A Crusty Murder (10 page)

George rounded on him with a haughty sniff. BettyJo sidled close to me and whispered, “Trouble’s brewing there.” She jutted her chin toward Charlie and George.

“George, you must know Cindy will take her mother’s place as landlady, even if it’s temporary,” I remarked.

“Yes, yes.” George sighed. “Cindy had called me, as well. It appears she still plans the move to New York City. She won’t until after the will is probated.”

“When were you going to share that tidbit with us, George?” Helena wanted to know.

“Yeah, when, George?” Kristina snapped. Her temper was on its way to eruption. Intervention was key to information flow.

“Let’s not get angry,” I said softly. “I’m sure George would have shared with us, but we’re all reeling from a second death and time for information sharing has been off. So speak up, everyone, please.”

“I don’t have anything to add, other than the prowler hanging about,” BettyJo announced with a shrug.

Heads bobbed and the conversation lulled as we all glanced at each other. Our talk time had come to an end. I knew it as surely as I knew I’d sell bread tomorrow.

“Stay in touch with one another. We must watch our backs and each other’s, if we’re to survive this nut who kills at the drop of a hat. Agreed?” I asked.

“Agreed,” the group answered as one, and relief swept me like a huge wind, clearing the way for the sun to shine. I felt better for having come here. Hopefully, they felt the same. As we tramped out the door and headed our own ways, BettyJo caught up with me.

“That got pretty intense, if I do say so,” she said with a slight giggle. “I can’t imagine those two, George and Mrs. P., having sex. Eeew, I just can’t.”

“Me either. It’s beyond my capabilities.” I snorted and asked if she’d like a glass of wine.

BettyJo slung an arm around my shoulder and said, “Bring it on. I’m pretty damn thirsty.”

“How did you know Graham had been here tonight?” I asked BettyJo as I poured White Zinfandel into stemmed glasses.

She smirked and said, “I didn’t. I meant he’d spoken to us earlier concerning Sondra’s murder. Tell me about his visit.”

We drank wine, I checked the dough, and shared Graham’s visit with her. When I finished, she grinned wide, a twinkle in her eyes. Sure it had nothing to do with the wine, I waited.

“The good detective has a crush on you, Melina. Don’t let Seanmhair know, or she’ll be making wedding plans.” BettyJo’s laughter over my discomfort rang out. I finally saw the humor in her words. Not in this lifetime would I date a cop, never mind become romantically involved with a wealthy Laird, such as the man of my dreams.

The phone rang. I glanced at the clock. Nearly eleven, I wondered who was calling.

The voice came over the line loud and clear. “Ms. Cameron? This is the Providence Police Department calling. We have a woman in custody who says you’re her granddaughter? She needs to be picked up at the station on Washington Street. Is she correct, are you her granddaughter?”

“Would that be Seanmhair?” I asked.

“She wrote the name down and it looks like Sean-Hair. Is this the person?” the officer replied.

I sighed. “It is, and it’s pronounced shen-u-ver. I’ll be right there. Where do I report?”

The officer told me to go to the front desk and check in. Then he hung up. I slammed the phone into its charger and stamped my foot.

“For God’s sake. My grandmother has been detained at the police station. I have to go pick her up. Can you believe that?” I was yelling. I couldn’t help it. My life was a train wreck, my grandmother had decided to walk on the wild side, and now I would have to show my face and humiliation to the cops. Somebody help me, please. I’m about to lose my freakin’ mind.

“I’ll go with you. We’ll get her home and then pick up her car from wherever she left it,” BettyJo offered. “You don’t think Seanmhair was at the strip club, do you?”

“That’s exactly where she was,” I barked as I paced back and forth. I growled in frustration at the idea of having to face those who would see her arrest in the newspaper, or maybe even on the news if there’d been a camera at the ready. It didn’t take much for a phone video to go viral these days.

My head pounded from accumulated stress. My livelihood depended on living a clean and law abiding life. I’d been a good citizen until these murders had taken place. And until my grandmother had decided to hang out with some low-life creep who got off on lap dances and strippers. Geez.

