A Sampling of Murder: Cupcake Truck Mysteries

by Emily James

  Air rushed into my lungs. This might not be Jarrod. I might not have been the cause of Mr. Jenner’s death.

  Mr. Wendt’s face looked as white as his hair. My relief evaporated.

  “Can you explain?” I asked since Mr. Wendt seemed at a loss for words.

  Flynn got back to his feet and moved behind his father’s chair again as if he couldn’t bear to talk about it while looking Mr. Wendt in the face. “When I got arrested, my dealer couldn’t get his money. Now that I’m out, he wants it. He found me and said I needed to pay, but I don’t have that kind of cash.”

  Mr. Wendt moaned. A shudder went over my skin. A dealer wouldn’t simply go away because you didn’t have the money to pay them. They didn’t work off of charity, and they weren’t known for being patient.

  But Claire and I had nothing to do with Flynn’s debt, and neither had Mr. Jenner. “I still don’t understand why this would connect to what’s been happening to us.”

  Flynn’s shoulders curled forward. “My dealer probably thinks my dad owns the shop and gets money from the rent or is still the one renting the shop. I think he might be trying to create a threatening enough situation that I’ll pay him.”

  “How much?” Mr. Wendt said. “I’ll pay whatever he wants to keep you safe.”

  Flynn jerked slightly and rubbed at the base of his neck. “It’s more than you can afford. You’d have to empty your entire retirement savings. I won’t take that money from you.”

  The only sounds in the room were the ticking grandfather clock in the corner and Mr. Wendt’s heavy breathing.

  I didn’t know how much money Mr. Wendt had saved for his retirement, but his home looked fairly comfortable. Flynn must have had a serious addiction over the three years or so that he’d been using. As much as it wouldn’t have seemed like it at the time, ending up in prison probably saved him.

  Mr. Wendt pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “I should have seen it. Your boss, your friends, we all failed you by not seeing it.”

  Flynn moved close enough again to rest a hand on his father’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

  It wasn’t often that I felt like giving men I’d recently met a hug, but I wished I could give one to Mr. Wendt.

  Some people were good liars. Jarrod was one. It seemed like Flynn had been one as well. Maybe being tricked by a good liar didn’t make you naïve or stupid or a poor judge of character. Maybe it made you a good person who wanted to think the best of others.

  The people who bore the blame for lying and deceiving were the ones doing it. Their victims—like me and Mr. Wendt—shouldn’t feel shame over being tricked.

  But I couldn’t say any of that to Mr. Wendt right now. He’d raised Flynn. It would take him time to understand that once Flynn became an adult, his parents were no longer responsible for his poor choices.

  In the meantime, all we could do was try to figure this out and keep Flynn’s dealer from continuing to hurt people.

  Murder was a big step up from dealing. Some drug dealers were willing to engage in it, but there were likely a lot more who weren’t, even when large sums of money were involved. “Is your dealer the kind of guy who’d kill someone?”

  Flynn slowly peeled his gaze away from Mr. Wendt and forced it back to me. “I didn’t use to think so. He had a reputation for roughing people up but not killing them. Dead guys can’t pay.” He paused. His gaze shifted to the side. “He might not have meant to kill Mr. Jenner, only to scare him. My dealer’s known for breaking bones, a different one each time he comes to collect and you still don’t have your money.”

  I didn’t dare look at Mr. Wendt hearing this. In hindsight, Flynn and I should have taken this conversation elsewhere. But we couldn’t do that now. Mr. Wendt wouldn’t want to be excluded.

  My heart felt achingly big watching him listen to his son, his eyes red and his hands running up and down the lengths of his thighs in a self-soothing gesture.

  “If they came to ‘talk’ to Mr. Jenner,” Flynn said, “and he resisted, it might have gotten out of control.”

  So they’d surprised him, Mr. Jenner reacted somehow, and they shot him instead. It was possible. It would have sent a clear message had Mr. Jenner actually been a renter—pay up or we’ll start hurting your income until you do.

