Til a Death Do Us Part: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery (4 page)

* * *

J
ennie placed
the two bowls of soup in front of us and the sweet smell of the creamed corn and chicken hit my nose along with the steam rising from the dish. It was the perfect meal for a slightly chilly fall day. Jackson a generous serving of crusty bread with real butter and I watched as he dipped a piece of bread into his soup and sampled it. A bit of jealousy washed over me as I watched his eyes roll in the back of his head. Stupid gluten intolerance.

"It looks delicious, Jennie, thanks," I said, before picking up my spoon. I knew that Jackson wanted to have a casual chat with her—or at least, a chat that appeared casual—so I ate away merrily, even without the bread, while he mentioned a couple of things to her.

"Do you have much staff working today?"

Jennie shook her head. "Only the bare minimum. Myself and a chef."

"What's the chef like?" Jackson asked as he picked up his spoon. "A young man?"

Jennie burst out laughing. "Not really. Well, he might like to think himself young. But Jacques is in his late forties."

"Right," Jackson said. "Do you employ any younger folks?"

Jennie frowned. She was clearly confused about why he was asking her this. "A few," she said, still frowning. "Students and the like from the university in Belldale. Mostly just casual staff on the weekends, as it’s a bit of a pain for them to travel up here. We pay them good wages."

"I'm sure you do," Jackson said with a smile. "I'm asking about one person in particular," he said, finally cutting to the chase. He must have realized that being covert about it was a losing game.

"Oh?" Jennie looked worried. "Is this about what happened yesterday then?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so. Jennie, do you employ a tall guy, in his mid to late twenties, with dirty blonde hair. Kind of a... Well, I suppose you would say a surfer-looking type." Even though we were three hundred miles from the nearest beach.

Jennie's eyes darted back and forth in confusion, looking like she was desperately trying to think of who Jackson might be referring to. She shrugged and said she'd be back in a moment, returning with a tablet which took her a few minutes to switch on and find what she was looking for. In the meantime, I gulped down my soup before it got cold. I hadn't realized how starving I'd been before I started eating. It must have been almost twenty-four hours since I'd last had a proper meal.

"I've got photos of all my staff here, more or less," Jennie said as she showed the screen to Jackson. "This boy here is the only young lad we employ with blonde hair." From the other side of the table, I caught a glimpse of a young boy, probably not even twenty years old, with spiky bleached blonde hair.

Jackson shook his head. "Thanks anyway," he said, picking up his spoon again with a slight look of dejection of his face.

"Oh, I am sorry, dear," Jennie said. "Perhaps he worked for one of the caterers?" she said, shooting me a look.

"That was lovely," I said, pushing my empty bowl forward. "Delicious, actually."

Jennie beamed. "Can I get you some dessert, dear?"

I made a face. "That sounds lovely," I said a little unsurely. "But it will have to be something gluten-free for me, I'm afraid."

"That won't be a problem!" Jennie said cheerfully. "I've got just the thing!"

While she was gone, I turned back to Jackson. "Truthfully, I met everyone in the reception hall who was part of an outside catering team and none of them fit this man's description."

Jackson pushed his own empty bowl forward—I guessed he was hungrier than I'd thought as well—and slunk down in his seat a little. "It's okay," he said. "Maybe it’s a dead lead anyway." But he didn't sound so certain.

Jennie returned with two plates with a delightful little lemon dessert sitting proudly in the middle of each one with a dollop of cream on the side. We both thanked her and she made herself scarce for a moment before returning again with two lattes.

"Ah, you've read my mind," I said gratefully.

She gave me a little wink. "This time I really must leave you in peace. Enjoy."

"You know, Rachael, it's good to spend time with you again. Seems like a long time since we just sat and hung out like this," Jackson said while we both took in the pleasing aromas of the cake and coffee.

"Yeah, well, a lot has happened since then," I said as I dug into my dessert. Darn it. I had to admit, it was even better than mine, perfectly fluffy and moist but still with the denseness that a good lemon cake requires. But if Jackson dared to share that same opinion then I was going to have to kill him.

He took a bite and nodded appreciatively. "Not as good as yours, of course," he said quickly.

I laughed. "You don't need to say that. Well, you do. But even I have to admit this is pretty good. I might have to hire Jennie for the bakery."

"I doubt you'd be able to tear her away from this place," Jackson said, taking a sip of coffee as he admired the scenery.

"Hmm," I said, nodding in agreement. "I wouldn't give up life here, that's for sure."

We both turned quiet for a moment.

