use the phone. I’m assuming you’re Steve?”
The big man grinned. “You got it, lady.”
He pulled a corded phone from behind the counter and, motioning with his head, drew it down to the end of the bar where she would have a bit more privacy.
“Thank you,” she said, recalling Adam’s office number from memory.
He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, Adam, it’s me.”
“Hey, Margie, did you get my message?”
“Only part of it,” she said, still chiding herself for not having her car charger with her. “You’d said Elliot Henry and that was about it. My phone died.”
“Oh, well there wasn’t much after that. He’s the son of Miles Henry.”
“Why do I know that name?”
“He’s a wealthy finance mogul who started up a wealth management company here in North Bank after he hit it big on Wall Street.”
“Hit it big?” she said with a chuckle. “You make it sound like a game.”
“Honestly, I think it is sometimes.” He sounded tired and she let it go.
“So was it accidental?”
“Of course it was,” Adam said too quickly.
“You don’t know yet, do you?”
“Okay, so the M.E. hasn’t come back with anything yet, but you’re jumping to conclusions. You don’t have to see a murder around every corner.”
Margot felt her irritation rise. Adam knew her better than to assume she wanted it to be murder. Then again, to be fair, she hadn’t shared her hunch with him about the bracelet. She couldn't blame him for thinking she was sticking her nose into something that wasn’t her business.
“I’ve gotta go, the chief just walked in. Bye, Margot.”
He hung up so quickly, she didn’t have a chance to say good-bye, or tell him about what she’d found out at the clubhouse. Still feeling irritated, she put the phone down and clenched her teeth. Sometimes, Adam frustrated her. Then again, Julian had done the same thing. She cringed, not wanting to compare the two; that wasn’t fair.
“Everything a-okay?” Steve asked.
She looked up, almost having forgot where she was. “Uh, oh, yes.”
“I wasn’t eavesdropping or nothing,” Steve said, looking uneasy as he dried a glass with a dishtowel, “but I heard you mention Elliot Henry.”
Margot’s heart picked up pace. Had she said anything about his death? She knew there were very strict rules about information sharing outside of a crime scene. Then she remembered Adam’s words—in their eyes, it wasn’t a crime.
“I did,” she said, her eyes narrowing cautiously.
“My little sister used to date that guy. If you see him around, tell him ole Steve’s still looking to punch his lights out.”
Chapter 3
Margot blinked at the ferocity of Steve’s words. “I… Uh,” she fought for words.
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don't like that guy very much. In fact, I’m not the only one who has him on a hit list—so to speak.”
“Hit list?” she repeated, eyebrows rising.
Steve set down the glass he’d been cleaning, leaning toward her in a conspiratorial manner. “He’s a spoiled rich kid with no manners and no sense of decency.”
“What makes you say that?”
“For one, he dumped my sister. No guy in his right mind would do that.” Margot could tell Steve was the protective sort of brother. “But two, he’s a real jerk. Walks in here like he owns the place. Sure, his daddy got him the membership and probably owns half the club, but that doesn’t mean you treat people like dirt. You know?”
Margot nodded, though Steve needed no prompting to continue.
“He comes in here at least two or three times a week, sometimes more, and is always forgetting to pay his tab—as if he’s too important to remember things like that. Then he started dating my sister, she works here too as a waitress, and it got worse. He thought he was entitled to all this free stuff. Then we get in trouble when he doesn’t pay. ‘Course they won’t kick him out because of his pops.” Steve shook his head. “It’s a big old mess. Though I haven’t seen him around in a few days.”
Margot swallowed. She could have let Steve know that he’d never see Elliot again, but that wasn’t her news to share.
Instead, she asked, “Did your sister like him?”
“I guess,” Steve said. He shrugged and picked up another glass. “You’d have to ask her about it, though. I’m just the overprotective big brother, as she says it.”
Margot smiled back at him. “Sounds like you care a lot for your sister.”
“Sure do. Got her the job here when she got out of high school. She’s been working here ever since. Good tips and good pay.”
“I’d love to talk with your sister.”
“Yeah? How come?”
In that moment, Margot realized two things. One was the fact that she’d slipped into investigation mode, and the other was the reality that she had no real reason to speak with his sister other than her own curiosity and desire to know more about Elliot Henry, a man whom no one seemed to like.
“I, uh, I run a bakery in town. You may have seen it? The Parisian Pâtisserie. I’m always looking for good help.” She cringed inwardly, knowing that while it was true, she doubted she’d want to hire Steve’s sister.
“Oh yeah?” Steve’s congenial grin grew. “I feel a little weird giving you her address. Could you come back tomorrow to meet with her here? She usually takes her break between two and two-thirty.”
Margot smiled warmly back at him. “Absolutely. Then you can keep an eye on us.” She winked and Steve laughed.
“Thanks, lady. Uh, what’s your name again?”
“Margot. Margot Durand. It’s nice to meet you…”
“Steve Smith. My sister’s name is Kellen.”
