Sandie James Mysteries Box Set

by Tessa Kelly

  Kathy beamed. “I'm so glad he’s out! And we sure can use all the help we can get around here.”

  At that moment, Jeff came up the stairs from the basement looking grim. Kathy stopped talking and went back to packaging the chocolate chip cookies while he stumped past us to the walk-in fridge. I waited until he was inside, then leaned over to my sister.

  “How's he taking this whole Josh thing?”

  “How do you think?” She rolled her eyes, her expression troubled. “He's furious we’ve got another convicted murderer working in the bakery.”

  She made quotation marks on the words "convicted murderer" to let me know they were Jeff’s words, not hers.

  I patted her shoulder. “Don't worry. He'll get over it.”

  “Oh, I know.” She gave a heavy sigh. “It’s not that. There’s always something that’s making him angry. If it’s not one thing, it's going to be something else.”

  Her voice had a strange new note in it that made me look at her more closely.

  “Kathy? Are you okay?”

  Chapter 15

  My sister finished packing the cookies and closed the box, then turned to face me. There was a hard line around her mouth that had never been there before.

  “If you don’t like something about a person you’re dating, don’t marry them and hope they’ll change. They won’t. Whatever you don’t like, it’s only going to get worse with time.”

  She walked away, leaving me to stare after her. Kathy’s marriage must be in worse shape than I thought. She never used to talk like that about Jeff.

  “I'm sorry for Kathy,” Felisha whispered. “I hate seeing her so upset.”

  She didn’t look any better herself. Wondering about Tyrone was obviously taking its toll. I would have to tell her tonight.

  Three hours later, Jeff and Kathy left for deliveries. I was bent over my work table with a wet sponge and a small bucket of soapy water, intent on washing off the new blobs of colored frosting I’d made, when a shadow fell over me. I looked up.

  Felisha’s large brown eyes peered down at me with unusual intensity.

  “Before you went to the hospital you started telling me something about Tyrone,” she said. “What were you going to say?”

  Right. My fingers tensed around the sponge. I couldn’t put this off any longer.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I told her.

  Felisha stared at me for several silent moments, her expression unchanging. Then she lowered her eyes to the table. “You saw him with that woman on Saturday evening?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s two days ago. And you’re just telling me now?”

  I swallowed, guilt winding a noose around my neck. Keeping secrets never worked. They had a habit of backfiring in the worst way.

  “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I knew it would upset you.”

  She shook her head, her eyes inflating. Her nostrils flared in anger. “I can’t believe you’d do that, Sandie!”

  Before I could say anything, she swung round and stormed out of the back room. In the cafe, the door banged shut.

  I leaned forward with my elbows on the wet table and cupped my face in my hands.

  What a disaster!

  “Yo!” Valeria looked in from the front. “What up with the homegirl?”

  I straightened, taking up the sponge again. “She’s mad at me.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  Because Tyrone is a cheating, two-timing, no-good water slug. I shook my head. “Some stuff going on at home I didn’t tell her about.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “You shouldn’t hide stuff from friends. That’s not cool.”

  “Don’t I know it?” I tossed the sponge into the bucket, no longer caring about the green frosting spots on the table. “I’ll have to make it up to her somehow.”

  If I stopped by the health food store and got all Felisha’s favorite foods, maybe she’d consider forgiving me.

  Yes. Food bribery, combined with a heartfelt apology would have to work. In any case, it was a start. A plan as good as any other. It needed to be put into action. Immediately.

  “I’m all done cleaning up here,” I told Valeria as I took off my work apron and tossed it on the peg. “You ready to close up the front?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then let’s get out of here. I’ve got to go home.”

  An hour later, I juggled the grocery bags in the crook of my arm as I pushed my way into the apartment. The cats waited for me in our little hallway with avid stares that meant they hadn’t been fed.

  Apart from their insistent meowing, all was quiet. Not a good sign.

  “Felisha?”

  No answer.

  I looked into the living room, then pushed open her bedroom door.

  Not there, either.

  She could be out walking, trying to clear her head. My hopes of that were dashed as soon as I came into the kitchen. The fridge had a fresh Post-it in Felisha’s handwriting sticking to it.

  ‘Went to my parents. Not working tomorrow. Kathy knows.’

  Well, that was that. I supposed I deserved it. But what now? Sitting around in an empty apartment was the last thing I wanted to do.

  I put the groceries in the fridge, fed the cats and watered the plants on the balcony. Then I took my jacket and headed to my dad's house. If anyone would know how to mend things with my best friend, it would be him.

  Dad grinned as he opened the door. “You’re just in time for dinner. Josh is here, too. He brought beer.”

  Josh ambled out from the recesses of the bookstore holding a bottle of Guinness. He looked at me with uncertainty.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I’m here. Your dad invited me over.”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  Great. Using Dad as a sounding board for my troubles just went out the window. It was one thing to talk things over with him alone, but I didn’t think Felisha would forgive me any sooner if I started discussing her relationship problems in front of Josh. My plans were destined to be thwarted all around that night.

  “I got a couple of phone calls to make before we eat,” Dad said. “You two just make yourselves at home.”

