by Gayle Leeson
“Is Devon’s death related to his smuggling business then?” I asked.
“We don’t know, and I can’t tell you anything more about it,” he said.
“Ongoing investigation—yeah, yeah, I know.”
“You can’t mention anything about this to Roger.” He gently turned my head toward him. “All right? Promise me.”
“I promise. You know I’d never compromise your investigation.”
Chapter Fourteen
U
pon arriving at the café on Monday morning, I was surprised to see Luis’s car in the parking lot. I was accustomed to being the first one there. I went inside to the welcoming aroma of brewing coffee and found Oscar checking the napkin dispensers while Luis refilled the salt and pepper shakers.
“Wow, Luis, I’m going to have to step up my game to keep up with you,” I said.
“Don’t look at me.” He jerked his head toward Oscar. “He insisted on getting here early.”
Oscar grinned. “I wanted to make a good impression.”
“Well, you certainly have. But you’d done that long before this morning. Still, I thank you both for your hard work.” I went to the kitchen and put my purse in the cabinet. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes,” Luis answered. “We had cereal at home.”
As I got out a mixing bowl, I made a mental note to call Jackie sometime before the lunch rush to see how she was doing. Sifting flour into the bowl, I contemplated what I’d learned last night and wished I had someone to vent my feelings to—sometimes I found it difficult to gather my thoughts until I spoke them aloud. Of course, I could discuss what I was feeling with Ryan, but I didn’t want him to think I was prying into his investigation.
But what I’d learned had been such a shock! Devon Carpenter had been using an alias—he wasn’t who he’d claimed to be. Then again, he couldn’t be lying about inheriting the property... could he? Was Devon really related to the Carpenter family, or was that kinship part of his ruse?
Adding baking powder to the flour, I decided to talk with Belinda. Not about what I’d learned, of course, but about Devon in general—his childhood, his former business, their life in Florida and how different that must be to living in Winter Garden. And since Jackie wouldn’t be with me on this visit, Belinda might be more inclined to talk.
JUST BEFORE NOON, DAVE brought the finished cake board. He’d done a terrific job.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked.
“Nothing. Let the cake board be my contribution to the Winter Garden Christmas parade,” he said.
“Then at least let me give you lunch on the house.”
He smiled. “That’s a deal. I’ll have some of that pot roast and cornbread you’re advertising on your specials board.”
I was bringing out Dave’s plate when Sheriff Billings walked into the café.
Sitting at the counter beside Dave, he said, “I’ll have some of that please.”
“Coming right up.” I returned to the kitchen to prepare the sheriff’s food. When it was ready, I sat it in the window for Scott to deliver.
After giving Sheriff Billings his food, Scott came into the kitchen. “The sheriff wants a word with you after he’s finished eating.”
I huffed. “We’re just about to hit the lunch rush!”
“I know. Maybe he wants to pay his compliments to the chef?”
“You and I both know that’s unlikely.”
He nodded. “Yeah, well... Remember what Guru Guy said this morning: ‘While I am busy with little things, I am not required to do greater things.’”
I recalled Homer’s hero today was Saint Francis de Sales. “What does that have to do with having to drop everything and talk with Sheriff Billings?”
“I don’t know, but doesn’t it sound good?”
I chuckled.
Scott pointed at my face. “There you go—I managed to get a smile out of you.”
By the time Sheriff Billings was ready to speak with me, Luis, Oscar, and Scott were scurrying around the café trying to keep up with the hectic pace. I felt guilty asking Scott to take over in the kitchen.
The sheriff was standing by the door leading to the patio—which was closed to the public during the winter—and he motioned for me to join him there. We stepped outside.
“Molly and I are looking forward to the Christmas parade. Ryan has told us all about this cake you’re making.” He leaned closer. “I know you’re busy, so I’ll make this quick. I’m impressed you were able to discover Devon Carpenter’s secret almost as quickly as we did. And I know we can trust you to keep the information to yourself.”
“Naturally,” I said.
“I realize you must have a million questions. So do we. We’re diligently seeking answers, and you’ll know everything as soon as an arrest has been made.”
In other words, Mind your own business—you’ll know when everyone else does. “Do you have a solid suspect then?”
“Not yet. Just...” He examined my face, and I thought he softened slightly. “Concentrate on the float you’re making. That cake is going to be the talk of Winter Garden for months to come.”
I nodded. There it was—be a good girl and make your float. He didn’t really mean any harm by that. He simply meant that as a civilian I shouldn’t worry about the case.
But I knew Belinda Carpenter—or whatever her real name was—wouldn’t talk with the police. If, as I suspected, Devon’s death had to do with whatever he’d left Florida to escape, she’d be terrified that she’d be killed next. I certainly would be if I was in her position. Since I knew the Florida police were searching for Devon in connection to the alien smuggling, I didn’t believe Belinda would feel very trusting toward the Winter Garden Police Department. And, yet she might very well confide in a café owner who merely came to check on her and bring her food.