We drove through quiet streets, crossed over the interstate highway, and reached the police department in record time. Downtown Providence is small compared to New York and Boston, but it has a nightlife all its own. By taking the less traveled route, we’d missed the drunks and miscreants who were often arrested for their antics. Parked close to the entrance of the imposing police station, I marched inside to the front desk.

Perched on a nearby bench, Seanmhair waited. She watched me step up to the officer facing me across the counter.

“I’m here to pick up my grandmother,” I said, pointing to her.

The officer smirked, then glanced at my face, and straightened his own expression. “She’s free to go,” he said and then leaned forward to whisper, “You might want to keep her on a leash. The strip club she was arrested in is a very bad place, especially for an elderly lady.” With that, he winked, smiled, and beckoned Seanmhair forward.

“Thank you, young man,” Seanmhair said with a slight, albeit weary, smile.

We hustled to the car. I ensured she was belted into the seat and then drove her home without a word. I’d parked the car and was about to walk Seanmhair to her apartment, when she said humbly, “I’m sorry about this, Melina. I should have listened to you. What I was thinking, I’ll never know. Thank you for rescuing me. The police scared me something awful when they rushed into that club. I was quickly bundled into the back of a prisoner van with a bunch of drunks, and then brought to the station.”

My grandmother, in a paddy wagon, treated as though she were a common criminal. Good God.

I sucked in a deep breath and held my annoyance at her foolish actions at bay. “Seanmhair, get some rest. We’ll talk of this tomorrow. Right now, I’m tired and so are you. Where’s your car?”

She said it had been left in the lot at the club. She handed me the keys. I offered to leave them in her mailbox. Seanmhair nodded, stepped from the car, and insisted on going into her complex alone.

After we’d retrieved Seanmhair’s car, I followed BettyJo back to the apartment complex and left the keys as promised. We headed home. I couldn’t get there fast enough. The hours had flown and it was nearly time to bake bread.

The lot behind the huge building stretched from one end of the block to the other. Darkness and quiet filled the neighborhood. Nothing moved about in the darkness or on the back streets, away from Wickendon’s thoroughfare. BettyJo and I climbed the stairs, and said an exhausted goodnight.

Knowing I’d get no sleep, I began the baking process. Recent events tumbled around in my brain, taking a turn here and there. I worried over what might happen next.

With the baking in process, I settled at the table and sifted through a stack of mail that had piled up for a few days. I separated bills from the junk mail, and tossed useless ads into the trash basket. Statements for goods delivered were stacked in a neat pile.

The bills could wait until later. I stared at the letter that had been tucked between two of them. The hand writing was slanted to the left, scribbled, really. I flipped the envelope over and over in search of a return address. The postmark was stamped in Providence. That was all the envelope revealed.

Hesitation mixed with reluctance kept me from tearing the business-sized letter open. I left it on the table, pulled baked loaves from the oven and loaded the oven with the next batch. While bread cooled on racks, I gazed at the letter. “Stop being a sissy-ass and open the damn thing,” I muttered.

Carefully, I pried the envelope open. Bit by bit the edge tore away. I tipped it upside down and allowed the letter to slide onto the table. Handling it by the corners, I spread the paper flat on the table.

Astonished, I gasped, gaping at the contents. The threat shook me to the very foundation of my being. Someone had a picture of what appeared to be me, cramming bread into the very dead Mrs. Patterson’s mouth. The words underneath the picture were upsetting, to be sure.
You did this, but it could happen to you, too.

I cringed, stepping away from the offending sheet. My nerves tightened, my blood seemed to drop into my feet and the room began to spin. I weaved, my knees weakening. I heard pounding at the door, but couldn’t move to open it. The last thing I saw was Aidan Sinclair’s face, through the window next to the kitchen door.

*    *    *

“Come back to me, lass,” he chanted over and over, while he cradled my head in his strong hands.

A moist cloth clung to my forehead. I’d been there before, hadn’t I? My vision cleared and Aidan’s face came into view. He looked relieved. I felt stupid and wondered how he’d gotten in.

“W-what are you doing here?” I asked softly.

“You fainted, lass. I broke the window to get in. Sorry about that,” Aidan said softly as he helped me to my feet and settled me onto a chair. “Are you okay, now?”

I nodded and wiped my hand across my face. No, I wasn’t okay. I’d received a threat greater than anything I’d ever faced before. How could I be okay? What the hell was I going to do about it?

