Death by Scones (9 page)

This had been a waste of time.

"Now what?" Tara asked and started her car.

"Let's make a pit stop at the police station. I can't see anything, but don't they have special computers that can tear these images apart?"

"Um, do you really want to show them the tape you just lied to get?"

Ooh, she had a point. It would lead the cops to discovering that a strawberry-blonde woman illegally pretended to be a cop. Surely it would get back to me, and then I'd still be responsible in their eyes, and they'd never look for the truth

"Okay, well, what about the footage from the bakery's security camera?" I asked.

"Sounds like a plan." She put the gear into drive and drove out of the parking lot.

As we turned onto Main Street, driving past the bank, I ducked in my seat, not wanting Mr. Stewart to see me sans wig.

*   *   *

There wasn't much time before the funeral, and I still needed to change into my sleeveless black shift dress with the white embroidered Peter Pan collar and to tease my hair into a 1960s beehive. Luckily, I'd thought ahead and put the dress, accessories, and supplies in Tara's backseat.

I yanked open the doors to the police station and walked straight back to Lester's desk. This time he wasn't lounging over dinner. He wasn't even at his desk. The room was empty, in fact.

"You again?" boomed a voice behind me.

I flinched and spun around.

He stood a hair away. We were practically nose to nose.

I stepped back, hitting the back of my knees into the edge of his desk. "I wanted to show you something."

His gaze drifted down my body to the hideous costume police pants I still wore and then up to my chest. It lingered there.

Pig.

I pointed to my eyes. "Up here, please."

He smirked, then slowly raised his gaze.

I pulled the flash drive out of my bag and shoved it at him. "This is a recording of the bakery the day Nathan died. You will see that someone is holding a plate of scones."

He folded his arms across his chest, obviously unimpressed. "So? What's the big deal? Someone was eating from a plate of scones. That's why they were there, right?"

I sighed heavily. "We didn't hand out scones, and this person wore black gloves. The kind that don't leave fingerprints at a crime scene."

Did I really need to spell this out for him?

He raised a brow. "This person? You don't know who it is?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head. "Their face isn't visible."

He chuckled.

He thought this was a joke?

When I scowled, he asked, "How do I know it wasn't you?"

I started to tell him I was at the register, but I wasn't sure where I was. I hadn't thought about that. This person must've arrived when I was still on the other side of the counter. I wasn't visible in the shot. It could've been me, except that I wasn't wearing gloves and didn't own moccasins. Too bad I couldn't mention the bank tape.

"You know what?" I dropped the flash drive back into my bag. "Never mind. I have a funeral to get to."

I walked past him and kept my head high, but my hands were sweating. Now I understood why people complained about Detective Lester Marshall. There was something very annoying about that man.

There had to be a way to prove the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery was not at fault. That someone did this deliberately. I wasn't sure how to do it, but I intended to find a way.

Killer Cinnamon Scones

2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for work surface

1/4 cup granulated sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 tablespoon ground cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt (The grains are bigger than table salt, so if you use table salt, use less.)

1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons buttermilk *

1 large egg yolk

1 package of Hershey's Cinnamon Chips

1 tablespoon of melted unsalted butter

More sugar for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 400°. Line baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, cinnamon, and salt.

With a pastry blender or your fingertips, cut butter into flour mixture until it resembles coarse crumbs. Some pea-sized pieces are fine.

Stir in buttermilk and egg yolk until just combined. Fold in cinnamon chips.

On a lightly floured surface, turn out dough and knead several times. Form dough roughly into a 7-inch square. Cut it in into 9 squares and cut each square in half diagonally. Transfer triangles to baking sheet.

Bake for 15 to 17 minutes. They should be a pale golden when done. As soon as they come out of the oven, brush melted butter on top and sprinkle with sugar.

Let cool slightly. Best served warm.

Eat and enjoy!

*If you don't have buttermilk, just add 1/2 teaspoon of white vinegar or lemon juice to the 1/2 cup of regular milk (any fat content), and let it rest at room temperature for 5 to 10 minutes.