“Great. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Margot left the bar area, waving to Kristy at the front, and then got back in her car. She was making progress on getting to know more about Elliot, but that also meant she was investigating something Adam thought wasn’t a case. But, in addition to that, she was also going to have to call in a favor from Sal.
She stopped at the gate on the way out and Sal came over to talk with her.
“You grab something to eat?”
She shook her head. “Not this time. But say, Sal, I’ve got a huge favor to ask.”
“Name it,” he said, leaning against the roof of her car.
“I’ve got a bit of an impromptu interview with a girl named Kellen Smith back at the clubhouse tomorrow. It kind of just…happened. Will it be possible to come back tomorrow? I know this puts you in a position, but—”
“Don’t worry about it.” Sal waved her off. “I talked with the manager and explained who you were. He’s interested in talking with you himself. I think he wants you to do weddings here again.”
Margot cringed at the thought. Making pastries was one thing, but organizing wedding delicacies was another.
“Either way,” Sal continued, “you’re good to go on coming back. He said you really helped put the club’s name on the map by way of your fancy D.C. connections—his words, not mine—so you can come and go as you please.”
Though she wasn’t thrilled about the possibility of having to turn down the club’s manager, she was thankful she could comeback without hassle or calling on Sal too much.
“Sounds good. Thank you so much!”
“Hey,” Sal said, before stepping away. “It’s none of my business, so just ignore me if I'm sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but I don’t know if Kellen Smith is the best choice for your bakery.”
That caught Margot’s attention. “Why not? Is she not a good worker?”
“Oh, it’s not that. She’s been great up at the clubho
use restaurant, but that fella she hangs around with, Elliot Henry’s his name, not good news.”
Margot nearly gasped as Sal said Elliot’s name. It seemed as if Elliot’s reputation preceded him.
“Oh? In what way?”
Sal shook his head. “Rude. Irresponsible. Kept forgetting to settle up on his tabs. I almost had to throw him out one night until Kellen bailed him out.”
Margot took in this information. Why would the son of a wealthy man have money issues? Or was he truly so forgetful he didn’t pay his debts? Either way, things weren’t lining up about Elliot’s character.
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks so much.”
“You got it. See you tomorrow.”
She nodded and pulled out onto the highway that led back toward the heart of town and her bakery. Somehow, it seemed she’d gotten caught up in the midst of a mystery. No one had anything good to say about Elliot Henry and now he was dead. If his death was ruled accidental, there would be no cause for Adam to investigate, but to Margot, that seemed unwise.
In her experience, someone who had as many enemies as Elliot Henry seemed to was the perfect object for murder.
“You don’t look like a woman who’s had a relaxing kayak ride on the Potomac.” It was the first thing Rosie said when Margot walked in the back door to her French pastry shop, The Parisian Pâtisserie, shifting the weight of her large beach bag from her shoulder to the floor.
“That’s because I’m not.”
“What’s this all about?” The voice from the door drew both women’s attention.
“Bentley,” Margot said with a surprised smile. “You’re here late.”
The older man, tufts of white hair framing his wrinkled features, grinned at them both. “Rosie doesn’t like to be here alone so I stayed a little later than normal.”
“I hope she appropriately bribed you with pastries,” Margot said with a laugh.
“Not even one.” Bentley looked somber, his hand reaching up to cover his heart.
Both women laughed at his theatrics, but Rosie came to her own defense. “I couldn't get rid of him. He insisted on staying.”
“You wound me, madam.”
Margot shook her head at the two, feeling the warmth of their friendship as much as she had felt the sunshine earlier that day.
“So why are you here again?” Rosie asked, her hands finding their way onto her wide hips.
“My phone died,” Margot said, holding up the phone as evidence. “And I missed you.”
The brilliance of Rosie’s white teeth against her cocoa skin made Margot think of chocolate and cream. “You know that’s right.”
“Don't let me keep you,” Margot said, waving a hand for them to continue.
“What?” Rosie frowned.
“I know you two have a checkers game going. It’s the only reason Bentley’s still here.”
Rosie looked shocked. “Me? Playing games while I'm working?”
“Go on. And you’d better win.”
Rosie winked and made her way back out into the front room of the bakery where there were a few small, round tables for guests to sit at. Margot didn’t care one bit if the older woman spent her time in the shop playing games with customers. That was what drew the people of North Bank to the Pâtisserie. Not just the pastries, but the atmosphere.
Margot turned and went to her small office to one side of the kitchen. It barely held her desk, chair, and a wall for her cookbooks and files, but it was just right for what she needed.
Plugging in her phone, she waited for the telltale beep to signify that it was charging and then turned her attention to her computer. She opened the search engine and typed in Elliot Henry.
Images filled the right side of her screen of a handsome young man with a roguish grin and a dimple on the right side. In some, he had his arm around an attractive, petite blonde. Margot wondered if it was Kellen Smith. It was a shame to see a young man cut down in the prime of his life. No matter what his reputation was, it was still unfortunate.