Aidan handed me a glass of water as the oven timer sounded. I sipped from the glass and headed toward the baked bread on shaky knees. When I’d set the loaves to cool and loaded the oven once again, I found Aidan’s gaze upon me, the paper in his hand.

“What’s this?” he asked with cold eyes and a rigid face.

“It came in the mail. I’d just opened it before I passed out and you broke in. Thanks for that, by the way.” I glanced at the window where a cold draft filtered in. We’d be freezing in no time if the hole wasn’t blocked.

Aidan must have read my mind, because he found a piece of cardboard to tape over the gaping space. With the broom from the closet, I swept glass shards into a dustpan and dumped them into the trash. All the while, Aidan talked of his fear for me, how I should take this threat seriously. He thought I’d be smart to turn the letter over to the detective since it meant danger for me.

Listening to the lilt in his voice, the charm of his accent soothed my tattered nerves and calmed my fears.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to offer the letter to Graham. It makes me look pretty guilty.” I folded my arms and said, “I think whoever took the picture did so when I was checking to see what Mrs. Patterson had in her mouth. I reached down, touched the bread, and then withdrew my hand when my fingers touched her skin. That means the killer was present and could have killed me too, right then and there.” I shook at my own words.

“You could be right,” Aidan said with a nod. “Graham still needs to give this a look.”

Indecisive, I paced the room a few times, my mind flying over possibilities. What if Graham decided this accusation meant I’d killed Mrs. Peterson? What then? What if he took it as a threat to my safety instead? How would he deal with that? Should I view this as a hazard to more than just my own health and well-being? Clearly, I had no definitive answers.

Strong hands rubbed my arms and I turned into Aidan’s arms. His warmth spread through me like fire. I stilled and listened to his heart beat as I rested my head against his chest. He was a good head and shoulders taller than me. When I raised my face to him, Aidan lowered his lips to mine. I thought the universe had stopped. The sensation of his lips against mine left me breathless.
Never end, never end . . . ,
my mind repeated
while I basked in the glory of Aidan’s touch.

We parted when the timer sounded. Reluctantly, I withdrew from his grasp and stumbled mindlessly toward the oven. I couldn’t think clearly.

The bread cooled and so did I. I’d managed to get my brain functioning before I returned to Aidan. He stood, staring at my every move.

“Lass, you need to listen to me. I’ll stand by you, I will, but you must call Detective Graham and show him this letter.” He pointed to the offending message and waited for my answer.

“Fine, fine. I’ll show it to him. I’ll say this much, though, if I’m arrested for a murder I didn’t commit, you’ll have to take care of Seanmhair, understand? She’s been a handful lately, but I think she’s come to her senses, so be ready in the event that Graham finds me guilty. It’ll be on your head, Aidan, your head, if I’m jailed for murder.”

I ranted, I couldn’t help it. This was tantamount to a meltdown. I couldn’t manage alone, and I knew it. Would Aidan stand firmly by my side as promised when I was hauled off to killer confinement? Would he take care of Seanmhair? Did he have my best interests at heart? If that kiss meant anything, the answer to that particular question was a resounding
yes.

A smile tickled the corners of his sensual lips. “Do you know how lovely you are when you’re all indignant and upset?” he asked.

“Don’t sidestep the issue at hand with sweet words. It won’t do you any good,” I warned him.

He spread his hands, palms up, and smiled in earnest. “Then we have an agreement? You’ll call Graham and I’ll stand by you, right?”

“And Seanmhair, you’ll stand by her, too,” I insisted.

He nodded, hugged me, and whispered some Gaelic words that left me bewildered and wondering what they meant.

“You have to leave,” I said to him, “I need at least a couple hours of sleep before I open the shop. Seanmhair will be in late this morning.”

Aidan laughed, and asked, “Would you like me to stay?”

“Uh, no, you’d only be a hindrance to my rest,” I assured him as my body yearned for his touch, his lips, and more. I gave myself a mental head slap and marched Aidan to the door.

“Please don’t break in again. Unless I’m in danger, of course,” I advised with a smirk.

“Sure enough, lass. You have my word,” Aidan promised with a wink.