RYAN HAD BEEN IN THE café not long after Sheriff Billings had left and had brought me another gingerbread man ornament. My hope was that Michelle would see it hanging on the tree when she arrived and think I’d rescued the one she’d given me from Rory and brought it here for safekeeping—and to proudly display. Very proudly. Would’ve shone a spotlight on the thing if I had one.
As if Michelle would be so easily fooled.
Everyone else had gone by the time she arrived. I came from the kitchen to find her looking at the tree. I stupidly thought the plan had worked. I was even gloating a little to myself. Until...
“Why is Ryan’s gingerbread man here instead of hanging on his tree at home?” she asked. “Didn’t he like it? Did he feel the ornament was too juvenile for a grown man’s tree?”
“It was nothing like that.” I hurried over, anxious to smooth over her ruffled feathers. “I told Ryan what happened yesterday with Rory, and he brought me this one.”
Her face stiffened. “I see. You allowed yours to get ruined, so my son brought you his. Apparently, you didn’t think I’d notice the difference; but that one’s eyes are brown. Yours has navy blue eyes.”
“We weren’t trying to pull anything over on you.” Sure, we were, and she knows it.
Shrugging slightly, she said, “I should’ve asked you both if you wanted the ornaments before I went to the trouble of making them. I never intended to saddle either of you with something you didn’t want.”
“I think they’re adorable, and I’m sure Ryan treasures his too. In fact, I’m going to insist he take his ornament back home to his tree where it belongs,” I said. “I know he wants very much for the two of us to get along. That’s why he allowed me to borrow this little gingerbread man.”
She lifted the quilted tote she’d carried inside with her. “I found some darling gift bags today that will be perfect for your mini cookies, and I made some tags with your logo on them to tie the bags closed.”
“How thoughtful.” I smiled. “Thank you.”
Brushing aside my gratitude, she said, “We should get started. By my calculations, if we make seventy-five mini cookie
s each evening this week, we’ll have three-hundred-seventy-five to hand out during the parade.”
I felt my knees weaken. “You and I are going to make seventy-five cookies each day after work?”
“I don’t see how else we’re going to reach our quota by Saturday, do you?”
I wondered if the smile I managed to plaster onto my face looked as fake as it felt. Michelle Hall had decided the Down South Café was handing out mini cookies at the parade when I’d have been perfectly satisfied tossing bubblegum or lollipops into the crowd. While she had an excellent point about giving people something unique with a tie-in to the café, I hadn’t intended to get roped into spending all my afternoons this week with my boyfriend’s disapproving mother.
{ }
Chapter Fifteen
I
t was already dark outside by the time I’d taken Roger and Jackie their supper and gotten to the big house with food for Mom and Aunt Bess.
“Lord, have mercy! Where’ve you been?” Aunt Bess asked. “My belly was afraid my throat had been cut I’ve not eaten in so long.”
“Sorry.” I kissed her cheek and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Mom said. “Where are you going?”
“I have an errand to run, and then Ryan and I are watching TV at my house later.”
“Well, thank you for dinner,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” I called over my shoulder.
I desperately wished I’d been able to sit down with Mom and Aunt Bess and tell them why I’d been late with dinner. They’d probably figured I spent too much time with Jackie and Roger to stay and chat with them, but that hadn’t been the case. I’d dropped off their food, expressed relief when Jackie told me she was feeling better, assured her I didn’t want her coming into work for the rest of the week, and left. I wasn’t about to tell my cousin and her boyfriend, the suspect, that I was going to see Belinda.
But I couldn’t tell Mom and Aunt Bess about Michelle and the cookies without ruining my surprise about the float. Not only did I want them both to be blown away by the cake, I didn’t want them second-guessing my design choice—especially now that so much of the preliminary work had been done. Nor did I want the float mentioned on social media before its reveal at the parade. Naturally, Aunt Bess would be posting it on one of her Pinterest boards in the car on the way home from the parade, but that would be fine. I let my mind wander to which board she’d post it to: Things I’d like to Eat But Won’t Fix, Lord, Have Mercy, or—heaven forbid—Crime Scenes.
I left the big house, drove to Belinda Carpenter’s place, and checked my watch. I had around forty minutes—provided she didn’t turn me away at the door—before I had to get back home, feed the pets, and make some snacks before Ryan arrived. The rumbling of my stomach at the thought of snacks reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since the jelly biscuit I’d had after the lunch rush.
Relief washed over me when I saw that Belinda was home and willing to let me inside. She took the bakery bag I offered her, and I followed her into the kitchen.
“I thought you might be tired of sweets and casseroles,” I said. “I’ve brought macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, ham biscuits, and green beans.”
“Thank you awfully much, but you didn’t have to do this. You’ve already brought plenty of food.”
“Well, I know that although Devon has got family here in Winter Garden, you don’t... except for your brother, and I know he’s only here temporarily.” I glanced toward the living room. “I brought enough food for him too. He hasn’t gone back to Florida yet, has he?”
Grinning smugly, she asked, “Is that what this is about? You’re sweet on my brother?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re holding up all right. You gave me a scare when you ran out of the café the other day.”
“Oh. That.” She gestured for me to have a seat. “I’m doing better now.”
