Bun for Your Life (5 page)

Olivia's enthusiasm was catching. At least it gave me something to think about other than Calista's death. I smiled at her. “Okay, count me in. I'll give you your money Saturday at the auction. Maybe I'll meet someone decent.”

“Yeah, your last guy was a winner.”

Now it was my turn to do an eye roll as I remembered my last date. The guy didn't take his baseball cap off until the maître d' asked him to (I wanted to give him a standing ovation), he regaled me with a story of his upcoming hemorrhoid surgery, then conveniently didn't have his wallet with him. To top it off, he had the audacity to complain about the high tip I left our server. On
my
credit card, mind you.

“I'm heading home to pack. If you think you'll be okay, I won't bother coming in later,” I told her.

“I'll be fine. Make sure your phone is on. If you can even find it. I'll call you later about the auction. Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. I'll look for my phone.”

“You really should, Molly. What if you're out and you need to call for help? When was the last time you saw a phone booth anywhere?”

“I know. You're right. I'll find it.”

“Uh-huh. I'll believe it when I see it.”

I turned in time to see another customer come through the door. It was the guy who came in the day of the Apple Harvest Fair. Same sunglasses, but today he was decked out in tan pants, a navy blue blazer, and a light blue shirt. No tie. My eyes went to his shoes. Wingtip tassel loafers. Not bad.

“Hi. You're back,” I said, smiling at him. “You must have liked our coffee. What can we get you today?”

“I'll take care of it,” Olivia piped up. “Go, go. You have packing to do.” She turned her attention to the man, giving him a thousand-watt smile. “So, did you enjoy the Apple Harvest Fair?”

He pulled off his sunglasses. “I'm not here for coffee. I'm here to see Molly Tyler and Olivia Williams.”

Olivia's smile dimmed a couple of watts at his brusqueness. “I'm Olivia. This is my partner, Molly. We own Bread and Batter.”

He pulled out a slim wallet from his jacket and flipped it open. “Detective Sean Corsino. I need to talk to both of you about Calista Danforth-Brody's murder.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“Calista's murder?” squeaked Olivia.

“Can you close shop for a few minutes,” he replied.

His request was delivered as an order; there was no hint of a question mark anywhere in that sentence. Olivia and I exchanged glances. I knew we were thinking the same things.
Detective who?
Followed by
Why does a detective want to talk to us about Calista's murder?

Olivia moved to the window and flipped the sign over to CLOSED.

“How long is this going to take? Can I put a note on the glass that we'll be back in fifteen minutes?” I asked.

“I think that's a good idea, Detective Corsino,” Olivia agreed. “We don't want people thinking we're closed all day. We get a lot of tourists this time of year. They love to see the fall colors around the lake, then come to the shops in town.”

He sighed, as if he were dealing with two recalcitrant children. “Go ahead.”

I went behind the counter, scribbled the note, then taped it to the glass. My stomach was in a turmoil and my heart was beating a little too hard. I'm not sure why; it's not like I had anything to hide. I certainly hadn't killed Calista. I was reasonably sure Olivia hadn't, either.

I forgot all about wanting to go home to begin packing. Being questioned about a murder tends to push every other thought out of your mind, you know. Up until now, my only dealings with detectives came from watching
Law & Order
in bed while working on a bowl of cookie dough ice cream. “Our office is in the back. We can sit down.”

He nodded, tucking his badge away. “Lead the way.”

The three of us made our way to the tiny office Olivia and I shared. Detective Corsino immediately sat behind our antique desk, which didn't win him any points with me, leaving Olivia and me to share a recently reupholstered armchair that was made for one. I supposed he was trying to establish his authority in case Olivia and I were plotting to stage a mutiny. I let her sit. I was too nervous.

The detective leaned back in his chair—excuse me,
our
chair—lacing his hands behind his head. He seemed to be giving his jaws a good workout on a piece of gum, which sounds like gun, which made me wonder if he had one. That made me all the more nervous. I tried to remember a breathing relaxation technique I'd learned from the three yoga classes I'd taken at Lola's. I drew a blank.

“Did you know Calista Danforth-Brody well?” he barked suddenly, making me jump.

“Everyone knows Calista. Knew Calista,” I corrected, trying to ignore the lump of sadness forming in my throat. “Her family has been here since the area was settled. Her orchard is very well known. Especially now, because of the Calista Sugar Pink apple she discovered. I'm still in shock that she's dead. It doesn't make any sense. Why would someone kill her?
Who killed her?”

“Were you good friends?” he countered, ignoring my inquiries.

“I wouldn't say that,” I replied. “She was almost thirty years older than Olivia and me, which you must know already. We were in the same book club and we talked to each other, usually civilly, but we weren't BFFs.”