Tara and I stopped by her apartment long enough to change, which took me longer than usual. It was hard getting my hair right in Tara's cramped and dim bathroom. We made it to the Danger Cove cemetery just as the services were beginning. The grass was lush, and the sky was cloudless and bright. Danger Cove residents lined up near the casket, ready to say their good-byes. There were a lot more people there than I imagined, including Amber, Jared, Will, and Mrs. Hendrickson, as well as Tara and me. I smiled at each of them. I was thrilled they all showed up.

Adding to my emotional surprise, my heart skipped a beat when I realized Nathan's gravesite was one row away from Mom, Dad, and Aunt Sandra.

"You okay?" Tara asked.

I nodded, but my voice was caught in my chest, and I couldn't speak. I just kept walking.

Max and I exchanged grim smiles. Beside him stood two older women—one with windblown blonde hair, wearing a skintight black cocktail dress, and the other with light-brown hair pulled back into a low ponytail, wearing an outdated, black polyester dress two sizes too big for her, as if she shopped at secondhand stores and not only didn't know her size but had also never tried anything on before buying it. There was a difference between no longer fashionable and being retro.

The women must've been Nathan's sisters. There was a slight resemblance to their brother—the one from his well-kept days.

I stood with Will to my left and Jared to my right and felt oddly uncomfortable.

The funeral was quick. No one stepped forward to say any words, not even his family. That was sad. I couldn't imagine living a life with no one in it. Where was the fun in that? Then again, I guess Nathan's life wasn't about having fun. Not anymore. And that was even sadder.

At one point, the skintight sister stepped forward and tossed a red rose onto Nathan's coffin. When she stepped back, she suddenly sank to her knees and gave out a wail that visibly shook everyone in the crowd.

Low Ponytail knelt beside her sister and laid a hand on her shoulder, but Skintight pushed her away. Max just stood off to the side, hands clasped in front of him, seemingly unmoved by it all and ignoring his aunts.

I glanced up to Jared, who widened his eyes. My sentiments exactly. This family wasn't like any I was accustomed too. Grams and I didn't always get along, but we were never uncaring to one another.

When the service was over, a collective relieved sigh washed over the crowd. People hurried to their cars. I, however, didn't want to leave just yet. I wanted to know more about the Dearborns.

Will gripped my shoulder and turned me toward him. "I have to get back to the office. Dr. Eckhardt needs me."

"More sick five-year-olds?" I asked with a smile.

"I'll see you tonight for dinner, right?"

I'd forgotten about the date we'd made last week. I wasn't in the mood, not with everything that happened since, but I didn't want to disappoint Will either. "Yes."

He glanced behind me at Jared, and the vein in his left temple jerked. He leaned down for a kiss good-bye. At first his lips brushed mine, but then they lingered, and the kiss deepened. I was taken aback. Will didn't normally do public displays of affection.

Instead of enjoying it, I was so confused at how out of character it was that I pulled out of his grip. It was then I realized he was trying to make Jared jealous, and that annoyed me. First, why bother? Jared and I were just friends. Our one high school kiss was so long ago it didn't even count anymore—even if I did still remember it fondly—and I'd never told Will about it. Second, I didn't appreciate being used to satisfy his machismo.

"I'll see you later," I said. I didn't want to make a spectacle here in front of all these people and at Nathan's funeral. We could discuss this tonight at dinner. Or maybe never. I wasn't a fan of confrontations.

I turned away from Will and nodded to my friends, but Tara stopped me.

"I have to go too. A class," she said and looked to Jared. "Will you be able to drop her off at home?"

"Of course," he said.

Tara kissed my cheek and told me she'd call me later.

After she sprinted to her car, I walked over to Max and offered my condolences again.

"Thank you," he said. He turned to his aunts and introduced us. "This is Gloria and Holly Dearborn. This is Riley Spencer. She owns the Cinnamon Sugar Bakery."