  That seemed almost as backward to me as killing someone who couldn’t pay. A man with a damaged business would have a harder time getting the dealer his money.

  Then again, so would a man with a broken hand or a broken leg. Pain motivated, and to avoid it, people would often find a way when it seemed like there hadn’t been one before.

  I would have wanted to prevent the dealer from continuing his rampage if my only connection had been that I knew and liked Mr. Wendt. But, whoever this dealer was, he’d killed an innocent man and was now targeting my livelihood. Claire and I wouldn’t be safe continuing on there if he wasn’t stopped.

  At the very least, the police needed to look into it, so he could be crossed off the list if we were on the wrong trail. “What’s your dealer’s name?”

  The muscles in Flynn’s forearms tensed. “I can’t take his name to the police. They’ll think I’m still in contact with him. That would violate my probation, and I don’t want to go back to jail for the remainder of my sentence.”

  Something hot and tight burst to life at the base of my throat. Rather than risking violating his parole, he’d put other people in danger? His grief at his mother’s death might have been what drove him to drugs, but it seemed like a selfish personality lay at the bottom of it. He still cared about his own pain more than he cared about the pain of the people around him.

  “You don’t have to talk to the police.” I moved my jaw around, convincing my teeth to stop gritting. “I have a friend who’s a police detective. I’ll slip him the name, and no one will know it came from you.”

  Flynn rubbed a finger along the side of his nose, and then his gaze drifted to his dad. “I can’t take that risk. If it got back to my dealer, he might come for my dad directly. I can’t risk that. Not without proof that this has something to do with my debt.”

  The heat in my chest waned. If my dad were still alive, I’d want to protect him too. After all, I’d left Fair Haven and had very little interaction with my friend Nicole because I didn’t want Jarrod hurting her to get information about me. I couldn’t fault Flynn for doing what I had essentially done.

  But that still left us with a major problem. Mr. Wendt sat up in his chair, his back as straight as his age would allow. “You need to tell her, Flynn. She and her business partner are innocent in all this.”

  “I can’t without more proof.” Flynn’s gaze shifted to the ceiling, as if he were thinking. “I’ll come hang around the shop. That won’t seem suspicious if he thinks my dad’s still involved with the place. If I see anyone associated with my dealer, then it’ll be worth the risk of giving you his name.”

  13

  The bakery was still empty other than the woman working on her computer when I got back from the post office. I hadn’t been sure about leaving Scott alone, but he’d assured me that he could handle it. Besides, this time of the morning, we always had a slow stretch where we rarely had more than one customer in the bakery. Since I’d wanted to go make sure all mail would be sent to the bakery from now on, it’d seemed like the ideal opportunity to step out.

  Scott wasn’t at the counter when I came in. That was a little odd, but he’d probably just quickly gone to the restroom. I couldn’t begrudge him that.

  I stripped off my jacket and headed for my office to hang it up. I pushed open the door.

  Scott straightened up from behind my desk. He smiled at me as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “Did you get your errand done?” His voice was light.

  He shouldn’t have been in my office. We didn’t assign him any work that would have required it. But he was acting like nothing was amiss.

  The memory of the misplaced papers and slig
htly ajar desk drawer gnawed at the back of my mind. What reason would Scott have for going through my desk drawers? He knew we didn’t keep any money in there. Besides, if he wanted money, he had access to the cash register. He could have emptied it and taken off before now.

  If he were doing something he shouldn’t be, I didn’t want him to know I was suspicious. Worry about someone being out front for customers was a reasonable excuse. He obviously hadn’t heard me come in after all.

  I dropped my coat on the hook. “All taken care of. What are you doing in here? You might not hear a customer come in.”

  “I was looking for another pen.” He held up one of the pens from the box I kept in the desk drawer. “The one we usually keep up front for phone orders is AWOL.”

