Saving Scott (Kobo) (27 page)

“Either that
or she’s going to get the next Oscar for best performance by a lying murderer.”
Kovak’s smile softened his words.

“There are a
lot of holes in the scenario if she’s your lead suspect.”

“Agreed.”
Kovak stepped to the white board, which they’d never returned to the break
room. He hadn’t erased the X across Ashley’s name, either. He stood there,
hands clasped behind his back, simply staring at it. Scott recognized the
behavior. He’d done it countless times himself, always hoping answers would
appear. And sometimes they did, although not on the board. But he was a firm
believer that they worked their way deep into his subconscious and surfaced
later, when something triggered them.

Ashley had
been right. Until they uncovered more information, they had a puzzle with too
many pieces. Although people killed for reasons a normal person would think
trivial—like uncovering the use of non-organic vegetables—to Scott, that wasn’t
a motive he was buying.

Was the
upstairs room really part of the murder scene? Where did the drugs come from,
and who had access? Or did the victim have yet another secret?

Money was a
strong motivator, both for the victim and for Ashley. Her life, at the moment,
revolved around the bakery’s success. And while on paper, that might be motive
to kill, Ashley didn’t fit the profile.

Kovak picked
up a marker and wrote, “Non-organic food” in the column devoted to the victim. “You
think the victim would have killed to keep the secret?”

“From what I
saw of her at the photography studio, she’s definitely half a bubble off
center. But I couldn’t judge her based on that single outburst. And speaking of
the secret, did you give Detweiler a heads up?”

Kovak nodded.
“Right after I left interrogation. He’ll push that angle.” Kovak shoved away
from the desk. “And now I’m going to pay a few visits to the bakeoff committee
members. Dot a few more Is, cross a few more Ts, and maybe pick up a clue along
the way.”

“You know, I’m
not sure we should rule out suicide,” Scott said. “If the victim was
unbalanced, killing herself in Ashley’s bakery could have been an extreme way
of getting back at what she perceived as her nemesis.”

“Like the
ultimate,
I’ll show you.
”

“Of course
that would put us back at square one,” Scott said.

“But since
we’re hardly out of square two, that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe you can
research that angle. If she shifted to non-organic food, maybe she changed her
mind about her body being a temple.”

Scott
doubted it. Her personal philosophy and her business were most likely two
separate animals, but it couldn’t hurt to check. Another set of Ts and Is. “Will
do.”

Kovak left,
and Scott resumed his hunt for more about Belinda Nesbitt. Short of asking her
why she’d changed schools, he’d hit a dead end. There wasn’t a police database
that included that kind of information.

Once again,
he took a less sophisticated approach. Sure enough, Belinda had a Facebook
page. Two, in fact. One for herself, and one for The Happy Cook. Scott logged
on using the account he’d created under a pseudonym back in his days as an
official detective. Amazing what people would reveal to an anonymous “friend.”
He put in a friend request for her personal page. He clicked the “like” button
on her store page, which didn’t require any approval.

As he
expected, the store page was strictly marketing. The usual. Location,
directions, reviews. Lots of pictures, plus notes about products and special
deals. He’d scrolled through a couple pages of comments when the idea to do the
same for the victim’s store wormed its way through the muddle of his brain. He
should have done it a lot sooner. Meds one, detective, zero.

The victim
didn’t have a personal page, but like Belinda Nesbitt, she did have one for her
store. Scott clicked his way in and bookmarked the site. Bouncing from task to
task was a sure-fire way to have something slip through the cracks. He needed
to finish with The Happy Cook sites first.

Nothing
remarkable on the Facebook page. Then again, as the page owner, Belinda could
have deleted any negative comments. He jotted down names of some frequent
commenters to research later. Next, he checked the Internet for feedback about
her store. Not a lot, which didn’t surprise him given the size of Pine Hills. A
few reviews, nothing particularly negative. While he waited to see if Belinda
accepted his alter-ego’s friend request, he shifted his attention to Felicitea.
The Facebook page was no more rewarding than The Happy Cook. Felicitea had a
lot more “likes”, but that could be attributed to the fact that the shop had
been in business a lot longer than Belinda Nesbitt’s.

