A Crusty Murder (7 page)

Answering my question with one of his own, he asked, “What was your gran doing down there? It’s not the best neighborhood.”

“She’d had to take a detour in order to get home,” I remarked. “When she stopped at the traffic light, she saw you.”

“Ah.” Aidan grinned, that gorgeous way he had. He fairly oozed charm and sexuality. I heard BettyJo’s sharp intake of breath. He’d won her over with a single smile. Crap. “I’m in the alcohol business, lass, and in search of American distributors. This is the first city on my list of possible places where I’d like to see my beer sold.”

“That mystery is solved, then. I’ll be sure to let Seanmhair know.” Relieved at the fact there was nothing nefarious to be found at his being on Allens Avenue, I added, “As far as Seanmhair’s safety goes, I’ve insisted she not dawdle in that area of the city.”

Aidan’s laughter was lovely. It soothed my wandering thoughts. “Is there anything else you’d like to know about me, lass?”

I shook my head. This man was smooth, educated, canny, and oh, so handsomely sexy. Him without clothes, um . . . I shook my head and thrust away the thought. My instincts warned me not to trust so readily, not Aidan, nor anyone else, until the murderer was apprehended.

I rose and thanked BettyJo once again for sharing her shop before her clients arrived. When I wondered aloud if she needed help straightening the room, Aidan quickly offered his services.

“I’ll help BettyJo. You need not worry. Go along and take care of your matters. I know you must return that mysterious call,” Aidan assured me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

BettyJo grinned and said, “I cancelled my customers for tonight, just in case the meeting ran longer than we expected. I guess it’s a good thing I did.”

With a smile in BettyJo’s direction, I left them and returned to the bakery. I made my way to the apartment above the bakery and tossed my jacket aside, kicked off my shoes, and took a deep breath. When I’d released the air in my lungs, I felt infinitely more relaxed than I had all day.

I sank down onto the sofa and called Seanmhair. Her phone rang twice before she answered.

“I was wondering if you’d call,” Seanmhair said softly, her exhaustion apparent. “Are you home now?”

“I am,” I said. “I didn’t want it known you were on the phone. If I’d been alone with BettyJo, I wouldn’t have minded. With Aidan in close proximity, I figured I’d keep your call to myself. So spill it, what’s so important that I need to know?”

“Before you arrived at BettyJo’s tonight, two of the renters came in. They didn’t see me. I was in the front room of the shop,” Seanmhair said in a conspiratorial manner. “They talked about the murder and how Mrs. Peterson coerced them into increased rental fees.”

“Did you recognize them or their voices once we all assembled and started speaking?” I wondered if Seanmhair had tucked her body behind the room dividers in order to listen.

“It was that cupcake woman and snotty Sondra,” Seanmhair remarked.

I chortled at her reference to Sondra Greenfield. The cupcake woman, huh? I couldn’t imagine Helena Bentwood and snotty Sondra as confidants or friends of any sort. Intrigued by the thought of their conversation, I told Seanmhair not to indulge in name calling and begged her to go on.

Ignoring my reprimand, she continued, “Snotty Sondra said she figured you and BettyJo had more reason to kill Mrs. Peterson, than the rest of them, because you two make a heap more money than everyone else.” Seanmhair clucked her tongue a few times in annoyance. Warming to her subject, she kept me enthralled with the gossip. “As if we make tons of profit. Hah. Anyway, the cupcake woman said she’d heard you and Mrs. Peterson were battling over a rent increase and that threats were made by both of you. She said she wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Peterson was dead, and that you’d likely killed her because she was a miserable biddy.”

I gasped and uttered, “How did Sondra respond?”

“Sondra merely sniffed and said she didn’t think it was you. She’d seen somebody hanging about the parking area earlier in the evening. They stayed in the shadows. She claimed it was too dark to see who it was. They didn’t say anymore because several others arrived.”

I twirled a wisp of my hair while listening to Seanmhair. The images she’d conjured came to the forefront. I wondered who’d have waited in the dark and why. Surely it hadn’t been Aidan. My heart sank at the idea.

Seanmhair asked, “Are you still there, Melina?”

“Yes, yes, I’m thinking. I saw Aidan hovering there last night. Could it have been him that Sondra saw? Why would he lurk about so?”

“I don’t know,” Seanmhair said on a yawn.

“Get some rest, and don’t come in early tomorrow. Sleep in, if you can,” I said.