Pulling out a chair, I sat and folded my hands on my lap. “As I said before, it must be hard not having all your family and friends here to rally around you. Are you planning to sell and move back to Florida?”
Belinda lifted and dropped one shoulder. “I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I’m feeling a tug in that direction, though. Without Devon here, I don’t have much of a reason to stay.”
“Are you close with the Carpenters?”
“Not really. Chris is the only one I’ve been around much, and he seldom has much to say to me,” she said. “He’s the one Devon bought—I mean, took the house over from when he inherited it.”
She definitely said bought. A faux pas, but one worth looking into. Still, I shouldn’t press the matter now. “Chris and Adam seem to be getting along well. They were in the café together on Saturday.” I didn’t mention that Sarah and I had also seen them together on Friday.
“Yeah, Adam’s trying to talk Chris into coming to Florida and running charters with him.” A flicker of fear registered in Belinda’s eyes before she asked, “Would you like something to drink? I have a fresh pot of coffee made.”
“No, thanks. I really should be going. What’s that old saying—miles to go before I sleep?” I stood. “Anyway, call or come by the café anytime.”
As I got into my car, I wondered if Adam Tate had been a partner in Devon and Richard D’Angelo’s charter business. I’d have asked, but after Belinda slipped up and told me Adam was trying to recruit Chris, I knew her guard was up and that she wouldn’t tell me anything else of value. But she had told me enough to send me back to the search engines.
RYAN DIPPED A TORTILLA chip into the queso. “This is really good. I’m glad you decided to go with appetizer-type foods rather than a heavy meal.”
“Me too.” I didn’t feel the need to say I did the best I could with the amount of time I had. He and I were both enjoying the food, and that’s all that mattered.
Having finished his own dinner long ago, Rory proudly trotted out of the kitchen with the gingerbread ornament.
“He does love that thing, doesn’t he?” Ryan grinned. “I’ve never seen him so taken with a toy.”
“Neither have I. Normally, he’d have torn the thing to shreds immediately, but he treasures that little thing. I wish I could tell your mother how much Rory appreciates it, especially since she thinks neither of us do.” I told him about her reaction at seeing his ornament on the tree at the café. “It’s in my purse. Don’t let me forget to give it back to you before you leave. If she comes in tomorrow and sees that it isn’t on the café tree, I’d like to be able to tell her it’s back where it belongs.”
“She’s coming back tomorrow?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Today’s cookie-baking marathon was the first of five. We’re doing one every evening this week leading up to the parade on Saturday.”
He laughed. “That’s hilarious.”
“You think it’s so funny, you can take my place tomorrow,” I said.
“And you’ll work on the investigation?”
“I’m already ahead of you on that.”
That wiped every smidgeon of the smile from his face. “Amy, what did you do?”
“I paid a visit to Belinda Carpenter a little while ago.” I decided I needed a tortilla chip with queso myself. It beat answering the questions I knew were coming.
“I know you didn’t tell her anything you learned about Devon. You’d never do that.” He sounded confident, but there was a teensy thread of doubt beneath his words.
“Of course not. I was there to get information, not give it. All I gave was food to a grieving widow.” I gave him what I hoped was an innocent, downright wholesome look.
“And did you get any information?”
“Belinda gave me the pickaxes, but we have to mine the gold. Let me get my laptop.” I retrieved my computer from the fancy room and booted it up. “Do you know how Devon is related to the Carpenters?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“No, but there’s no need to hedge on the answer since it’s n
ot directly relevant to your investigation, and we’ll save time if I don’t have to search for the Carpenter family tree online.”
“Fine,” he said. “Devon’s mother was the sister of the Carpenter matriarch.”
“The matriarch.” That word fired up all my neurons. “If Devon’s mother married into the Carpenter family, then that surname wouldn’t show up in his background at all. It was the perfect choice for an alias. It would be like me calling myself Amy Fonseca. Unless the authorities knew about my relationship with Jackie, they’d never make a connection between Amy Flowers and Amy Fonseca. Brilliant.”
“Well, I’m glad you have the perfect alias now in case you have to go on the lam.”
“Oh, it wouldn’t work for me because you and Sheriff Billings know Jackie is my cousin. I’d have to come up with something else.” I smiled. “But that’s not something I have to worry about—not right now, anyway.”
“You know, you’re more like your Aunt Bess than you realize sometimes.” He frowned slightly, making me feel that what he was saying wasn’t necessarily a compliment. Okay, it wasn’t a compliment, but I decided to take it as giving credit where credit was due. Aunt Bess was a pretty smart cookie.
“The reason I wanted to know about Devon’s connection to the Carpenter family is because when I was talking with Belinda she slipped up and said Devon bought their house from Chris. She quickly backtracked, but I feel we should determine whether the property was bought or inherited. Catching her in a lie like that could force her to tell you the real reason she and Devon came to Winter Garden.”
“Or we could simply confront her with what we know,” Ryan said. “We’ve been lining our ducks up to do exactly that.”
“Why slam a horsefly with a sledgehammer when a swatter would be every bit as efficient and no way near as messy?” I clicked around online until we were able to determine that the Carpenter property was indeed sold rather than bequeathed.