Gluten for Punishment (12 page)

I shook her dry hand and grabbed my business cards out of my jacket pocket. “I’m Toni
Holmes. I own the new gluten-free bakery down the block.” I handed her a card. “I’m
simply going store to store to say hi to my new neighbors and let everyone know if
they come in they can get a free cookie with coffee purchase.”

“Isn’t that nice.” She looked at the card. “I do like to take tea in the afternoons.”
Her eyes were some odd color of gray, but they twinkled. “Isn’t your store where that
young fellow died?”

“Yes.” I nodded. “That’s my store.”

“Terrible thing to happen, just terrible.”

“I agree. I hope it won’t keep you from coming in and trying out the free cookie.
I have tea as well as coffee.”

“At my age, I’m not about to let some silly crime scene tape keep me from my afternoon
snack.” Her smile was positively radiant.

“Wonderful.” I couldn’t help but smile back. “Say, you wouldn’t have happened to be
at work the morning George was killed, would you have?”

“Oh no, dear, I was at my Zumba class at the Y from 6 to 7
A.M.
By the time I got down here, the police were already cutting off all traffic to the
store. I had to spend the day doing inventory. Absolutely no one came shopping. Such
a waste of a lovely day, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I agreed. “It was.”

The fabric store was run by Mrs. Becher and her daughter Amy. Mrs. Becher had been
my 4-H sewing project teacher and such a stickler for details that I now had a sewing
phobia. In fact, the fabric store made me sneeze . . . several times. I claimed an
allergy and simply handed my card, asked my questions, and got the heck out of there.

It appeared only the pharmacy and the bakery were open early in the morning. Everyone
else opened at ten, which meant they didn’t have a reason to be around at 5:30
A.M.
Most hadn’t seen anything until they came in, and then all they saw was my place
crawling with cops and people in CSU jackets.

Hopefully, Grandma Ruth had been able to get further with the investigation than I
did or I was doomed.

CHAPTER
14

"T
hanks for letting me use your computer.” I was in Tasha’s office printing out orders
for the next day’s shipment. So far my online customers were still buying.

“Mom’s computer is for work only,” Kip said without looking up. Tasha’s office had
a corner especially for Kip. He had his own desk with a small computer and computer
games to occupy him while Tasha worked. His hands were currently full of controller
as he swung and jerked and hit the buttons necessary to keep the game going.

“That’s right,” Tasha said gently. “Aunt Toni is using it for her work at the moment.”

“Mom’s computer is only for Mom’s work,” Kip said and continued with his game.

“Aunt Toni doesn’t have her computer right now so I am letting her do her work on
mine.” Tasha leaned against her desk. Today she wore chic jeans and a sweater set
made out of something incredibly soft looking.

“How come Aunt Toni doesn’t have her computer? Did she lose it?”

Tasha met my gaze. “My computer is being worked on,” I said. It wasn’t entirely a
lie.

“You should have Craig look at it,” Kip said. “Craig’s good with computers.”

“I bet he is.” I hit Print.

“I saw your help wanted sign,” Tasha said quietly. “What happened to Carrie? Is she
not coming back?”

I twisted my curly mass of hair into a sloppy knot to get it out of my way. “Her mom
won’t let her come back to work . . .” I glanced over to ensure Kip was deep in his
game. “Not until the killer is caught, anyway,” I said low. “Not that I blame her.
It’s a little spooky working not more than twenty feet from a crime scene . . . so
much for small-town safety.” I logged out of my website.

“Craig tells me you’re catering George Meister’s memorial on Friday.”

“Weird, right?” I grabbed my orders from the printer and slipped them into a binder.
I’d brought in a ream of paper to help offset the cost of my printing. “Sherry Williams
came by, bought me a coffee, and told me they were having a memorial, and that she
wanted me to cater. I told her I thought it was in poor taste considering the fact . . .”
I leaned over to keep my words from Kip’s ears. “I’m a person of interest, who had
been served with a search warrant and all. But she said my catering showed I had no
hard feelings toward George for the flour incident.”

“And you bought that?” Tasha tilted her head and looked at me all too knowingly.

“She said if I didn’t cater, they’d find someone else.” I clutched my binder. “But
I’m the most conveniently located.”

“Now that sounds like the real Sherry Williams.”

I tucked the binder into my leather bag and contemplated Tasha. “Did you know Sherry
is setting up ghost tours now? She asked me to sign a waiver to allow participants
to tour the bakery.”

“Did you?” Tasha’s eyes went wide.