"If that man wasn't a guest, and he wasn't staff, then who was he?" I finally asked.

Jackson shook his head and set his coffee cup down. "I have no idea. Like I said, I'm not sure it's important."

"I'm surprised to hear you say that," I said bluntly. "A man, unaccounted for, at a murder scene? Of course he is important."

Jackson coughed loudly. "You're right. Of course he is. That's why I need you around, Rachael. To remind me and keep me on track while I'm a bit...well, a bit foggy-headed to be honest." He stuck his fork back into his cake, but he just played with it until it was a pile of crumbs.

"Come on," I said, standing up. "We've got to find out who this mysterious man is, and what he was doing at the wedding yesterday. That's got to be our first priority now."

Jackson frowned a little but followed me. We stopped at the foyer of the lodge and Jackson paid for our lunch and dessert, giving Jennie a hefty tip, which was twice as much as the meal had cost.

"Got any ideas of how we're going to find this man then?" Jackson asked. He pulled sunglasses on over his eyes even though it wasn't really bright enough to strictly require them.

"I know EXACTLY how we're going to find him," I said. "Come with me."

"
C
ome on
, Rachael. We don't really have time for social media now, do we?" Jackson asked with a sigh. "Can't you wait to check that until we're off duty tonight?"

I rolled my eyes and turned around, giving my laptop to him. We were back in the cabin and even though there was no Wi-Fi, at least up on the hill there was enough phone reception to be able to use my carrier as a hotspot.

"It's not for me," I said. "It's for you to check. I'd start with Facebook, but you might have to go wider."

"What are you talking about, Rachael?" He sat down on the bed and threw his hands up in the air. "Why do I need to check Facebook?"

I tapped on the back of the laptop screen. "Check the profiles of all your friends. Well, of anyone who attended the wedding yesterday. They would have uploaded photos of the 'big day'" I said, using air quotes. "Before they knew that it wasn't such a big day."

Jackson stared glumly at the screen. “I'm not sure I really want to see photos of yesterday," he said.

"You might not want to, but this is police work. You need to go through every photo... If this man was skulking around, he'll have to turn up in at least one of them."

Jackson looked up at me, his face a little brighter. "You're right. At least, I hope you are," he said, his fingers suddenly moving rapidly over the keys. "Let's just hope all our guests are as addicted to social media as I always say they are." He looked up at me gratefully. "This is a really good idea, Rach."

I smiled and came to sit besides him on the bed so that I could search through the photos with him.

One guest in particular, one of Jackson's own cousins, a girl called Sally, had taken and uploaded about three hundred photos and thankfully, not deleted the album yet, as I was sure some other people would have been inclined to do after everything that had happened.

One by one, Jackson flicked through the photos, quickly skipping past any that showed his bleary-eyed expression as he waited for his bride. I did notice him turn a light shade of crimson, though.

He shook his head. "All of these photos and not a single of our suspect," he said with a sigh.

"Keep going," I said. "There's still two hundred to go."

I groaned as one of myself, in my bright pink shirt, popped up onto the screen. "What are you whispering to Pippa?" Jackson asked as he lingered on the photo for a moment.

I cringed as I remembered. It was probably one of my hopeful declarations that Emma wasn't going to turn up to the wedding. "I can't remember," I said quickly. But I pointed to the guests sitting besides us. "See?" I said. "Aunt Cassie and Dylan really were sitting together in the chapel."

Jackson frowned. "So they were," he murmured. "I still can't believe it though, even seeing it with my own eyes."

He went back to flicking through the photos. "Woah, slow down there," I cautioned him. "You might miss something."

"Rachael, I know how to look for evidence."

"Well, you just flicked right past a group photo of about fifty people. Did you really have time in that split second to check every face?" I asked.

Reluctantly, he pressed the back arrow and went back a couple of photos till he reached the one I was talking about. It was ostensibly of the bridesmaids as they'd arrived on the back steps of the chapel, but there were at least two dozen other people in shot.

"There!" I said, pressing my finger into the screen onto the face of a man who matched Jackson's description. Tall, well-built, wavy dirty blonde hair. "Huh," I said, leaning back a little. "He does look a bit like a surfer."

Jackson looked grim as he leaned in towards the screen. "That's definitely him," he said in a low voice.

"And you definitely don't recognize him? He definitely wasn't on the guest list?" I asked.

Jackson shook his head. "We had a small guest list. That's why the inclusion of Dylan on it was such a big deal. This guy... He's not related to either of us, and he's definitely not a friend of mine."

