Bun for Your Life (9 page)

I stopped scribbling. “He called her Callie?” Good thing there was no food in my mouth. I would've spit it out.

Jamie nodded. “Yep. I hate to say this, but I was so interested in their conversation, I couldn't move. I feel kinda guilty.”

“No one would fault you. Then what?”

“Trey said, ‘I'm serious. We'd make a great team. I know our families have had their issues, and we've accused you and your ancestors more than once of stealing our land, but I really want to put that all behind us, get married, and merge our orchards.'”

“Then Calista laughed, and said ‘Marry you? You've got to be kidding.' Trey replied with, ‘I don't see what's so funny. You just said you love me.'

“Then Calista said, ‘I do. But marriage?' She laughed again. It sounded like a mean laugh, you know? It gave me a weird feeling. Like she was laughing down at him. Making fun of him. Only he didn't know it. She told him if she ever did consider marrying him she'd demand he sign a prenup. Something about her land remaining as hers and his remaining as his, and the Calista Sugar Pink belonging to her only.”

“Was this before or after his rant at the Jandellas?”

“Maybe a week or so before.”

I wrote at a furious pace, trying to accurately record everything Jamie said.

“He said he wouldn't do that. That marriage was a sacred something-or-other. Then Calista told him she'd never marry him without a prenup, and if he was so in love he'd sign it. She said she'd give his proposal serious thought if he went to her lawyer's office and signed a prenup. If not, he was welcome to get out of her life.”

Then she laughed again. “I heard him curse and tell her she would be sorry in more ways than one if she didn't marry him, then I quickly made my way to the garage. That's the last I heard. I don't know what she said back. Was that helpful at all?”

“I think so. Wow, you've got a great memory. I really appreciate this, Jamie.”

He smiled at my compliment

“How can you remember all that?”

“I don't know. I've always been able to recall conversations. In school, I barely had to take notes. I just remembered everything. How come you're asking me about Calista and Trey?”

I leaned toward him. “I'm hoping I'll find something the police have missed, so a certain detective will stop thinking of your cousin and me as possible murder suspects. Although I think he's mostly concentrating on me.”

After I said good-bye to Jamie, I sat in my car. I wasn't sure what to do next. I had to go to work, of course. I mean about Calista's murder. I love reading mysteries, but it's not like I actually run around solving them. I probably couldn't anyway. The person I pick as the killer in the mysteries I read never is.

My desire to find who, or at least help find who, killed Calista came from more than the desire to clear Olivia and my names, although deep down I didn't think our arrest was imminent. Maybe my desire stemmed from the fact that I couldn't remember the last time a murder occurred in Destiny, or because, crazy about her or not, I had known Calista, and it wasn't at all fair she was dead.

Or maybe it was because the killer had used one of Bread and Batter's doughnuts and T-shirts to commit his atrocity and I felt sort of responsible for her death, even though logically I knew I wasn't. I still couldn't understand why she was strangled, if she was already dead. What was that about? I couldn't picture two killers coming after her. And of course, I didn't like the idea of a killer running around loose. The faster this person was apprehended, the better.

I looked over my notes, sure Jamie hadn't told me anything he hadn't already told the police. Since Trey and Blake were still free men, they obviously had found nothing to tie either of them to Calista's murder. Yet. Maybe I could. But how? That was the question. I pulled into traffic and headed to work.

I turned onto Lacey Street and parked in back of Bread and Batter. As I hurried up the large alley and turned right, I was surprised to see a group of young people walking back and forth in front of the bakery. Like they were picketing. I stopped and watched for a moment. The two guys wore black jeans, black sneakers, black T-shirts, and what looked like leather dog collars adorned with various sizes of metal spikes around their necks. Their long hair was blacker than a crow's feathers.

The two women . . . well, they looked exactly like the guys, except without dog collars, and with thick, dark eyeliner, dark lipstick, and black nail polish. One girl did have a nice pink streak through her hair that looked professionally done. I noticed piercings in all of their eyebrows, ears, and probably other places I didn't want to know about. And multiple tattoos. Those didn't bother me, but the piercings through the eyebrows? Ouch!

However, I went through my own phase of purple hair and wearing clothes that made my parents shake their heads and pretend they didn't know me, so I'm really not one to judge how people dress, or what color they choose to dye their hair.

“Hello there. Excuse me,” I said as I approached the group.

“Are you going in there?” the girl with the pink stripe asked.

“Yes. Is this some kind of protest against cupcakes and bagels, carbohydrates in general?”

“No,” the tallest guy replied. “We're trying to get a sense of Calista Danforth-Brody's last moments. You know, the woman who was murdered. Please try not to disturb the aura out here.”