He moved
from Facebook to Google results for the tea shop. Not much different from the
Facebook page, Felicitea’s official website touted her claims of only the
freshest, locally grown, organic ingredients.

Had someone
discovered her substitutions? And what if they had? Scott couldn’t buy that as
a motive for murder. A lawsuit was more likely.

He rubbed
his eyes and jotted a note to check the official databases for that one.

He moved to
the sites where people could leave reviews. Here, the victim wouldn’t have had
the power to delete the negative ones. Ratings ran the gamut, and for a variety
of reasons, many of which had no correlation with the quality of food. People
would give low ratings because they’d visited on a rainy day and there was no
covered parking. Overall, she had more positive than negatives, and the
positives
did
relate to food and service. Nothing about organics or the
lack thereof.

Detweiler
entered the room, covering the distance between doorway and desk in a few, long
strides. He flopped a stack of paper next to Scott. “Felicitea’s shop records
for the last six months. Thanks for the heads up. The assistant changed her
tune when I opened the refrigerator and showed her the evidence. She claims it’s
not a big deal. According to her, seasonality is a major factor in getting
everything organic, that they had to fill the gaps with non-organics.”

“You believe
her?”

Detweiler
pointed at the paper, which on closer inspection was a conglomeration of
receipts, computer printouts, and who knew what else. “How are your eyes?”

“Still
functioning fine.” Unlike his leg, which pounded unmercifully.

“Then that’s
your next assignment. See if you can see when the changes started, how much was
organic, how much wasn’t.” He grinned. “Of course, you can always go back to
phones and filing. I can recruit a uniform looking to earn points.”

Scott
chuckled to himself. He’d done the same more than once. “I’ll handle it. But I
don’t know squat about what’s organic and what isn’t.”

“Ms. Haeber
was kind enough to provide a list of the suppliers. But these days, every
grocery store has a section of organics. A receipt for lettuce from Thriftway
could go either way.” He grinned again, wider this time. “Of course, the
itemized listings probably give that information.”

“I’ll get
some coffee and be on it.”

“I’m going
that way,” Detweiler said. “How do you take it?”

“Black.”
Scott waited for Detweiler to leave, then struggled to his feet. He walked the
small office, trying to ease the pain in his leg. The bones had healed, but the
tendons and nerves were taking their sweet time getting back to normal. He
tried to ignore what the doctors had told him—that there was no guarantee they
ever would.

His hand
went to his pocket where the vial of pills waited. But doing what Detweiler
asked required a clear head. He popped some ibuprofen instead.

When
Detweiler came back, Scott set the coffee on an empty desk to avoid the
possibility of contamination by spillage. “Kovak and I were discussing that our
homicide might be suicide after all. We’ve got too many pieces that don’t fit.”

Detweiler
pursed his lips. “Either way, the death has to be investigated. I’ve got this
twitchy feeling Belinda Nesbitt knows more than she’s telling, and what she’s
telling isn’t the whole truth.”

***

Sitting at
her kitchen island, Ashley pounded the keyboard of her laptop, almost
regretting the childish way she’d stormed out of Scott’s office. Almost. Heck,
she hadn’t slammed the door, although the temptation was there. Men. After
Barry, she’d decided they were highly overrated. For a brief moment, she’d
thought Scott might be different. The exception to the rule.

But no. It
was all about him. Being the cop, even though he wasn’t even a real cop. He’d
sat there, let Detective Kovak get in her face, treat her like a criminal.
Scott would have set him straight, he’d said. So why hadn’t she heard him
sticking up for her?

She sipped
her chamomile tea. A gift from Maggie, one she’d tucked away in the recesses of
her kitchen cabinet for when she might need it, like now. She wasn’t a tea
person—although according to Maggie, chamomile tea wasn’t tea at all. Something
about only leaves of some official tea plants being worthy of the name tea.

Well, it
tasted good with honey, and if it calmed her down, Ashley didn’t care what it
was called. There was a final committee meeting tonight, and then the bakeoff
on Saturday. She’d have today and tomorrow to finalize everything, and then … her
new life would be off with a bang. She hoped it was the good kind.