  That made sense. Everything that was happening, along with the court case I’d soon have to testify in and the chance that Jarrod would find me because of it, had me suspecting everything. And everyone.

  Scott hadn’t given me any other reason to suspect him. In fact, he’d been a model employee, working almost as hard as Claire and I did.

  I grinned at him. And at my own silliness. “Maybe we ought to tie it down this time. Or I should order some with our company name on it. That way, if they sprout legs, at least we get some free publicity.”

  The old-fashioned bell we’d hung above the bakery door jangled, and Dan waved to me. The look on his face and the fact that he was here during the work day said this wasn’t just a surprise pleasure visit.

  He was here because of what I’d told him after my conversation with Flynn and Mr. Wendt.

  Dan stopped in front of the counter. “I’d ask what’s good, but I know it all is.”

  He glanced around the shop. It was the middle of the afternoon, so only one table was occupied.

  “Can you slip away?” He lowered his voice. “I have something I want to talk to you about, but this isn’t the place.”

  Normally I wouldn’t have been able to. Today was Claire’s day off. But Scott had shown up this morning asking if he could get more hours. I hadn’t had the heart to turn him away, especially since we still needed to get his social security number for tax purposes.

  “Let me just grab my jacket and tell Scott that I’m stepping out.”

  In Florida, this would have been one of the nicest times of the year. The heat would have let up, but the dampness that sometimes came in the winter wouldn’t have set in yet. Tourists would be filling up all the hotels and resorts in the major cities.

  Michigan weather had already turned colder than Florida in January even though it was only late October. The weather was one of the few things I missed about my old home.

  Dan led the way toward the park down the street. The leaves were a riot of sunset colors. It would have been a romantic place to walk had we been dating.

  Part of me wanted to talk to him again about why I couldn’t file for divorce. But he’d already heard all the reasons. He felt that we could protect me from Jarrod even once he knew where I was.

  He wouldn’t be so sure if he’d ever met my husband.

  We turned into the park. The paths were empty.

  Dan’s head swiveled around as if he were making sure. “I looked into Flynn Wendt’s arrest record. He pled guilty and didn’t even try going to trial. Unfortunately, he also refused to give up his dealer’s name, even though the district attorney offered him a shorter sentence in exchange for the information.”

  He could have gotten a drug dealer off the street and been out of jail faster himself, but he’d chosen not to do it? “I don’t understand why he’d make that choice.”

  Dan’s hand accidentally brushed against mine. My heart torqued painfully in my chest. If there were no Jarrod, we could be walking hand in hand. If there were no murder and no vandalism, this could have been a visit Dan made just because he missed me and wanted to see me.

  And if wishes were horses, I’d be running a prize breeding stable right now instead of a bakery. Wishing for what I didn’t have—couldn’t have—wasn’t going to make me feel better. It certainly wasn’t going to solve this case.

  Dan was watching my face as if he wasn’t sure how much to say. I’d seen him wear that expression before when he wanted to protect me.

  “I’d rather know the truth, even if it’s scary.”

  That had always been my motto, and it’d kept me alive so far.

  Dan nodded. “It was Flynn’s first offense. He had no prior record. He never came to work high, according to the character reference his boss wrote. He never drove high as far as we can tell. His sentence wasn’t going to be a long one, and with good behavior, he was obviously going to be eligible for parole in even less time.”

  Something in Dan’s voice shifted, and I glanced up at him.

  His expression was somber. “If he’d given up his dealer, he might not have come out alive. Snitches tend to have short lifespans in jail.”

  It still seemed selfish, but it also made sense. I couldn’t be sure I wouldn’t have made the same choice. Self-preservation instincts were strong in most people.

  But that meant we couldn’t find out the name of Flynn’s dealer through his records the way Dan and I had hoped when I’d called him. Dan had taken the risk of looking into a case that didn’t belong to him, and it hadn’t even yielded results.

