Saving Scott (Kobo) (22 page)

She needed
to keep her mind on the grand opening and the bakeoff.

But, as long
as she was up here, she might as well see the rest of the space. She crossed
the smaller room, wondering again what it might have been used for. Was the
bedroom a guest room? The proportions didn’t seem majestic enough to be the
master bedroom, or whatever they called them back then. A guest room, perhaps,
and the guest’s servant might use the small room.

And what
difference did it make? They were potential bakery spaces, no matter who’d
lived in them before.

She touched
a cut-glass knob on the far door. This must be where Belinda’s space began.
Would it hurt to peek? Her hand had twisted the knob before her brain gave her
an answer.

Although she
hadn’t seen any pictures of this side of the building, Ashley discovered it was
exactly what Scott had described. Storage. Boxes on the floor. Boxes on
shelves. She sniffed, then stifled a sneeze. Nobody had come through here with
lemon-scented furniture polish lately. Or a feather duster, from the looks of
it.

A twinge of
sadness filled her. Clearly, there wasn’t much turnover in Belinda’s stock.
What did that bode for Confections by Ashley? Unlike Belinda, Ashley would have
to throw away unsold merchandise. She might be able to donate some of it, but
even if it didn’t go to waste, it was a loss as far as her bottom line was
concerned.

Did she hear
footsteps coming up the stairs from Belinda’s store? Without waiting to confirm
the sound, Ashley dashed back to her side, easing the door shut as quietly as
possible.

She managed
to get the trap door shut behind her and climb down the ladder without making
too much noise.

You have
every right to be upstairs on your own side.

Well, maybe
not, since she had leased only the downstairs. Better not to be discovered up
there.

Refocused on
her bakery tasks, she went straight to her office. Her to-do list for the
bakery seemed endless, and there wasn’t much she could do about it until the
delivery people showed up with everything she had in storage. She tried to deal
with the spreadsheets she’d created for the bakeoff. But her mind refused to
stick to the task. Instead, it wandered back to the murder.

What of
Belinda’s involvement? Or was there any? A mug didn’t mean anything. Until the
murderer was found, no matter how upbeat the bakeoff committee had been, there
was an ugly black storm cloud hanging over her bakery.

Lorna’s
arrival provided a welcome break from all the questions swirling through her
mind. And brought new ones. Why was Lorna still here? Hadn’t the Women’s Center
found a place for her?

“Thanks for offering
to help.” Ashley motioned Lorna inside.

Lorna
stepped into the bakery, her gaze scanning the empty space. She wore a pink
short-sleeved blouse and a pair of beige Capri-length pants. Her bruises had
faded, and a light touch of makeup gave her an entirely different appearance
from the first time Ashley had seen her. She’d even had a manicure.

“How are you
doing?” Ashley asked. Lorna’s demeanor displayed an underlying hint of
nervousness or timidity Ashley wasn’t sure which. But she did know the inner
injuries would take far longer to heal than some cuts and bruises.

Lorna
flashed a tight smile. “Better. Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her
oversize tote and extended a small gift bag. “You’ve been so helpful, and I
wanted to say thanks. It’s just a token.”

Ashley
peeked inside the bag to discover a package of gourmet coffee. Irish Cream. “Lorna,
there’s no need for a gift.”

She blushed.
“Actually, I’m regifting it. A friend gave it to me, but I prefer tea.” Lorna
studied the floor. “I hope it’s all right. I thought it would go with what you
bake here—but it’s for you, not the customers.”

“Of course.
And I love Irish Cream. I’ll put it in my office where nobody else can have it.”

Lorna seemed
relieved. Ashley pondered that as she put the coffee in the bottom drawer of
her desk. Had Lorna thought her gift was inappropriate? Or was she embarrassed
to be regifting it? If so, then why mention it? Her budget was probably tight.

“As you can
see, nothing’s arrived yet,” Ashley said when she returned. “I hope you aren’t
wasting your day.” Or was Lorna hiding from her husband? He’d never think to
look for her here, would he?

She shook
her head. “No. Thad’s out of town for a few days, and I thought it would be
smart to take the time to plan a better escape. The counselors at the Women’s
Center are being very helpful.”

“Are you
staying there?”