I winced. “Yes, but, if it makes any difference, I told her I thought it was in poor
taste considering George isn’t even buried yet.”

“Not to mention any profits you make on George’s death don’t look good to the police.”
Tasha put her hands on her hips to emphasize how stupid she thought I was being. Maybe
I was.

“See, that’s what I told Sherry.” I tossed my hands wide in supplication. “But she
said the tours would happen with or without me. I felt like it was either sign on
and earn something from the misfortune, or don’t and become a look-but-not-touch bakery.”

“Well, that’s pretty convenient for her.” Tasha crossed her arms.

“I know. The whole encounter felt a little like a mob threat. You know, pay us for
protection or take the consequences . . .”

“Did you tell Brad?”

I felt the heat of a blush rush up my cheeks. “No. Do you think I should?”

“Well, he is your lawyer. He could advise you on whether it’s a good idea or not,
plus you get to call him.” Tasha smiled. “I almost wish I had a reason to call him.”

“Trade ya,” I teased.

“No way.” She held out her hands to ward me off. “No murders at my inn, thank you
very much.”

“What? You don’t want to be part of the ghost tours? Why not? Think of the extra income
you could gain.” I was being sarcastic and Tasha knew it.

“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” Kip said loudly, still not looking up from his
game. “They are products of people’s imagination.”

“Yes, honey.” Tasha ruffled his blond hair. “Yes, they are. I’m going to walk Aunt
Toni out. Are you going to be all right?”

“It’s Mario, Mom,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “Of course I’ll be all right.”

Tasha and I walked out into the hall. “Hmm, you know being part of a ghost tour might
be a great idea.” She narrowed her eyes and tapped her index finger to her lips. “I’m
going to do some research. This house is over a hundred years old. Someone must want
to haunt it.”

I shook my head. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to call my lawyer and prep
for these orders.”

“You mean you have other people to question about George’s murder.”

I froze. “What?”

She pulled me aside, out of range of the office door and the lobby. “Oh, please, Craig
totally caught on that you were looking for the real killer. It was kind of nice and
sneaky though, giving away free cookies to find out who was around.”

My cheeks grew hot again. “I told Grandma Ruth I wasn’t any good at this detective
thing.” I moved down the hall.

Tasha matched her stride to mine. “I don’t blame you. If it were me under suspicion,
I’d try to figure out who did it, too. So, who did you talk to?”

“Well, Craig and Ralph, plus the owner of the men’s store.”

“Todd Woles?” Tasha raised an eyebrow

“Yeah, why?”

“He might be a good suspect.” Tasha’s eyes glittered.

I stopped, drew my eyebrows together, and pursed my mouth. “Why?”

She pushed her hair behind her ear. “Last year, Todd and George got into a big fight.
I heard Todd called the cops to force George to leave the store. In fact, he might
even have a restraining order out on him. You should check that.”

I guess I could see Todd calling the cops on George if George were half as mean to
Todd as he had been to me. “Wow, I will. Crazy. Do you know what the fight was about?”

Tasha shrugged. “There are a couple of theories but no one really knows.”

“Todd did call George a bastard.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, something about George protesting the cost of Todd’s tuxedo rentals.”

“Sounds like George.” Tasha shook her head. “He was a farmer through and through.”

I headed for the door, my mind whirling.

“Oh, and be sure to pay attention to who all shows up at the memorial,” Tasha said
as I opened the door.

“Why?” I scrunched my eyebrows.

“Because, silly, everyone knows the killer always returns to the scene of the crime.
The memorial is the perfect time.”

“Oh, right.” The thought of the killer returning to my bakery made my stomach clench.
My feelings must have shown on my face.

“Don’t worry.” Tasha patted me on the shoulder. “Craig and I will be there to make
sure nothing happens.”

“What do you mean? Why would something happen?” I narrowed my eyes.

“Because you’re looking for the killer, silly. After today, everyone knows you’re
nosing around, which means whoever did it might see you as a threat. But . . . no
worries. Your friends will keep you safe.”

“Gee, thanks.” I stepped out into the dark night and tried to brush off the warning.
“Go do your ghost research.” Tasha yelled good-bye and headed inside. I stopped on
the sidewalk and studied the star-filled sky. Well, Mom, I thought, if ever I needed
a guardian angel, it’s now.

I checked around the van before I hopped in. I locked the doors quickly, started it
up, and looked over my shoulder. The van was empty and I was simply being silly. But
Tasha had spooked me with her whole everyone-knows-you’re-looking-into-the-murder
statement.