  “Do you have any guesses for who his dealer might be?” I asked.

  The wind gusted past, and a handful of leaves from the tree right in front of us twirled down.

  Dan stayed silent, but I had the feeling it wasn’t because he hadn’t heard my question. He just wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell me.

  I didn’t blame him. My track record for staying out of things and staying safe wasn’t good. Even when I tried to be careful, I ended up in the middle of it, as if I were a strong magnet and trouble was metal fragments.

  “Assuming Flynn was buying from someone in the neighborhood, there’s one very likely candidate. A man by the name of Edgar Serranno.”

  “His turf is around the bakery?” I wasn’t sure turf was the right word. Jarrod hadn’t worked narcotics, and my upbringing with an English professor father had been focused more on ancient literature than modern events.

  “He controls the drugs sales in a large section of town that covers where the bakery is,” Dan said, “where Mr. Wendt lives, and where Flynn used to work. All the minor dealers get their product from him and owe him a cut of their profits.”

  That Flynn wouldn’t give the name to the police after his arrest still made sense. Snitching could have gotten him killed. But refusing to give me the name hadn’t served any purpose except to cost us time.

  Though, we didn’t have evidence to tell us who Flynn meant when he talked about his dealer. Edgar Serranno might not be the one directly involved. It could have been one of his minions.

  “If it was that easy to figure out who controlled the area, I don’t understand why Flynn wouldn’t give me the name.”

  Dan drew in a long, slow breath and let it out with equal care. “If the person behind this is Serranno, it doesn’t surprise me that Flynn doesn’t want to even speak his name.”

  I shivered despite the fact that my coat was plenty warm enough for the fall afternoon. I nodded to let Dan know I still wanted him to continue.

  “About a year ago, Serranno was the main suspect in the deaths of a couple of teenagers. He’d started selling a dangerous new cocktail. The department and the district attorney thought they finally had him because the friend of the two teens who died was willing to testify. He went missing before he could.”

  So much for Flynn’s belief that his drug dealer wouldn’t kill anyone. He might have meant the individual dealer he bought from rather than the man in charge. I couldn’t believe Flynn didn’t know a drug lord was capable of murder if he was too frightened to say his name.

  Flynn seemed to want to help, but not at the risk of himself or his dad. Which meant that I couldn’t fully trust him. He’d he
lp Claire and me only so far as he felt safe.

  That might still get us farther than we could get without his help. If he could identify an associate of Edgar Serranno watching the store or even coming into the store, we’d know we were on the right track.

  I just couldn’t expect Flynn to stick his neck out for us if it came to that.

  We turned around and headed back for the bakery. “Do we need to…should we tell Claire about this?”

  Dan looked down at me, and his expression made my breath catch in my throat. The look said I was special. All I’d done was care about Claire, and yet he looked at me like I was special.

  His fingers grazed mine. It could have been an accident, but I was sure it wasn’t. If only we didn’t have to confine it to a quick touch. Right now, I could have used the security of holding his hand.

  “I think we have to tell Claire.” Dan’s voice was somber. “If Serranno is behind this, neither of you are safe alone at the shop after dark.”

  14

  Dan’s warning about Edgar Serranno and what he was capable of had me looking both ways even though it was ten o’clock in the morning on a Monday. If the drug dealer had evaded arrest—or, at least, evaded having a charge stick—for as long as it sounded, then he wouldn’t risk doing anything when people were out on the street. I hoped not anyway. Mr. Jenner had been killed sometime around seven in the morning, and that only a few hours earlier than now.

  Maybe I should have accepted Claire’s offer to come with me. It’d just seemed unfair to drag her in on the one day we were closed because I’d forgotten the tools I used to make gum paste flowers and had promised Janie a lesson after school. Coming with me would have meant Claire couldn’t get her bike ride in before her brunch date with a few of the female cousins who were closer to her age. She’d been looking forward to both, especially since fall in Michigan could be unpredictable.