Gloria, a.k.a. Skintight, raised her thinly waxed eyebrows. "So you're the one who killed my brother."

Holly gasped. "Gloria, don't be so rude. It wasn't her fault. She didn't know Nathan had a peanut allergy. Besides, he should've been more careful about what he was eating."

This confirmed it. Everyone believed I was careless. I started to explain that the bakery was a nut-free zone, but would I have to do this with every person I encountered? My word obviously wasn't enough anyway. So instead of explaining, I introduced them to my friends.

Gloria clicked her tongue several times upon seeing Jared and gave him an up-and-down body check. "Hello there," she said with a lull in her tone.

Jared lightly chuckled and shook her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

"Oh, me too. If I'd known you lived in this miserable town, I would've visited my dear brother more often."

I tried not to roll my eyes. She had to be at least twenty years older than him.

Suddenly, I wanted to get far away from the Dearborns. I said to Max, "If you need any help with anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

"Oh, Maxie is fully in charge, aren't you, dear nephew?" Gloria asked, finally taking her attention off Jared for a second.

Max's jaw clenched. He didn't bother to answer her.

I understood family members getting on your nerves, but it was the open hostility that surprised me.

Gloria patted Max on the back and laughed. "He doesn't like to share just how capable he is."

What was she talking about? I started to ask but figured if I waited long enough, she'd eventually spill. She seemed to be dying to say something.

"No? You don't want to share with your new…friend?" she said on cue.

"Back off, Auntie," Max said with venom in his tone.

Jared and I exchanged looks. She was talking about me. Was she insinuating Max and I were more than friends? That was crazy. There was absolutely no chemistry. Plus, I had enough on my plate with Will and… Well, just Will.

Gloria barked out a laugh and dropped her hand. "He's being modest. He doesn't like sharing that my dear, mean, selfish brother made Max the executor of his estate."

Max had mentioned discord with his aunts, but I was still surprised by their apparent disrespect. "And to make matters worse," Gloria continued, "Nathan left his sisters absolutely nothing. Isn't that right, sis?"

Holly cleared her throat and stared at her pointy black pumps.

When no one said anything, Gloria took a deep breath and gazed off into the distance. "I hear Danger Cove is brimming with treasure."

Was this whole dramatic display about money? She hadn't inherited any, so she was pissed? She obviously thought her brother would leave her something. Was it the same with Holly? And did that mean Max inherited all of Nathan's estate?

As I turned on the chunky heel of my black pump and walked to Jared's car, I wondered if I'd just met Nathan's killer. I just wasn't sure which of three qualified most.

*   *   *

When I got home, I changed into a white short-sleeve T-shirt and baggy denim short overalls. I slipped a pale-yellow bandana over my head, tied it at the nape of my neck, and crawled into the back of the storage closet, which was beneath the stairs. Past the boxed Christmas tree and holiday decorations to the narrowest spot where Mom and Dad's things were placed years ago.

Tara and I had planned a sleepover at her house the night my parents died. We were in her bedroom, watching
Girl, Interrupted
. We'd been just about to paint each other's toes in a sparkly pink polish when Grams had arrived.

Her eyes had been bloodshot and her nose red from crying. I'd known it was serious, and my vision and hearing immediately tunneled. When she said, "There was an accident," I'd read her lips. I never actually heard or saw her say Mom, Dad, and Aunt Sandra were killed, but I knew.

I'd been numb in the car. We'd gone to Uncle Doug's, and I sat on his sofa, watching him cry while Grams comforted Amber. I'd sat there all alone, and I could only think about Mom and Dad. If they'd been there, they would've wrapped their arms around my shoulders. Then again, if they'd been there, there wouldn't have been a reason to be upset.

At some point, when everyone had gone into other rooms—bathroom, bedrooms—I left. I just walked out the front door and went home. It didn't matter that no one would be there. It was my home. I wanted my bed, my things, and the giant stuffed bear Dad had won for me at the fair two summers earlier.