Yarn to Go (20 page)

Still, the concept of Paris and cooking school was tantalizing. Maybe I could pack up the things of hers I most wanted. And do what with them? I sighed as I looked around the room. All this had become quite a responsibility. Not my strong suit. Maybe Kevin St. John’s offer was a blessing in disguise.

I loaded the baking stuff into my yellow Mini Cooper and drove the short distance to the main drag. It was a relief to have nothing to worry about for a while but getting the eggs to room temperature.

The Blue Door had just closed, and the last stragglers were paying their checks and leaving. Tag brightened when he saw me and I explained my mission. To look at his perfectly combed brown hair and shirt without a wrinkle, no one would guess he’d just put in a full day handling the restaurant. But that was Tag, meticulous about everything. The only thing that stood out about him was that he had almost too much hair for a man his age and there wasn’t a hint of gray.

“There will be some of Casey’s fabulous desserts for tomorrow night,” he said to a couple heading toward the door. They stopped and gave me an appreciative nod.

I sat down at one of the tables while the waitstaff finished clearing and setting up for the next day. The cook and his assistant were finishing up. Shortly afterward they grabbed their backpacks and said good night before leaving. I looked out the window over the street. There was a light drizzle falling, and the pavement had a sheen. The movie theater had just let out, and people were heading to their cars. No one had an umbrella. It had to be a real downpour for Cadburians to pull one out.

I watched the
open
sign go off on the café across the street. Cadbury by the Sea was an early town, even on Saturday night.

I didn’t think Lucinda had told Tag I might be leaving. He seemed too calm. Tag didn’t deal well with change. He had taken a while to adjust to my baking at night and would probably take just as long to get used to me not being there. The only thing I said to him when he left was good night.

Finally, I had the place to myself and turned on the radio to a moody jazz station. I began to lay out the ingredients for the pound cakes and then got lost in baking. The rhythm of the stand mixer was soothing as it turned the ingredients into batter. Every now and then I glanced out at the street, which was empty except for an occasional car. I was ready to pour the batter into the tube pans when I heard the glass on the front door rattle. I turned down the radio and listened. Someone was jiggling the door knob.

The door was locked, right? I remembered with a queasy stomach that Tag had said to lock up after him, and now I realized that I hadn’t.

25

I GRABBED MY PHONE AND PUNCHED IN 911 WHILE
I tried to peek out of the kitchen to see what was going on without being seen. The porch was dark, but I could make out something moving. There was definitely somebody out there, though they seemed shrouded in something dark, like a hoodie. I saw the door handle turning and had the sinking feeling that even if I hit the call button on my phone now, the cops wouldn’t get there in time.

I was on my own.

I looked around the kitchen with the idea of arming myself. Tag’s favorite perfectly seasoned cast-iron skillet was sitting on the stove. It was certainly heavy enough to do some damage, but it was also heavy to hold. Even so, I grabbed it with both hands.

I lifted it high and stepped into the dining room, ready to defend the restaurant. At the same moment, the door flew open and I saw the hooded figure had a gun. I made a move to strike and he yelled something, but I didn’t hear it. The adrenaline was pumping, and I was like a crazed warrior.

The frying pan came down with a whoosh and knocked the gun out of the assailant’s hands. Now what? Should I make a grab for the gun and then hold it on him while I called the cops? I didn’t know anything about guns, but I certainly could figure out which end to point at him. All this thinking happened in a split second, and I dove for the gun, but he was faster and grabbed my hand and pulled it back, while he retrieved the weapon.

I tried to make a move with the skillet, but he kicked it out of my hand. He dragged me back to standing as he straightened and then flipped off the hood.

Dane?

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. His voice sounded strained, and I realized adrenaline had been pumping for him, too. And I thought cops were so cool that nothing fazed them. “And what’s with the frying pan? You could have made the gun go off.” He picked up the heavy utensil and laid it on the counter by the cash register.

“The real question is, what are you doing here waving a gun around? I work here, remember?” I said.

“I wasn’t waving my gun around, at least not until you went crazy with the frying pan. And you weren’t supposed to be working this weekend.”

We both stopped and took a few deep breaths and let the adrenaline level drop for both of us.

“I know because the whole town has been grumbling about being muffinless for the past few days,” he said, finally cracking a smile on his angular face.

“Tag Thornkill was upset about serving store-bought ice cream, and I came in as sort of an emergency cake situation.” I looked toward the kitchen and thought of the half-filled tube pan. “Aren’t you off duty?” I gestured toward the jeans, black T-shirt and black hoodie. I didn’t mean to notice, but he could sure wear a pair of jeans, and when he took off the sweat jacket, the sleeves of the T-shirt strained against his arm muscles. I know it wasn’t fair, but I compared his body with Dr. Sammy’s. Sammy had him on height by a few inches, but let’s just say the sleeves on Sammy’s polo shirts (he never wore T-shirts unless you counted the white undershirts he often wore) never had any problem getting around his biceps.