“No.” She
looked away. “I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, but I’d rather not say
where I’m staying. Not that I don’t trust you, but if Thad comes back
unexpectedly—”

“Don’t worry
about it. I totally understand. If I don’t know where you are, I can’t tell
anyone.”

“I should be
gone before he gets back, but he’s unpredictable.”

Ashley
wondered why Lorna would be taking that extra risk, but kept her mouth shut. It
made sense to have a plan in place before doing something reckless. “While we’re
waiting, do you want the tour?”

“I’d love
it.” Lorna was still glancing around as if she expected her husband to pop out
from behind a chair—if there had been any chairs.

As Ashley explained
her vision for the bakery, Lorna nodded, ever watchful. Yes, Ashley thought.
She had a way to go in the confidence department.

“Oh, I
forgot,” Lorna said. “After you left, the committee talked about the ticket
sales. Penny’s husband said he’d volunteer his math club students to sell them.
With his supervision, of course. We decided on a dollar each, or six for five
dollars.”

The
committee had discussed selling tickets for a nominal price, with each ticket
allowing a bakeoff guest one sample of one entry. Ashley had made it clear that
all proceeds would go to charity, which, she’d decided, would be the Women’s
Center. Another gesture of goodwill to the community.

“And,” Lorna
continued, “Penny’s art classes will make the signs.”

“That’s
fantastic.” She was going to have to do something extra special for the
committee—they’d all done so much for her in so little time.

She was
showing off her kitchen when she heard what she hoped was the delivery van
pulling to a stop in the alley. She hurried through the mud room and opened the
door, elated when her hopes were confirmed.

For the next
hour, she directed the men as they unloaded furniture and carton after carton
of her supplies. Once they left, she stood in the middle of the furnished
public space, unable to speak. Barely able to breathe.

Round high
tops circled by ladder-back bar stools in varying shades of brown were
interspersed with small, standard-height four-tops. The chairs surrounding them
were painted in tones ranging from a creamy beige to a deep burgundy.

When she’d
discussed her idea with Kathleen at The Tool Shed—the closest thing Pine Hills
had to a decor center—Kathleen had been skeptical. “Too busy,” she’d said. But
seeing everything in place, Ashley was glad she’d stood her ground.

She couldn’t
resist testing the upholstered easy chairs and loveseats that sat around the
perimeter. Like a child, she bounced on each one, testing it for comfort.
Miming sitting with a cup of coffee and a pastry, she adjusted the placement of
end tables and coffee tables so they were within reach, yet not in the way.

Lorna hung
back, letting Ashley bask in the moment. Ashley didn’t think she’d ever get
used to the feeling of having her own business, but there was a lot more work
to be done. She and Lorna started unpacking the cartons. Lorna loaded the
dishwasher with all the plates, mugs, and utensils.

“I figure it’ll
take three loads,” Lorna said after she started the first one.

It was well
after six before they were finished getting everything in its proper place.
Ashley regarded the back of the house with the same pleasure she’d taken from
the front.

“Would you
like to go to Sadie’s for dinner?” Ashley asked. “My treat. After all you’ve
done today, you deserve it.”

Lorna
studied the floor. “No, thanks. I’d better be going. I’ll see you at the
committee meeting tomorrow night.”

Ashley didn’t
press. As much help and company as Lorna had been, she wanted a few minutes
alone. All alone. In her bakery.

After Lorna
left, Ashley made a slow circuit of the front of the house, imagining it filled
with customers. Moms with toddlers—she eyed the two high chairs and stack of
booster seats. People working on laptops. Which reminded her she needed to make
the final arrangements for the WiFi connection. She envisioned businessmen and
women stopping in for a late-afternoon coffee and pastry break. And picking up
something to take home for dessert.

Her reverie
was broken when the door chimes jangled. Her heart thumped. Why hadn’t she
locked it after Lorna left? She glanced toward the door.

Belinda,
minus her ruffled apron, strode in. “I saw the delivery truck and wanted to be
the first to see my new neighbor in all her pre-opening finery.”

Ashley waved
her arm in a broad sweep across the room. “Here it is. Let me officially
introduce you. Confections by Ashley, meet Belinda Nesbitt of The Happy Cook.”