He frowned. “BF whats?”

“Best friends forever. BFFs. We didn't hang out together on a regular basis, in other words. We knew about each other's lives since we both grew up here. She knew about my divorce, and that I still have feelings for my ex-husband, sometimes.” I didn't mean for that to slip out, and hurried on.

“I knew her husband died, about her feud with Trey Hamilton, that she had been dating him until recently, then she started dating Blake Ellsworth. But everyone knows these things.”

“This isn't a huge town, detective,” Olivia added. “Most of us know things about each other, even if we aren't good friends.”

“I think you can safely assume neither of us killed her, so who did? Do you have any idea yet?” I asked Detective Corsino again, trying to get him to share something with us.

“I've got lots of ideas,” he replied.

None that he was sharing with me, that much was clear.

He stared at us again for what seemed like minutes, but in reality, was probably mere seconds. “She was strangled to death with a Bread and Batter Bakery T-shirt.”

“What?” Olivia and I squawked together.

I sat down hard on the arm of the chair at the same time that Olivia jumped up, turning pale. I'm sure I was paler, too. I was too stunned to speak. Calista strangled with one of our T-shirts? The thought made me ill. The image forming in my mind of Calista, with one of our T-shirts tightening around her neck as she frantically clawed at it, unable to breathe, made me nauseous. Could it be the very one she took the day of the Apple Harvest Fair? My eyes filled with tears and I grabbed a tissue from the box on my desk. “What color was it?”

“Red. There was also an empty Bread and Batter bag with doughnut crumbs in it at the murder scene,” the detective added, apparently immune to my very apparent emotional distress.

“You think we killed her?” Olivia stared at him with her mouth open, her eyes round.

“Did you?” he shot back.

“No!” I retorted. “We did not!” I turned to Olivia.
Right?
I mouthed. Just in case I'd been wrong about her for the past twenty-eight years.

She glared at me. “Of course you're right,” she hissed back.

Detective Corsino unlaced his hands, leaned forward, and rolled a pen back and forth across the desk. He looked at me, then at Olivia.

His presence sucked the air out of the room. I desperately wished for a window we could open. Police like to leave pockets of silence while they're interviewing suspects, so the suspects become uncomfortable and start talking to fill the silence, saying more than they planned.

I've seen Detectives Benson and Stabler do it on
Law & Order: SVU
plenty of times, so I know this to be true. I didn't want to fall into this real-life detective's I'll-be-quiet-so-they'll-talk trap, but I couldn't sit silent while he tried to build a case against us.

I had no desire to go to prison instead of my cozy new apartment. There would be no beautiful stained glass window in my bathroom in prison. I wouldn't even have my own bathroom. “There are a lot of people in Destiny who know her way better than we did. I don't know anyone who wanted to kill her.”

“This is just plain ridiculous,” Olivia cried. “What reason could we possibly have for killing Calista? I don't know where you moved from, Detective, but around here, the police don't just stroll in to a business and accuse its owners of murder. Where's your proof? What was our motive? What could we possibly gain from killing her?”

Obviously offended by her comment, Detective Corsino's brown eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. Too bad. She was right, but clapping for her seemed gauche. Still, how dare he almost accuse us of Calista's murder?

“I don't believe I accused either of you of murder,” he replied, as if he'd read my mind. “I'm talking to lots of folks in town.” His eyes locked on mine. “Although, as I recall, Ms. Tyler, you had a rather harsh argument with her on the day of that fair. Right out there.” He pointed toward the front of the bakery.

“You think I killed her over a booth at the Apple Harvest Fair? Are you crazy?” I held my breath for a second. Probably not a good idea asking the man if he was crazy, but I grudgingly gave him credit for taking my outburst in stride.

“Did you usually get along?”

“On and off,” I admitted. “Not off enough to want her dead, for goodness' sake. Or even hurt.”

He didn't reply.

“When's the last time you had a disagreement, other than the one I heard?”

I thought. “It was during a book club meeting. Maybe two months ago. She wanted to read a biography of Herbert Hoover. I may have objected to her selection. There's a small chance I incited everyone else to do the same. She stormed out. But you must admit killing someone because they like Herbert Hoover seems extreme.”

“All due respect, Detective, thinking either of us killed her is crazy.” Olivia's head bobbed up and down in agreement. “I can assure you, Molly did not kill Calista.”

“Did Calista have any enemies?” he asked.

Olivia's eyes met mine. Again, we were probably thinking the same thing: If we said Trey, would that make him a murder suspect? Was he already a suspect?

“I know about her issues with Trey Hamilton and his run-in with the Jandellas,” Detective Corsino said, as if reading my mind again. “Anyone else?”