She turned back to the search results. Many were popular online gossip sites that talked about what the rich and famous were doing. Apparently, as the son of Miles Henry, Elliot ranked among the rich.
It was strange though, thinking back to what several people had said about him not paying his tab. Usually, the rich were overly generous, or if not that, then at least quick to flash their money around. What made Elliot so different?
One article drew her attention. The title read, BFFs of the Rich.
She knew that BFF stood for Best Friends Forever, so she clicked on the article link and scrolled down past the many advertisements until she reached the section for Elliot. He stood with his arm around the shoulders of another young man. They looked to be the same age and both flashed brilliant smiles.
She read through the article quickly, coming to find out that the other young man was named Drake Sylvester. She did a search on him but found nothing more than a private Facebook profile and a Twitter account that hadn’t been used for several years.
“That was a dead end,” she said out loud to herself.
She leaned back in her chair. What was she doing? Following up on a lead that wasn’t a lead. Not really. Aside from the fact that it appeared no one liked Elliot, nothing she’d found led her to consider the fact that his death hadn’t been an accident.
She shut down her computer and stood, grabbing her phone, which had now been charged enough to get her home to her other charger.
When she entered the front room of the bakery, she had to laugh. Bentley and Rosie were still playing checkers.
“Still at it, I see.”
Bentley shook his head. “We’re on best two out of three.”
“You mean four out of five,” Rosie said, giving Margot a look. “This man doesn’t know when to call it quits.”
Margot laughed. “I’m going to head home. I assume you’ll close up when you’re done?”
“Sure thing, sugar.” Rosie moved a piece and let out a maniacal cackle. “King me!”
“I didn’t think you were the type of person to employ cheaters,” Bentley said, as he looked up at Margot.
“I haven’t cheated a day in my life, sir,” Rosie said with an indignant glare.
“I’ll be back in the morning, but I’ve got an appointment in the afternoon. Will you be able to be here, Rosie?”
“You betcha.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow, Bentley?” she asked with a teasing grin.
“We’ll see. Depends on how badly I lose and if I can stand to show my face here again.” He winked at Margot over Rosie’s head, which was bent over the board.
“Rosie Mae, don’t you go driving my regular customers away,” she said with a laugh.
Rosie only waved a hand over her head at Margot, obviously lost in concentration.
Margot stepped out to be greeted with a cooling breeze. It came in from across the Potomac and Margot knew that it would always be cooler at the shop than it was in her row house. She didn’t mind though. The view from the back porch of the bakery was the whole reason she’d purchased the building.
On any other day, she’d consider sitting on the back porch and taking in the beauty of the evening, but not tonight. She was tired, but she was also worried. It was an unusual feeling, one that didn’t bother her, but knowing that she had a gut feeling and reconciling it with what everyone else was telling her was difficult.
The only thing she had to hold on to at the moment was the reality that the M.E. report hadn’t come in yet.
She considered calling Adam, but then she’d feel obligated to tell him about her excursion to the golf club that day and she knew he wouldn’t be happy about that.
Instead, she went home, drew a bath, and relaxed with a book and a cup of tea. By the time the water was cool, she felt more peaceful and relaxed and went to bed. Thankfully, she slipped into blissful sleep quickly, though it took a concerted effort to push thoughts of Elliot Henry from her min
d.
Chapter 4
“The macarons are exceptional today, Margot.” Barbara Huxley wiped crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “I especially like the mint lavender ones.”
“I thought you might,” Margot said, handing over the wrapped box of macarons the librarian had chosen. “I know that purple is your favorite color.”
Barbara giggled like a little girl. “It is.”
“How are things at the library?”
“Oh, wonderful. The summer reading program has really been a hit this year. Even the parents are getting into it, which is really encouraging the youngsters. You know, place a challenge in front of them and suddenly reading is fun and not a chore.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Margot said, slipping in another mint lavender macaron. “On the house.”
Barbara gave Margot a sly smile and took a bite immediately, groaning with pleasure. “You’re a visionary, Margot Durand. A pastry visionary.”
Margot laughed as Barbara walked out of the shop just as Rosie came in. “Whew. It’s storming out today.” She pulled off the hood of her rain jacket and shook like a dog at the entrance where the rug would catch the condensation.
“Did you remember your umbrella?”
“Of course I didn't,” she said with a grunt. “I'm just happy I had my rain jacket in the backseat of my car.”
Margot helped Rosie get settled and filled her in on a few special orders waiting in the refrigerator for clients, then she slipped into her office to grab her umbrella, purse, folder, and car keys.
“I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
“Be safe, Margot. It’s pouring something fierce.”
“I will. I’ll have my phone on me—fully charged this time—should you need me.”
“Sure thing.”
Margot took the back roads to the golf club so that she wouldn’t arrive too early to meet with Kellen. She’d brought a folder of information to back up her interview claim with the girl, though she still felt slightly dishonest. Then again, should the girl prove to be competent, she would consider hiring her for special events she was occasionally asked to provide pastries for, like the one coming up in November at the National Harbor near Washington, D.C.
Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6 Page 21