We kept flicking through the photos until we came to one that showed the man's face in slightly higher definition. "I suppose that will have to do," Jackson said, saving the photo to print out later. "Good work, Rach."

"It was nothing," I said with a little shrug. "Now what?"

"Back to Belldale," he replied.

* * *

"
T
hank goodness you're back
," Pippa said before I'd even fully gotten my foot through the front door.

I stuck my head around to check the sofa. "Where's Marcello?"

"Exactly," Pippa said with her hands on her hips. "Your guess is as good as mine. He was out late last night as well, and he didn't give me any good explanation for that, either." She shook her head and gritted her teeth. "He'll be lucky if I even let him in the door when he finally shows his face."

I slunk down into the couch. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation," I said, too tired to have this conversation but trying to be a good friend. "Has he got a new job?"

Pippa scoffed. "Of course not. He can't hold any job for longer than two days."

That was because he'd burn the place down. I still had the char on the walls of my bakery as proof of that.

Pippa sat beside me. It wasn't like her to cry but there were tears in her eyes. "Oh, why did I ever marry the guy, Rachael?" she asked in distress.

"Hey, Pips, you can't think like that!" I said, startled by just how upset she was. "You and Marcello are totally in love, right?"

"That's what I thought," she said, burying her head in her hands as she started to sob. "So then why is he cheating on me?"

I rubbed her back a little. "I'm sure he's not." I said it as reassuringly as I could, and I really did believe it as I said it. But then again, you never know with people, do you? Jackson probably thought he and Emma were solid as a rock. After all, he was standing at the front of the chapel about to marry her, wasn't he? And she shocked him. That's what people do: they shock us.

Pippa finally brought her head up and blew her nose. "So what's happening with you and Jackson?"

"What?" I asked. "Nothing. Nothing is happening," I said quickly.

"I mean with the case. What have you been doing all day?"

"Oh. Right." I quickly filled her in, hoping it would take her mind off her other worries.

Pippa took it all in and thought for a moment. "So it was either this cousin guy, Dylan, or this surfer dude who was skulking around?"

I nodded slowly. "Or..." I said.

"Or who?" Pippa asked. "Well? Are you going to spit it out?"

"Emma," I said, saying the thing I hadn't dared to say to Jackson.

Pippa just shook her head. "You're still working that angle? Rachael! You've spent a day gathering evidence with a real detective for once."

"Thanks," I cut in.

"You know what I mean. Did Jackson ever mention Emma as a suspect?"

"No," I had to admit. "But he wouldn't, would he? He's too close to it."

"You're too close to it," Pippa shot back, giving me a look. "Don't go telling Jackson that you suspect Emma based on no evidence."

"Apart from the evidence that she was the only one outside when Aunt Cassie died and now she's disappeared," I said indignantly.

"Based on no real evidence," Pippa continued. "Or Jackson isn't going to want to keep you on the case. And I get the feeling you're enjoying yourself."

I shifted a little uncomfortably. "Maybe a little," I said.

"Maybe a lot."

"It's just nice doing real actual detective work," I said. "With a real detective, as you pointed out. It's nothing more than that."

"Sure," Pippa said, leaning back against the sofa. "At least someone in this house is experiencing the hope of romance."

I hit her gently with a sofa cushion.
"Hey. There's no hope of romance with Jackson and I. I gave up on that hope a long time ago."

But had I? I had to admit that I was enjoying spending time with Jackson more than I probably should have.

I leaned against the sofa in silence as well.
Come on, Rachael, yesterday was his wedding day. He could have been married by now if Aunt Cassie hadn't been killed.

Maybe I was only seeing what I wanted to see. Maybe that look I'd seen in Jackson's eyes before the ceremony had all been in my head. Maybe Emma was only in hiding because she was in shock. Or maybe she'd been hurt. There was always more than one explanation for things. And there was always another explanation for things that didn't perfectly align with the fantasy version in my head.

"I really need some sleep," I said to Pippa. "Don't wait up too late for him."

When I got back to my room, I pulled out my computer. Jackson's log-in details were still saved in Facebook. I froze for a second and stared at the screen.

Then I quickly went to sign out. There was no way I was going to snoop or check his messages or anything like that.

But before I signed out, I hovered over the photo of the surfer dude. I zoomed in so that everyone else was cropped out of the group photo, and it was just his face with his wavy dirty blonde hair and the tie around his collar on the screen.

Who the heck are you?
I wondered. I knew we had to find out.

Marcello didn't come home that night.