I shook my head. “Calista was respected, but she could be a little prickly, hard to get along with. Everyone knows that. But again, I don't know anyone who wanted her dead, for God's sake.”

“I get the impression from others I've talked to that her dating Mr. Hamilton was odd. What's your take on that?” he asked.

Now that the focus was off Olivia and me, for the time being at least, I was eager to help. Although I couldn't believe the detective seriously considered us suspects based on the Bread and Batter T-shirt and paper bag. Maybe it wasn't the same T-shirt. There were lots of people wearing Bread and Batter T-shirts out there. Not that it mattered.

“I'd agree. Their families have been neighbors and rivals since this land was settled. I don't know exactly how it started. The Danforth-Hamilton feud legend gets passed down to each generation that comes along.

“My parents told me years ago that Calista and her family always looked down on the Hamiltons. You can probably look up the Hamilton and Danforth rivalry at the library.”

“Thanks for the suggestion,” he said.

I was sure that was sarcasm, but I continued, since he seemed willing to let me talk. “The bad blood between the two families continues to this day. Although it's mostly one-sided—the Hamiltons' side. Trey and his brothers have always been jealous of Danforth Orchards, especially Trey.

“His brothers seem pretty mellow about it. Trey can't stand that Danforth Orchards is more profitable and always has been. He should let it go and worry about his own orchard.”

I was on a roll now and couldn't seem to stop. “Why Calista dated him is indeed the big question. Odd, as you mentioned. What was in it for her? I suppose she could have actually loved him; stranger things have happened. Aside from his issues, Trey isn't bad-looking, but he's rough around the edges, to put it nicely. Haircuts aren't one of his favorite activities, I don't think he owns more than one suit, and his car is a beat-up fifteen-year-old truck. Not sure why, it's not like he doesn't have plenty of money.”

Detective Corsino was paying rapt attention to my story. Unless he had mastered the art of sleeping with his eyes open.

“Calista, on the other hand, drives a new Mercedes every three years. Her current model is a beautiful new gunmetal gray E-Class Wagon.” Which, side note, I coveted with every bit of my being. “She favors designer jeans, and Ralph. As in Ralph Lauren. And she loves good jewelry.”

She even looked stunning in her riding jodhpurs, white oxford shirt, and riding boots, spawning a fashion trend among the teenage girls in town, and some of the women. I'd never seen her without immaculate nails. I drew in a deep breath.

“Their personalities are nothing alike. But it happened, they started dating. Everyone, including me, wondered why, what could she have seen in him? But of course, it's not something you ask someone if they're not a good friend.”

“Of course not. You have a theory why?” Detective Corsino asked.

“Do you mean a theory why you don't ask someone that?” Olivia chimed in, looking all dreamy-eyed at the detective. Good grief!

The detective turned toward her. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “No, Ms. Williams. I mean a theory why they were dating if they made such an odd couple.”

I plunged in before Olivia could. “On Trey's end, I'm sure he wanted to get his hands on her Calista Sugar Pink apple. Since he claimed she found it on what's technically his family's land, he felt it was his. But how he intended to do that, I don't know. I don't think killing her was his plan.

“Anyway, what's really odd is that Trey and Calista never had two words to say to each other, and suddenly they're dating. What on earth could they have to say to each other so suddenly?” My thoughts wandered for a few minutes. “Trey is kind of a bad-boy type. Maybe it was the excitement of dating someone her social inferior.”

“Any other theories?” the detective asked, his tone as dry as burnt toast.

“I'm just trying to answer your questions, Detective.”

“Did you question Trey?” Olivia broke in. “Maybe you should start with him. We can only tell you so much.”

“Wow. I hadn't thought of that, Ms. Williams. I'll get on that right away.”

Olivia smiled and sat back down, almost knocking me from the arm of the chair. She was obviously blinded by the detective's hotness factor, which on a scale of one to ten I had to admit hovered around a strong nine. But that didn't distract me from knowing what sarcasm was when I heard it.

“What about Blake Ellsworth?” he asked. “Anything going on with them I should know about?”

“Like what?” I asked.

He shrugged a shoulder and leaned back again. “Anything you want to say.”

“The consensus in town was they were an odd couple, too.”

“Odd how?”

I looked at Olivia. “Want to take this one?”

“Sure. Simple, Detective. Calista was sophisticated, rich, and loved expensive toys, like Molly said in so many words. Blake's a mechanic. I'm not saying there's something wrong with that. We all need mechanics. But he lives modestly and isn't sophisticated.

“His life is collecting classic cars. He loves them. Like Trey and Calista, he and Calista didn't seem to fit together, either. I guess we'll never know what the attraction was. She hadn't been dating him that long.”