“G’night,” Seanmhair mumbled and then she hung up.

If I hadn’t had enough on my mind, I was now bogged down for sure. Worried I’d been lax in observing my fellow renters, I appreciated Seanmhair’s attempt to be my eyes and ears. I was certain she’d have more to say in the morning.

I donned a huge white apron and headed downstairs to work the dough for the morning’s bread. Thoughts ran rampant as I produced five types of bread dough, several roll recipes, and basic muffin mixes. I’d add the final muffin ingredients before sliding them into the oven the next day.

Business boomed, bread and rolls flew out the door. The variety of muffins dwindled just as quickly. At nine in the morning, Seanmhair scooted through the door. Thank God for small miracles. I’d been handling the kitchen and the customers nonstop since I’d opened the shop at seven.

“Sorry I’m late. You did say to sleep in, though,” Seanmhair said as she hung her coat in the office.

“You look refreshed,” I said with a grin and handed her the logo embroidered apron she wore while in the bakery. “Now, help me out, missy,” I said as the door chime sounded.

“You betcha.” Seanmhair pushed through the connecting door and greeted the customers with her usual mantra of, “Mornin’, how can I help you?”

By three o’clock, my energy had wound down to a definite crawl. My head ached, I couldn’t think straight, and above all, my hopes of a relationship with Aidan had fallen on rocky slopes. Crap.

As I closed down the shop and listened to Seanmhair talking about her upcoming card game, BettyJo rushed into the kitchen.

“Oh, my God, there’s been another death. Come quickly,” she said in an agitated tone.

The bakery’s front door was locked and the closed sign hung in the window. A few loaves of bread and several muffins were wrapped and ready for drop-off. I’d just pushed the connecting door open and stood stock still at BettyJo’s words. What the hell?

“You’ve got to be joking,” I snapped.

“No joke, honest,” BettyJo assured me as she jittered in place. “Sondra is deader than a doornail. I went to her shop to check out her sale and there she was, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck, a muffin sticking out of her mouth, and her eyes bulging like a bullfrog. Made me nauseous. I called the cops and came right over here.” She beckoned me with her hand.

Numb with shock and fear, I flung my apron on the table and hurried after her as the sound of sirens drew closer and then stopped abruptly.

Detective Graham, a rescue truck, the crime scene collection crew, and a couple of cops arrived just as BettyJo and I did. Graham peered at me, shook his head a bit, and addressed BettyJo.

“You called in the crime?” he asked, slipping his notebook from his pocket.

“I-I did,” BettyJo stammered.

His eyes flicked toward me and Graham asked what I was doing there.

Not to be accused of murder, I said, “BettyJo asked me to come over. I just closed the shop.”

“Right, can you prove that?” he wanted to know.

“Uh, sure. Seanmhair will attest to that and Mr. Weinberg was my last costumer,” I checked my watch, “about ten minutes ago.”

“All right. I’ll speak with them later,” Graham assured me. “I’ll look at the scene. You two stay here, understand? Did you touch anything, Ms. Seever?”

“No, I saw her color and the muf . . .” BettyJo clamped her lips closed and shook her head.

Detective Graham stepped closer to BettyJo, his eyes cool, his face determined. “The what?” he asked.

“Sh-she h-has something stuffed in her mouth.” BettyJo glanced at me and then admitted it looked like a muffin.

Hell and damnation, why did somebody have to drag me into another murder? One wasn’t enough?

He turned his eyes to me, holding my own like a pinned butterfly on display. My blood ran cold, I started to tremble, and hefted a deep sigh.

“Before you ask, the answer is emphatically
no
. I didn’t kill Sondra and had no reason to. She was a fellow tenant. I had little to do with her other than an occasional purchase from her shop. Now, go do your job, Detective.”

He harrumphed at my answer.

I paced the sidewalk as he entered the building. I saw him close the front door of Sondra’s store and continued to pace like a woman ready to run a marathon.

The crime scene techs left, the rescuers had bundled the body into a black bag, and zipped it closed before they left. Police officers followed and only Graham remained. He talked on his cell phone, ended the call, and motioned BettyJo and me inside.

“Did you enter through the front or rear entry?” Graham asked BettyJo.

