Death by Scones (23 page)

I did a sweep with my gaze, trying to locate Gloria, but there were too many bodies. Maybe I could find her before the night was over, but I wasn't counting on having a conversation in here. I'd have to get her alone. Maybe at the B&B. She couldn't sleep here.

In the meantime I'd take my mind off everything and had a few girlfriend moments with Tara. I leaned against her, close to her ear, and said, "Anything new with Duncan?"

She rolled her eyes. "You mean other than giving him the finger while leaving your house? No. We're definitely over."

"Any new prospects?"

The left side of her mouth rose. "Not yet, but I can't get a certain someone with dark hair and glasses out of my mind."

I backtracked through the men she knew that I'd met, and the only one with glasses was… "Max?"

She giggled, and I think a blush crept into her cheeks. It was hard to tell since it was so hot in here with all the people. "Would you mind?"

"Me? Why would I care?"

"Because of everything going on."

She meant because he may have been family. "Not at all. He seems like a good guy, but…" I hesitated finishing my thought.

"What?" She shook my arm, probably hoping the movement would force me to spit out the words.

I tried to lower my voice, but with this crowd, even low was pretty loud. "Let's make sure he's innocent before you get involved."

She frowned, creating tiny lines between her brows. "Innocent?" Then she widened her eyes and formed the letter
O
with her mouth. She got it. "You're talking about Nathan."

I nodded. "Yes."

"What about my brother?" someone shouted beside me.

I turned and stared at Gloria. I didn't have to search for her after all.

"Just the woman I wanted to see," I said.

There was a thick smear of mascara or eyeliner beneath one eye, and her berry-colored lip gloss had pooled into the corners of her mouth.

"Shouldn't you be in jail?" she asked. "Something should be done about the Danger Cove police force if they let murderers walk free."

The people around us overheard, stopped talking, and turned to watch.

Great.

"I didn't kill him." I wanted to shout it at the top of my lungs. I wanted everyone to know. But I didn't want to draw more attention.

"He died in your bakery. You fed him those killer scones."

We were really going to do this right now? Here? Fine. I'd had enough anyway.

I turned and faced her full on. "I didn't set out anything with peanut oil. We don't use it in the bakery. Never have and never will. Someone else made those scones and brought them in."

She held up her hand and created a beak with her fingers, opening and closing it to insinuate that I talked too much. "Yeah, yeah, who cares?"

Blood pounded in my head. How rude! Plus, she reeked of booze.

"I wasn't the one who arrived in town before he died. I wasn't the one who came here expecting money. You and your thief sister didn't care about your brother. You're a couple of moochers looking for an excuse not to get real jobs."

Once my mouth opened, the words flew out, and I couldn't stop them.

"Whoa," Tara said with a smile.

Gloria widened her eyes for a moment and then glared. Her nostrils flared, and before I knew it, she'd curled her hand into a fist and swung at me.

Her knuckles connected with my cheek and then slid past my ear. Luckily, she'd had enough alcohol in her system to not crack my bones, but the shock and the pain made me scream.

Tara jumped up, but before she throttled Gloria, the man Gloria was with the other night pulled Gloria back. Hope Foster shouted that she was calling the cops if Gloria didn't leave and she was never allowed to return. I felt slightly happy about that, but my face throbbed so much I just wanted to cry.

Gloria was dragged out kicking and yelling about tainted cake and a pirate's booty.

Hope handed Tara a plastic cup of ice and a clean towel. Or I hoped it was clean. Tara held it to my face and helped me off the stool. "Let's get out of here."

I wasn't going to argue. When I slid to my feet and turned, I noticed at least seven people holding up their cell phones at me. They were recording this. Oh God, how was I ever going to live this one down?

The next morning, my cheek throbbed and was an interesting shade of blue green. I applied extra cover-up, popped several ibuprofen, and pedaled to work. I almost called for a ride, but I didn't want Gloria or the reporters to change my routine.

I threw myself into baking, and by the time I was done, I hoped I hadn't taken my frustrations out on the innocent vanilla cupcakes by overmixing them. Our baker, Joe, raised his brows at me but didn't say a word. When I went up front to unlock the doors, there was already a line forming. Had word already traveled about the fight last night? That wasn't a serious question. Of course it had. I wouldn't have been surprised if every phone owner had already uploaded their videos to YouTube. I was a bit alarmed that they were all up so early though.

As the people filtered through the door, no one mentioned the fight or my face. I barely had time to say hi to Jared and didn't get a chance to fill him in on what happened with Erin, Will, and Gloria the day before. We needed some alone time. We still hadn't spoken about the kiss and what it meant. If anything.

After making our morning delivery to Ocean View Bed & Breakfast, Joe returned to help out in the kitchen. And thank goodness he had, because I'd already sold half of our up-front volume. I planned on lending him a hand when we got a lull, but it never came. By noon, I was already exhausted and sweaty. I was certain I'd wiped away the concealer on my cheek, but no one seemed to notice.