“I’m never off duty, completely. I was going by in the truck and I saw something moving up here and figured someone was robbing the place.” Dane had assumed a cocky sort of stance. I had the feeling a quarter would bounce off his abs. Any money dropped on Sammy’s midsection was likely to disappear. But there was a certain cuddly quality in Sammy’s panda bear build.

While I was busy sizing up his outfit and body, he went on to explain that he’d been on his way out of town, making a grocery run to the twenty-four-hour market in Monterey.

“I thought you were tied up with your people in the studio.” I blushed when I realized what I’d said. Did they really do stuff like that? Tie each other up and make interesting uses of his handcuffs? Ewww.

Dane seemed unconcerned with my comment. “We broke up early tonight. Though I think some of them were going to continue on their own. All the action made everyone hungry, and they cleaned out my place before they left. I don’t know what it is with those people and chocolate syrup—”

“What about Chloe?” I said. I didn’t really want to hear the rest of the chocolate syrup story.

“She left a long time ago. She’s not into group stuff.”

“I don’t really need all the details,” I said quickly. It was hard for me to keep my “ewww” silent. “Now that everything is straightened out,” I said, looking toward the kitchen, “I need to finish.” I expected him to put the hoodie back on and leave, but instead he dropped the sweat jacket on a chair and followed me.

“Mind if I watch?” He looked to me for an okay. I wasn’t used to having an audience, but then again I might get some information on how the investigation was going. And I wanted to ask him about something.

Before we were even in the kitchen, he brought up the broken glasses. “I’ll replace them,” I said. “I’ll get you a whole new set.” He asked again why I was concerned about my fingerprints being collected, and I gave him a helpless shrug as an answer. I don’t think he was happy with my response, but he seemed to understand that was as much of an answer as he was going to get.

I finished pouring the rest of the batter in the tube pans, while he replaced the cast-iron skillet on the stove.

“There really isn’t much to watch,” I said. I checked the oven thermometer and then slid the pans in. He grabbed the timer, and when I told him how long, set it.

“What about muffins?” he asked.

“The ingredients are in there,” I said, pointing to the reusable grocery bag on the counter. Before I could make a move, he was unloading everything.

He looked at the cocoa and chocolate chips and licked his lips. “Are you making Heal the World with Chocolate? My favorite.” By now the baking pound cakes filled the air with their sweet buttery fragrance, and Dane took a deep breath and sighed with pleasure. “What a great smell.”

As I began to mix the ingredients for the muffins, I brought up the other car accident I’d read about in the newspaper article, the one that happened the same day as my aunt’s hit-and-run. “What do you think? Could that have been how you missed finding the car that hit her?” I said.

He appeared a little stunned by the abrupt transition but then clicked into cop mode and seemed uncomfortable. “Uh, this is awkward,” he said. “We should have checked for any other accidents.” He apologized and said he’d make sure they tracked down the car from that accident at the Sandwich King. He caught my gaze. “I know you’re still upset about your aunt’s accident, but you need to let go.”

“But what if it wasn’t an accident?” I said.

Dane seemed doubtful. “Who could possibly have wanted to kill your aunt?” There was a moment of uneasy silence before he changed the subject and asked what I was doing.

I poured the liquid ingredients into the dry ones and explained that with muffins you stirred just enough to barely blend them. When I glanced up at Dane, he was watching me with interest. I suppose his square-jawed face might look stubborn, but his dark eyes seemed to connect, and he had a nice mouth. Why was I looking at his mouth, anyway? This was Mr. Party Hardy. Off-limits, not interested. Maybe his mouth wasn’t so special after all. Maybe it was just a regulation set of lips.

Dane helped by lining the muffin pan with paper inserts. I spooned the batter in all the cups and put them into an oven separate from the one baking the cakes.

Dane offered to help me with the cleanup.

“Really?” I said.

“Really. You’ve had kind of a tough weekend. It’s the neighborly thing to do.” I filled a sink with hot soapy water, and he rounded up the bowls and utensils. “So then were those people your parents?” he asked as I began to wash and he handled the rinsing and setting on the counter.

“I bet it took a lot of cop skills to figure that out.”

“Yeah, lots of investigation. Your mother looks just like you.”

“But that’s where the resemblance ends.” I told him both my parents were doctors and were less than thrilled with my careers choices.