“I’d been out for a walk and saw the sale sign in the window, so I came in through the front door,” BettyJo answered. “I saw her there, on the floor.” Pointing with a shaky finger to the spot where the crime scene crew had taped an outline of Sondra’s body position, BettyJo gazed at Graham. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her body shook. The woman was in shock.

I placed my arm around her shoulders, gave her a squeeze, and murmured, “Now, now, take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You’ve done well to this point, don’t fall apart on us.”

Her tension lessened as she drew in a couple of deep breaths and let them out. The tears stopped. BettyJo brushed a hand across her face and sniffed.

“Thanks, Melina,” she said with a tremulous smile.

“Melina, did Ms. Greenfield have any enemies that you’re aware of?” Graham asked.

“As I said, we weren’t friends, so I’m afraid I can’t answer that.” I turned toward BettyJo. “You knew her fairly well, didn’t you?”

“She and I talked on occasion, but to say we were friends, well, we weren’t,” BettyJo admitted. “Sondra was a snob, a sophisticated woman, who thought she was better than the rest of us. The only reason she spoke to me at all was due to the fact that I shopped here.”

Detective Graham nodded. “I see.” He gave the shop the once over and then turned back to us. “You can go now, but I’ll be back after the medical examiner makes a final decision on Ms. Greenfield’s death.” Tucking the notepad out of sight, Graham started to walk away. He stopped, turned to me, and asked, “Do you have any muffins left? You do make them daily?”

“Y-yes, I have a few left from today’s menu. I was going to take them to the homeless shelter when this came up. Why?”

Detective Graham smiled. “I’m starving. No breakfast, no lunch, and probably no dinner, either. Could I cadge one off you before you give them away?”

Not completely trusting the man, I gave him a nod. The three of us left the shop by way of the back door after Detective Graham secured the shop, and placed the
sign in the window to the closed position.

We traipsed along the railed walk that went the length of the building. I noticed whose cars were parked in the lot and which ones were absent. Helena’s car sat next to Mutt and Mack’s cars. George Carly and Kristina Papien’s vehicles were also present. Seanmhair’s car was parked at the end of the row, beside mine and BettyJo’s. The only person missing was Charlie Franklin. I flicked a quick glance toward Graham and saw him study the cars, as well.

“Is everyone about today, Melina?” Detective Graham asked.

“Charlie Franklin isn’t here. Otherwise, we’re all present.”

“Mmm, thanks,” he replied.

We entered the bakery kitchen. Seanmhair stood at the ready, her spring coat on and buttoned, her handbag dangling from the crook of her elbow.

“What’s the story?” Seanmhair asked.

Detective Graham acknowledged my grandmother with a slight nod and waited for my answer. I explained the situation as briefly as possible.

“Well, isn’t that just ducky?” Seanmhair glanced at each of us in turn.

I took the bag of muffins, BettyJo set the kettle to boil, and I informed Seanmhair we were going to feed Detective Graham. In a mere second, Seanmhair removed her coat, set a serving dish and mug on the table and went in search of butter and eating utensils. I smiled at her sudden turn from running off to her card game to playing hostess.

“You sit right there, and we’ll get you straightened away,” Seanmhair instructed Graham.

He smiled, pleased by her fussing, and settled into the folding chair she’d put out for him.

“Did you happen to see anyone suspicious near Ms. Greenfield’s shop today, Seanmhair?” he asked.

I hid my grin at Graham’s use of her name and glanced at BettyJo, who did the same. Seanmhair, on the other hand, warmed to the man as though he wasn’t a wolf howling at the door.

“I came in around nine this morning and was here all day, so no, I didn’t,” Seanmhair answered. “Snotty Sondra’s shop is farther down the street. We can’t see who enters and leaves her business.”

His eyebrows hiked a tad and Graham smirked. “Snotty Sondra?”

Seanmhair snickered. Undaunted by the fact she was conversing with a policeman, a detective no less, she continued, “Not to speak ill of the dead,” Seanmhair made the sign of the cross on her chest, “the woman was a snob. A snotty snob.”

Detective Graham chuckled softly and thanked me as I set a plate of muffins in front of him, followed by a cup of steaming Earl Grey. “Blueberry, cranberry nut, and lemon poppy seed are the muffin choices you have,” I said. “Which one do you want to take and use for evidence, Detective?”

“Mmm, none of them. They look delicious. I meant what I said earlier, about not having eaten today. Things at the station have kept me running. I haven’t had a break, until now. Join me, ladies, won’t you?”