Was he serious? “What aura? Since her last moments weren't here on the sidewalk, what would her aura be doing here?
I'm Molly. by the way, half owner of Bread and Batter.”

“Hey, Molly. One's spirit is very sensitive after death,” he replied. “We're waiting to see if Calista's spirit shows up. We're trying to sense paranormal activity. Since the murder weapons came from here, Calista's spirit may show up and want revenge.”

That was an uplifting thought. “Revenge? We didn't kill her.”

“I know.” He smiled at me, revealing a mouth full of braces. “But she was killed with things from your bakery.”

“Technically not. Peanut butter killed her. She was allergic.”

“She was strangled with one of your T-shirts,” he shot back.

“That actually didn't kill her. She was already dead. So you're—”

“It's very nice to meet you, Molly,” the pink-striped-hair girl interrupted. “Since we're going to be here awhile, you may as well know who we are. Olivia already knows our names. I'm Tiffany, this is Kendra, that's Jimmy”—she pointed to the guy who had just spoken to me—“and that's Jason.”

I had to admit they seemed like a polite bunch, despite their Goth looks. “Nice to meet all of you, too.” My mother taught me nothing if not good manners, complicated table settings, and the importance of thank-you notes. But I'm off topic. “I don't think you need to hang around. It's not necessary, and I prefer the entrance not be blocked. How about we just call you if we see any paranormal activity?”

“You won't just see it. You have to have experience in the supernatural. We can hold a séance if you like,” Kendra offered, clapping her hands in excitement. “It won't be hard to summon her. The fact that she died recently helps. She may be hovering close by. Maybe poor Calista can name her murderer. Ooooh, can we have a séance inside the bakery?”

I held my hand up. “Uh . . . no. That won't be necessary.” Not that I believed you could summon the dead, but I wasn't going to let them try. In case I was wrong, I didn't want Calista's ghost hanging around, all peeved at me because she was killed with one of our doughnuts injected with peanut butter. I almost smiled thinking of her outrage as she floated around on a cloud somewhere. At least that's how I pictured her: good and mad that she was dead.

Two elderly women crossed the street at that moment, heading right for the bakery—maybe tourists enjoying the shops and the lovely weather before winter descended upon us in full force. One glance at the group in black and they clutched at each other, teetering on the edge of the curb as they hurried on. This was not good. “I think you need to move on, guys. You're scaring customers.”

Jimmy looked hurt. “Like, we're totally harmless. We don't drink, do drugs, or hurt anyone. We're all going to college next year. We just contact the dead. You gotta be cool with that. Sometimes we're even psychotic.

“We can read people's auras, tell the future, feel bad vibes, see visions that no one else can. Once, we helped the police in Destiny find a missing girl in the mall. Tiffany and I pictured in our minds exactly where she was.”

“It's ‘psychic,' Jimmy,” Tiffany corrected. “Not ‘psychotic.' That means crazy. We don't want people thinking we're crazy. He's right, Molly. We all have that power. Ghosts, missing people, the dead. We're hoping to form our own company.
If we can agree on a name.”

I bit down on my tongue so I wouldn't laugh. Their earnest tone was rather cute. “I'm very cool with that, Jimmy and Tiffany. I'm sure you're all upstanding citizens. But really, I can't have you contacting the dead here, blocking the door. How about you try it in your own living room?”

He shook his head. “Nah. My parents hate that stuff. My mom will freak. I don't want to upset her.”

I so had to concentrate on not smiling in amusement. Despite their looks, there was something so naive and childlike about them all.

“Can we come in and see if we can sense Calista?” pleaded Tiffany. “Please?”

She sounded more like a six-year-old begging to stay up late than a serious summoner of spirits.

Before I could reply, Olivia swung the door open. “Hi, Moll. I see you've met our visitors. You guys feel anything yet?”

“No,” replied Jason, looking majorly bummed out. “It would be better to go inside.” He cut his eyes at me.

I frowned, trying to look stern. Not a natural look for me. “You're welcome to come inside, if you're going to buy something. I don't believe in ghosts, but if Calista's ghost were to come back, wouldn't it go to the scene of the murder?”

“Yeah,” replied Kendra, looking like she was going to cry. “Probably you're right. We went to her orchard, but the police were there. They wouldn't let us on the property, even though we may be able to solve her murder. How could they not want our help?”

“Police can be difficult like that,” I said empathetically while patting her arm.

“We kinda felt something there,” said Tiffany, “but it was hard to tell, not being allowed on her actual property. We thought this would be a good alternative, since she was killed with stuff from the bakery.”

I didn't bother correcting her. They were obviously determined to contact Calista.

“I could use a cupcake,” announced Kendra. “I'm hungry.”

“Me too,” agreed Jason.

Olivia moved out of the way and held the door open for them. “Come in. But I agree with Molly—you buy something.”