“Why? What else have you done?” he asked. Why hide anything? Besides, I was leaving. I gave him the whole rundown of my assorted professions.

He blinked a few times as I went through the list. “It sounds like you have certainly sown your wild oats in the career department.”

“Maybe it’s not in the past tense,” I said.

“What does that mean?” Dane took the soapy spatula from my hand and ran it under the water.

I told him about my parents’ offer.

“It must be nice to have parents who care like that,” he said. When I asked about his family, he just shrugged it off. “So then this is just another thing you’re dropping and moving on from?”

“I’m not dropping anything. I’d be going to school to become a professional.”

“Really?” he said. “I thought the definition for professional was that you got paid for it.” He gestured toward the ovens. “Unless I’m mistaken, the dessert and muffin money is how you’re supporting yourself.”

“Maybe you’re right. I am sort of already a professional. But why stay? My aunt had friends here and she had built up the retreat business. I just put on this one because I couldn’t refund everyone’s money. And there was a murder in the middle of it. What kind of retreat leader am I? I barely know how to knit.” I could feel him watching me, and my eyes started to flash. “I know what you’re thinking. Go on and say it. I don’t finish things.”

“We finished washing up the dishes,” he said, trying to lighten the moment. I paused to see if he was going to leave, but he made no move to go.

“So, that guy. Is he your boyfriend?” Dane pulled out a drawer and replaced the clean utensils.

“Yes, no. He was, but he isn’t anymore,” I said, feeling uncomfortable talking about Sammy. I didn’t want to talk about my personal life anymore. It was much easier to talk about the murder investigation. “Do you think that Lieutenant Borgnine will have it wrapped up by tomorrow?” I asked.

“You do know about the tip he got,” Dane said.

I nodded and then asked who it had come from. When he said an anonymous source, I asked if it was a man or woman. “All Lieutenant Borgnine said was that it was an anonymous source.”

“Lieutenant Borgnine isn’t really going to arrest Olivia Golden?”

Dane looked away. “I can’t really say. All I can tell you is that the lieutenant isn’t doing anything until he has some hard evidence that ties her to the murder.”

“Like maybe when she smothered Edie, she got some throw up on her clothes?” I offered. He nodded in a noncommittal manner. “Maybe you should have a look at some other people’s clothes. You know that Kevin St. John wasn’t exactly a fan of Edie’s. He seemed perturbed when she asked about his social life. I bet he knew about Olivia’s sleeping pills. I don’t think anything gets past him. You do know that he served the wine that night?”

Dane put his hand up to stop me. “Kevin St. John a murderer? I don’t think so.”

“Wait, there’s more.” I told him how the hotel manager wanted to make sure he got to handle the retreat business in the future. I had even figured out why. The Delacorte sisters had made a very favorable deal with my aunt on the price of the rooms and the meeting space, so she could keep the cost of the retreats reasonable. “If Kevin St. John takes over the retreats, he can jack up the prices.”

Dane nodded and said something like “interesting.” I thought he was just humoring me.

“You ought to tell Lieutenant Borgnine to question someone named Michael who is staying at Vista Del Mar. He had something going on with the victim.”

“Seriously?” Dane said. “I don’t think the lieutenant would take the suggestion well.” The timer for the cakes went off and Dane helped me pull out the tube pans and set them on racks to cool.

“Remember how you asked who would want to kill my aunt? Maybe it was all about a way for Kevin St. John to get the retreats back. And then when I showed up, he started to worry I was going to take over her business. Having a murder during my first weekend wouldn’t earn me a gold star with the Delacorte sisters. I’m sure he wasted no time in telling them about it and made it look like it was my fault, hoping they would cancel the deal they made with my aunt.”

Dane seemed unconvinced. “Everyone in town knows he thinks of himself as the lord of Vista Del Mar, and he is certainly protective of the place. But murdering somebody to make you look bad? I think you might just be a little paranoid.” He watched as I took the muffin tins out and set them on racks to cool. “But I will mention it to Lieutenant Borgnine,” he said.

By now I was able to take the pound cakes out of their pans. I did some final cleanup until the cakes were cool enough to decorate.

Dane watched as I laid the doily on one of the cakes and used a sifter to sprinkle powdered sugar over the top. When I lifted the doily, there was a lovely lacy white pattern. I finished with the other cakes and then packed up the muffins to go. I thanked Dane for his help and handed him his own bag of muffins.

He waited until I locked up the restaurant, and we paused for a moment on the sidewalk in front of it. The main street was deserted, and the stop light flashed red for no one. By now the drizzle had lightened into mist. I wondered if Dane had paid much attention to my comments about Kevin St. John or merely attributed them to me being overwrought and tired.