“I brought
you a shop-warming present.” Belinda reached behind her back and pulled out a
small gold box. “I was going to give you chocolate, but I thought that was kind
of overkill. Go ahead, open it.”

Ashley
untied the ribbon and pried off the lid. Inside was a blue-flowered mug,
exactly like the one discovered in her shop the night they’d found Felicity.
Her heart leapt to her throat. She fought to keep from dropping the box. It
took all her self control to meet Belinda’s smile with the semblance of one of
her own.

Scott limped
to his car. He didn’t mind being tired. He was used to being tired. What he
minded was dealing with the pain while the meds messed with the brain cells.
Now that he was working again, he needed to find a better balance. A session in
the Jacuzzi, that’s what he needed.

“Whelan!”

Scott
turned, careful to avoid quick movements. “Detweiler.”

The tall
lanky detective loped across the parking lot. “Good find on the boyfriends. I’m
suitably impressed. The Viper guy confessed to knowing the victim. Says he
slept with her a few times, but they never had any expectations beyond a little
boinking. Says they never officially split because they never had anything going.”

“He have an
alibi? Motive for killing her?” Scott had done a background check, and nothing
on paper indicated Isaac-Viper had a reason to kill their victim, but the
face-to-face often revealed things the background check and its surrounding
paperwork couldn’t.

Detweiler
shook his head. “He says he was on the road, heading back from a gig in Eureka.
Took the coastal route. Gassed up once, paid cash. He was alone. It’s not
outside the realm of possibility he could have been back in time, but my gut
says move on. You have anything more on Stinger?”

“I gave what
I had to Kovak. Didn’t he fill you in?”

“No, we’ve
been running in opposite directions.”

“Stinger got
his nickname from a scorpion tat on his biceps. He’s a nurse at Salem General.
Married.”

“Being a
nurse gives him access to drugs.”

Scott leaned
against his car. “Given the security measures for controlled substances, it’s
probably harder for a nurse to get drugs than to buy them on the street. But
Kovak went to interview him.”

“Your
feelings?”

“Dead ends,
both of them. Which is not to say there aren’t half a dozen other boyfriends
out there, but my Spidey sense tells me Belinda’s either mistaken or trying to
lead us down the garden path. Right through the thorn bushes.”

“Agreed. You
headed home?”

Scott
shifted under Detweiler’s scrutinizing gaze. He knew he looked like hell, but
he didn’t need sympathetic clucking. He made a conscious effort to relax the
muscles already tightening in defense. “Unless you need anything else from me.
It’s been a long day, but if you’ve got a lead, I’ll stay.”

“Nah. I’m
the one who’s been lazing around for the last few weeks. I’ve got some
reserves. You and Kovak need to catch a few hours of shut-eye.” Detweiler
tapped a forefinger to his temple.” Recharge the old gray matter.”

A very
diplomatic sort of clucking, Scott thought. But he’d accept it. “I left
everything on Kovak’s desk. Call if something breaks.”

“Will do.
Have a good night.” Detweiler trotted away.

Scott
doubted Detweiler would call, but right now, he didn’t care. Wincing, he got
into his car. Fatigue shook his hands, and he had to fight the tremors to get
the key into the ignition. He was getting too old for this.

Don’t kid
yourself. You’re not old, you’re a gimp.

Before he’d
backed out of his slot, sounds of
C is for Cookie
, the ring tone he’d
programmed for Ashley, brought a smile to his face. He threw the shifter into
Park and answered. “Hey there.”

“Scott?”

The way she
uttered that single word, her voice tentative, immediately brought him down. “What’s
wrong?”

A pause.

“Ashley, are
you all right? Where are you?”

“I’m okay.
And it’s probably nothing, but—”

“Tell me. I’ll
decide if it’s nothing.”

“Belinda.
She gave me a shop-warming present. Like I said, it’s probably nothing, but it’s
one of those blue-flowered mugs. I thought I should tell you.”

“Where are
you?”

“At the
bakery.”

Scott kept
his tone level. There was no reason to think there were any nefarious dealings
behind a simple gift. Except that he was a cop, and couldn’t help thinking the
worst. He didn’t know whether anyone had even told Belinda that a mug like the
ones she sold had been found at the crime scene.