“Then you have to go,” I added.

“Okay. If you feel any cold air, see things move by themselves, or hear from Calista, will you call us?” Kendra looked at me, blinking her big brown eyes. “I'll give you my cell number.”

If things started moving by themselves, or I heard from Calista, calling Kendra would be the last thing on my mind. “Sure. Now what can we get you guys?”

Kendra scribbled her name and number on a piece of paper, and handed it to me. I stuffed it in my purse with the rest of the things in there that I'd never look at again and in six months would throw out. Once the group had chosen their orange dreamsicle cupcakes, made out of orange juice cake topped with vanilla orange buttercream icing, I managed to shuffle them out the door. They were nice kids, but I didn't really think they were going to find Calista's ghost lurking around the bakery. Or anywhere else.

“You don't think they can actually contact Calista, do you?” Olivia asked, her eyes huge. “I hate ghost stuff.”

“No. Don't worry about it. But I still don't want them hanging around. They scared off a couple of customers before.”

She nodded. “They seemed nice, though.”

Before I could answer, the bell on the front door jingled and a couple entered.

I smiled at them. “Hi. Welcome to Bread and Batter.”

“Thank you,” said the woman, smiling back. “We're honeymooning in Niagara Falls. We drove all the way over here to see your bakery.”

“Wow,” gushed Olivia. “Thank you! Good to know our reputation is growing. Advertising has paid off. I just put some cream cheese icing on a batch of red velvet cupcakes. All our baked goods are made from scratch. I'm getting ready to bring them out. Are you interested?”

“Oh, no,” said the woman, making her way over to where the T-shirts were stacked. Her husband followed.

“You're looking for a T-shirt, then,” I said. “What size? Small, I'm guessing, if it's for you.”

The woman turned to face me. “We heard about the murder in your town. We just came to see what the T-shirts looked like that killed that poor woman. You must feel so weird that one of these murdered her.”

I was speechless. They actually drove from Niagara Falls to look at a T-shirt? Good grief. Was the bakery going to turn into some bizarre attraction for people fascinated with Calista's murder?

I looked at Olivia. She made a face that said “don't ask me to explain people” as she came around from behind the counter. “Of course my partner, Molly, and I are devastated about Calista Danforth-Brody's death. The whole town is upset. And yes, it does feel strange that one of our shirts was at the scene, but—”

“It wasn't just found at the scene. She was strangled to death with it,” the woman asserted.

I didn't bother to inform her that peanut butter had actually killed Calista. I didn't have the energy. People are going to think what they want to think anyway. Who takes time from their honeymoon to go look at T-shirts because a similar one was involved in a murder, after the actual, real murder? Shouldn't they be engaging in fun newlywed activities that didn't involve murder speculation?

“Babe, maybe we should go,” her husband said, starting to look embarrassed. As well he should.

He turned to Olivia and smiled. “We'll take a dozen of those cupcakes you mentioned.”

“Coming right up,” replied Olivia.

The wife was holding up a T-shirt, staring at it as if it was a Magic 8 Ball—the kind that, when you ask it a question, an answer floats up in a little window. “Do you want to buy one of those?” I asked in my sweetest voice.

She dropped it like it had burned her. “No. No, I don't think so. I couldn't wear a shirt someone was strangled with.”

“It's not as if she was strangled to death in that one, babe,” her husband said. He laughed as he pulled his wallet from his pocket.

I really could not stand this. “She wasn't killed by a T-shirt. She was already dead when she was strangled with it.”

They ignored me. The woman backed away from the display. “I've got enough T-shirts, anyway. I just wanted to see what a murder weapon looked like.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, shake my head, and shake her just a little, too, but I try not to do that to customers. Amazing. Driving all this way to look at a T-shirt? Maybe we should have new ones made up that proudly proclaimed:
Welcome To Destiny, NY. I'm Wearing A T-shirt Just Like The T-shirt Used to Strangle Calista Danforth-Brody After She Was Already Dead
.

We had a quiet lull right after lunch and I sat down at one of the two booths we have against the wall. I tried thinking back to all the customers who bought doughnuts before Calista's murder and tried to figure out who the killer was. Impossible. The door flew open and Emily walked in. “Hi, Molly.”

I motioned her to join me.

She slid in the booth and sat opposite me. “Where's Liv?”

“She had a couple of errands to run. I'm taking advantage of having no customers and sitting down for a moment. You want anything?”

She shook her head. “No, but thanks. I ate a big lunch. What was up with those kids on the sidewalk earlier? I wanted to come over, but I was so busy. I've had more people ask me about Calista's death, who the killer is, and what's going to happen with her new apple and her orchard than wanting to buy books. It's bizarre. A lot of them did buy books, so that was good, but it's still weird.”