  Josh and I headed into the kitchen. He nodded at the fridge. “There’s more beer if you want it.”

  “Not much of a dark beer drinker,” I told him. “I’ll just see what else Dad has.” I put on a smile to mask my lingering frustration. “So what’s for dinner? Takeout, or are you guys actually making something?”

  “Nicolas is making a phone call to the pizzeria down the street. And choosing a movie on Netflix.”

  Josh leaned against the counter and traced his thumb over the narrow rim of his bottle. He looked calmer than when I last saw him. For a murder suspect who’d spent the past twelve hours being questioned by the police, he seemed almost relaxed. If not for the dark circles around his eyes. They spoke of a different story.

  I suddenly felt ashamed for being upset he was there. Felisha and I would make up eventually, but Josh’s troubles were more pressing.

  “If I knew you were gonna come I would’ve brought some wine.” He waved his hand toward the front door. “I can run out and get some if you like.”

  I took a pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge and poured myself a glass. “What I’d like is for you to tell me more about why you were at the gallery the other night. I’m still not sure I have all the details straight.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Details? Like what?”

  I shrugged. “Anything you can think of that you didn’t already tell me?”

  He was quiet for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he nodded. “Don’t know if it matters, but Marcel was acting extra strange the night he called me to pick up his package.”

  I straightened, my ears prickling with interest. “Strange? Like how?”

  “At first, it was nothing. He got right to the point why he called and was very brief. There wasn't anything out of the o
rdinary in his request and I thought the conversation was over and he’d hang up. But he just stayed on the line without saying a word. It was weird.”

  “Did you ask him what was going on?”

  “Yeah. I asked if there was something else he wanted me to do, and he said 'no' but still didn’t hang up. Then he goes, “I’m thinking of painting a new collection this year, my boy. Fine art is an elusive thing. We must adapt, never be afraid to experiment. The collection will be in dark colors. Reds and blacks, perhaps. I think I’ll call it Betrayal. What do you think?”

  I slammed my glass of lemonade on the counter, spilling several drops as a sip went down the wrong pipe.

  Josh frowned at my coughing fit. “Are you okay?”

  With effort, I took control of myself and nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed.

  “I’m fine. It’s just... that guy!”

  He snorted. “He's one of a kind, I know. Anyway, I told him his idea sounded cool, but I’d have to see the pieces to be any kind of a judge. He just thanked me and hung up. I was pretty relieved to get off the phone.”

  It wasn’t hard to see why.

  Out in the storefront, the doorbell rang. Dad’s voice called cheerfully that pizza had arrived.

  “You kids better come now, or you get no input on what movie we’re watching.”

  His warning went unacknowledged. Josh’s eyes peered at me, intent. Forgotten, his beer formed a ring on the counter.

  “Is this helpful?” he asked. “Does it tell you anything?”

  I stared past him, gears turning in my mind.

  Marcel felt betrayed by someone. Likely, someone in the art community. Could it have been Alexa? Had he discovered she’d been up to something untoward?

  My thoughts jumped to the night of the private viewing and Marcel’s upset stomach.

  What if it had been pretense? What if Marcel's plan had been to come back and kill Alexa?

  Then, if Dan Cobbs got wind of it...

  Still looking off into space, I nodded slowly.

  Josh's new information told me quite a lot.

  Chapter 16

  The early morning wind chilled my face and blew the last leaves off the trees as I hurried to work down the empty street. The leaves fluttered to the ground and gathered on the sidewalks in piles of shriveled brown remnants of summer, soon to be cleared away for good. But they were fun to crunch through.

  A particularly large pile barred my way, offering too much temptation. I glanced around to make sure no one would witness what I was about to do, then ran through the pile.

  The leaves scattered loudly over the sidewalk, spilling onto the street. One stuck to the heel of my boot, a red maple leaf clinging to me like a stranded mountaineer to the rock face. I picked it off and examined it in the sun. Dark red with black veins running through it. Like Marcel Bright’s idea for his “Betrayal” collection.

  Murder, betrayal, and friends to dig out of trouble. Funny how everything I saw lately brought me back to the same topic.

  I set the leaf loose and it floated down to lay motionless at my feet.

  Time to get back to the serious stuff.

  I took out my phone.

  Felisha still hadn’t called me, even though I left her three messages the night before. There was nothing I could do about that. She'd just have to stay mad for a while. Besides, I wasn't really the one she was angry with. That person still had it coming.

  I scrolled through my contacts and dialed my brother.

  “Hey, sis. Kinda early for a phone call.”

  I snorted. “Don't tell me you're still in bed.”

  “Course not, I’ve been at the precinct for two hours. I meant it’s early for you.”

  “There’s been some drama at work.”

  I told him about Felisha leaving and Tyrone bailing out the day before. “Going in early since we’ll be one short again. That is, if Tyrone even shows up. Too much work for Kathy to handle by herself.”

  “That’s considerate of you. But those two need to watch out if they want to keep their jobs. They shouldn’t let their personal lives affect their work performance.”

  I winced. “Kathy wouldn’t fire them, Will. They’ve been loyal employees for years. Well, until now. But she wouldn’t give up on them so quickly.”