She
consulted her to-do list, deciding to deal with the things she could do from
home until she was confident she could deal with people face-to-face without a
meltdown. Right now, if one person so much as skirted the issue of Felicity,
Ashley knew she’d lose it.

An hour and
another cup of chamomile tea later, Ashley parked in the lot behind her bakery.
Instead of entering through the back door, she ambled through the parking lot
to the sidewalk, imagining that she was out for a day of shopping. When she
passed the Book Worm, her breath caught. Don Farrabee had put a collection of
cookbooks in his window, with a sign advertising her opening. As she continued
down the block, she saw the same sign in every shop window. These didn’t look
anything like the work of middle school students.

She
bee-lined straight for That Special Something. If anyone knew where they’d come
from, it would be Maggie. Ashley paused for a deep breath before she entered
the store. Sarah greeted her with a warm smile. “Ready for your big day?”

Chamomile
tea or no, a swarm of supersized butterflies took flight in Ashley’s stomach. “I
hope so.”

“You like
Elaine’s contribution?” Sarah asked.

“The signs?
Elaine did them?”

Sarah
nodded. “Kind of last minute, but we’re all wishing you nothing but success.”

Tears
prickled Ashley’s eyes. She’d always felt welcome in Pine Hills, but this show
of support nearly did her in. A shaky, “Thanks,” was all she could manage. She
turned to leave before she embarrassed herself by bursting into full-fledged
tears.

“Wait,”
Sarah said. She ducked behind the counter and pulled out another sign, twice
the size of the ones the other merchants displayed. “This one’s for your place.”

Ashley stood
there, her jaw gaping as she read the sign. “Grand Opening. Confections by
Ashley. Come to the Brownie Bakeoff.” The date and her logo. Sarah extended the
sign. “Go put it in your window.”

Part of her
wanted to pump Sarah for any information she might have about Felicity’s death.
However, another part told her to forget about the investigation and focus on
her opening. If Detective Kovak had said she was free to go, then her priority
had to be her bakery.

She thanked
Sarah one more time and had to restrain herself from skipping the short
distance to her bakery.

After
placing the sign in the window, she got to work. Her official first day of
business was Monday, four days away. An empty window showcase wasn’t going to
cut it.

Soon, she
was in the kitchen, lost in creating. She could freeze some of what she made,
but much of it was going to have to be chalked up to promotion, because
anything she baked today wasn’t going to be fresh enough to sell on Monday.
Saturday, her kitchen would be totally pre-empted by bakeoff contestants. She
foresaw a very long, exhausting Sunday, but it didn’t matter. Confections by
Ashley was worth a few all-nighters.

And thinking
of all-nighters reminded her to touch base with the three people she’d lined up
as assistants. For starters, she needed front of the house help, although she
hoped to be able to hire another baker before long. But she had definitely
dropped the ball when she hadn’t asked them to show up for the bakeoff. Maggie’s
committee had everything covered, but her new staff should be there.

Chalking her
oversight up to the overwhelming distractions of a murder investigation, she
put another batch of cookies in the oven, set the timer, and went into her
office to make the calls.

Her spirits
buoyed by the enthusiastic response from all three, she formulated a work
schedule that would fit with their classes. She gave Sarah a mental thank you
for the suggestion to recruit from the local community college. And thanked her
lucky stars that none of the three had pushed for information about the murder
scene. Maybe it was because they were afraid to bring it up with their new
boss. Or maybe they wanted to be able to boast that they were working where a
body had been found.

Her timer
went off, and Ashley forced her thoughts away from mayhem and back to setting
up for the bakeoff.

Once the
cookies were on cooling racks, she went out to her car to get a carton of
supplies. She noticed Belinda and another woman, both carrying bulging Happy
Cook bags. Belinda helped load them into the woman’s car. The woman drove off,
and Belinda stood there a moment, watching the car drive away. Ashley felt a
quick burst of pleasure that her shop neighbor had made what looked like a
substantial sale.