I tried to think of something else. Anything else. I rolled down my window a crack
and sniffed the fresh, crisp air of October. It brought back memories of high school.

At that time, Main and Central were the streets the kids drove at night. In small
towns like Oiltop, that’s all the kids had to do on a school night, cruise up and
down and wave at friends. Turn around in the McDonald’s and drive the street again.
If you were lucky, cute boys would follow you and you could meet up in an empty parking
lot. Meanwhile you played your music too loud and flirted through windows.

Maybe the kids didn’t do it as much anymore, what with the price of gas and the ease
of the Internet. Maybe instead of fresh air and bad music, kids stayed home in their
bedrooms and talked via webcam.

I suddenly felt ancient.

Checking out the cars around me when I drove was an old habit born out of my cruising
years. One had to be ready in case the cutest guy in school—like Brad Ridgeway—happened
to be driving in the car behind you. Maybe memories made me check tonight. Maybe I
was paranoid. Either way, I noticed the small dark sedan that trailed behind my van
at a steady pace. It was too far back for me to see who was driving. I stopped at
a light, but the car let some kids cut him off so they were between me and him. The
bass of their music boomed through the windows.

I went through the light and turned down Pine Street with one eye on the rearview
mirror. Sure enough, the sedan turned down Pine as well. I turned left onto Third
Street, left again onto Maple, and headed back toward Central. The car still followed.

A creepy-crawly feeling went down my back. Now what? Do I call 911? What would I say
was my emergency? Someone is following me? I swallowed hard. The police station was
two blocks behind Main down from the county fairgrounds. I decided I’d drive by there
and see if the car followed.

The problem with the streets behind Main was they were dark, with a streetlight only
every half mile. People didn’t usually flock to the fairgrounds or the baseball stadium
this late at night in October. I sped up a little, figuring if I got a ticket I could
at least talk to the cop about the car staying two lengths behind me.

I’d never been followed before; it was unnerving. The only thing I could think to
do was to pull into the police station parking area. The sedan drove down the street,
but pulled over and turned off its lights about a block away.

“I can still see you,” I muttered. I was pissed off. I had work to do. It was bad
enough this mess had scared away my customers, but now scaring me prevented me from
working. I should have been able to go back to the bakery and work. I shouldn’t have
to worry about stalkers, damn it. I had bills.

I worked myself up to a good tizzy, got out of the van, and slammed the door behind
me. A quick click of the key and I locked the doors with a comforting honk. I was
only a few feet from the door to the police station. Maybe that’s what emboldened
me. Instead of going inside like an intelligent woman and letting the big, strong
policemen with guns take care of my stalker, I went all redhead and stormed over to
the little sedan and knocked on the driver side window. “Hello. Open up.”

The window rolled down slow. I could see the green lights of the dashboard. The driver
wore a tweed suit coat with patches on the elbows He moved his face out of the shadows
and a sense of relief went through me.

“Hi, Toni.” Craig had the good grace to look a little embarrassed.

“Craig, why are you following me?” I waved my hands. “You scared the daylights out
of me.”

“Um, I saw you leaving the inn and I thought I’d make sure you got to where you were
going safely.” He ducked back into the shadows. It was hard to see his face but his
tone of voice sounded sincere.

“How did you know I wasn’t going to the police station?” My voice rose. Like I said,
when I get scared, I get mad. Right now I trembled from head to toe. I had to put
my hands on my hips to stabilize myself.

“Well.” He ran his finger around his collar as if his tie was choking him. Or maybe
he was worried
I
would choke him. “I figured you might be running in to see about your computer, but
then you’d still have to go home.”

“What? You thought you’d hang out here until I did whatever and then you’d keep following
me?”

He looked like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “Yes.”

“No.” I stomped my foot. “I don’t need to be followed. I’m an adult who lived in Chicago.
I think I can handle myself.”

Craig leaned forward. “Toni, look—”

“No, you look.” I pointed at him. “If I catch you following me again I’m going to
do something you aren’t going to like. I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I think I got through to him. He did sort of look contrite.

“Good, now go home.”

“Good night, Toni.”

I turned on my heel and stormed off toward my van. I was aware enough of my surroundings
to notice that Craig rolled his window back up and took off down the street. My heart
beat like a freight train and my hands shook a little. I still had a lot of pent-up
energy. I glanced at the police station. Maybe I should put the energy to good use.
Since I was already there, it couldn’t hurt to go bug them about returning my computer.
Could it?