  “Jeff would,” Will pointed out. “He’d jump at the chance to fire a couple of old workers and replace them with ones at a lower pay grade. Don’t think he’d be entirely wrong here, either.”

  “Well, I hope he doesn't try to talk Kathy into it.”

  I knew where Will was coming from, though. My kid brother, the cop. Always the follower of rules. It was safer to change the subject than argue with him on this point.

  “The reason I called is to ask about Alexa. Have you checked into her financial records yet? I wonder if there’s anything fishy there.”

  “How do you mean?” A soft creaking on his end suggested he might’ve leaned forward or backward in his chair.

  I told him about my conversation with Josh the night before.

  “I see.” He cleared his throat. “White told me that much when we had him locked up. Don’t see how that rant about betrayal relates to Alexa’s finances.”

  “It’s just a hunch,” I said. “I think maybe there’s something in her paperwork that might point to fraudulent activity involving Marcel Bright. Isn’t it possible she was cheating him of his royalties?”

  Whether Marcel was the sort of person who would kill over unpaid royalties remained to be seen. But it was a motive, and a motive meant the police would have another suspect besides Josh.

  “You think Marcel is our killer?” Will sounded like he thought I might be wearing a tinfoil hat.

  I said nothing and listened to him drumming his fingers on the table.

  “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll check out Alexa's finances. Will call you if there’s anything in it.”

  “That's all I ask.” I neared the bakery and looked in through the front window, catching a glimpse of Kathy rushing toward the stairs into the basement. “Looks busy in there, I better go.”

  Will and I said goodbye and I went in, taking off my coat and waving hello at Josh handling the breakfast crowd. Squeezing between two customers in the line, I crossed the cafe and hurried into the back room.

  Tyrone was at his station near the window, his dreadlocks tied with a string and hidden under a red bandana. He paused rolling the focaccia dough to give me a blinding grin.

  “Hey, Sandie! Where’s my girl, Felisha? I called her but she don’t pick up.”

  I stared at him in disbelief. The nerve! Acting as if nothing happened.

  How long was the slug going to lie to my friend?

  Equally important, how long could I stay out of it? I bit my lip, unsure of what to tell him.

  Luckily, Kathy came running up the stairs, saving me from having to say anything. She looked ridiculously relieved as she hugged me.

  “Thanks so much for coming in early. There are three extra cakes to decorate on top of the old order. It’s going to be a zoo.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get through it,” I promised and sprinted downstairs to put away my things.

  It looked like I would have to work extra hard if I hoped to leave on time. And today of all days, leaving on time was vitally important.

  THE BAKERY WAS AS BUSY as Kathy predicted but we managed to get through and finish on time. I rushed home with barely an hour left to get ready before I had to leave for the soiree at Fabian Morris’s house.

  Throwing my coat on the hanger and kicking off my boots, I headed into the shower, nearly tripping on Hemingway in the doorway. He’d recently gone from ignoring me to following me around the apartment wherever I went, bathroom included. I couldn’t decide if I was more pleased or annoyed at this new development. Today, the latter won out.

  Exasperated, I shooed him out with my left big toe.

  “Give me a moment to myself. Please!”

  Hissing l
oudly, Hemingway leaped into the corridor and turned to stare at me with the usual narrowed eyes.

  I sighed. No doubt, he would make me regret this later, but there was no time to worry about that now. I gave him a narrow-eyed stare of my own as I slammed the bathroom door.

  “Fine. Do your worst.”

  Fifteen minutes later, I stepped out of the shower. My bare feet resting on the cool tiled floor, I dried my hair and put it up in an uncomplicated chignon, letting loose a few light-brown strands in the front to frame my face.

  Next step—makeup. I kept it light with rose-gold eyeshadow and matte lipstick, then hurried into my room to pick out an outfit.

  Not that there was a long list of choices to go through, but the word “soiree” implied that jeans and a t-shirt wouldn’t cut it. Nor would the dark-blue cocktail dress with the black jacket I wore to Marcel Bright’s opening night, since the evening was going to involve a lot of the same people.

  That left me with only one other option.

  I opened the closet and pulled out the sage green sheath I rescued from a rack at a thrift store last summer. Brand new and with the tags still on.

  Armed with scissors, I carefully removed the tags and slipped on the dress along with a pair of black pumps, then completed the outfit with a black onyx necklace and matching chandelier earrings.

  I took a moment to check myself out in the full-length closet mirror. The look was lovely, if a bit light for the season. But I was working with what I had.

  The cats saw me off in the hallway with their usual stares of mixed haughtiness and accusation. I lingered for a second, suddenly feeling guilty for running out on them so soon.

  “I won’t be too late,” I promised. “Try to behave while I’m gone. And who knows, maybe Felisha will decide to come home, that would be nice. For now, you’ll just have to keep each other company.”

  I took the elevator downstairs where the Uber I’d called waited under the orange glow of a street light. I got in, reflecting ruefully that I’d been taking a lot of cabs lately. It was starting to hit my pocket, and even though Kathy paid me more these days, I still needed to be careful if I was going to make rent this month.