When Amber walked in, wide-eyed and amazed at the crowd, she caught me frowning. She tied a brown apron around her waist and asked, "What is it?"

"Do you recognize anyone?" I asked.

She stared out at the crowd and frowned too. "No." Then she stepped forward and addressed the next person in line—a woman in her late fifties. "Are you from Danger Cove?"

The woman pursed her lips and then smiled. "No. I'm from Seattle. I heard about that poor man dying from a peanut allergy and had to come visit."

She drove all this way to gawk at a crime scene?

"The papers said he was Lee Stevens, the famous actor," the woman said. "I loved all of his movies. He had the most beautiful eyes. It's a shame how he died."

I expected an innuendo about it being my fault, but she didn't utter one.

Amber must've sensed my nervousness, because she asked, "And that's the only reason you're here?"

The woman nodded. "That, and to get one of your muffins. I've heard they're heavenly."

I smiled, feeling a drop better, but then the young man behind the woman said, "I also read that the owner may have killed him. Is that true?"

Several people around him agreed with reading the same rumors. None of them looked at me oddly though. Apparently they hadn't Googled Cinnamon Sugar Bakery, because no one recognized me. This also meant they thankfully hadn't seen the fight last night. At least not yet.

I cleared my throat. "No, it's not true. The police were misinformed." I expected half of the crowd to sulk and walk out, but everyone remained put.

Another twenty minutes of trying to handle all the customers while worrying about our dwindling stock wasn't working. I had Amber call in Aunt Bernie to ask her to help. She had to close the occult shop to pitch in, and I was ever so grateful. While she made drink orders and packed up cookies and cupcakes, Amber ran the register, and I helped Joe in back. He seemed happy about pulling a double. And I was thrilled to be away from the people and doing what I loved most. I just wasn't sure how we'd deal with the volume for the next couple of days if this kept up.

At one point, Aunt Bernie came in back to grab a tray of cinnamon buns, and she said, "Reporters have gathered out front."

Of course they had. "Yeah, there were a few outside yesterday too."

"This isn't a few. It's like a swarm, and they're making it hard for people to enter and leave." Aunt Bernie hurried back up front.

Well, something had to be done about this. Harassing customers was not acceptable.

Joe shook his head. "They don't care about people." He grabbed one of the French rolling pins and headed toward the back door.

I pulled my hands out of the bowl of scone dough, something I was no longer fond of making, and ran after him. I threw myself against the back door before he had a chance to open it. I held up my hands, and bits of clumpy dough stuck to them. In my rush, I'd put too much buttermilk in the mixture.

"Whoa, where are you going with that?"

"To tell them to leave." His frown was deep, and his face clenched and tense. Add that mean look to his height, bulk, and that eyebrow-to-nose scar, and he didn't realize just how scary he could seem.

"You can't do that. If they get pictures of you, it'll just bring more bad publicity on the bakery. I want this to blow over."

He cocked a brow. "And your customers?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "I have an idea. You go back to work and put the rolling pin down."

He did as told, and I washed off my hands and pulled my cell out of the pocket of my mid-calf-length red-and-white plaid pants.

Instead of dialing the police station, I pulled up the cell number of my favorite cop—the one who loved our cinnamon muffins.

"Officer Fields," he said after picking up on the second ring.

"Hi, Fred. It's Riley Spencer."

"Riley! How can I help you?"

I explained the situation with the reporters. "I know there isn't anything you can legally do, but I was wondering if you planned to come in today. Maybe your presence could scare them away. At least discourage them from harassing the customers."

Joe smirked.

"And of course, anything you'd like to eat or drink today is completely on the house." Hopefully that would do the trick.

"Absolutely, Riley. I'd love to help. I'll be right there."

I hung up and only felt a tad guilty about bribing an officer. It's not like Danger Cove usually had a lot of crime, so I couldn't have been tearing him away from anything super important.

As promised, he arrived promptly, had a few words with the reporters, then ordered food and sat at a table where he was facing them. They immediately backed off, and after another hour, they left. That was worth all the cupcakes in the world.

Late that afternoon, I sent Joe home and called Mrs. Hendrickson in early. She sounded gruff on the phone, as if she hadn't wanted to speak to me. She could suck it up though. This was business, and anything to do with her grandson had no place here.

Aunt Bernie went home when Mrs. Hendrickson arrived. I needed to find temporary help and list some names on my speed dial. Amber and I stayed until six. By then the main crowd had died down, and Mrs. Hendrickson was left with her normal load. She could handle that until we closed. Amber offered to give me a ride home, and I didn't refuse.

When we pulled onto my street, I was thankful there were no reporters. I had no idea where they were or what new breaking story was more important, but I was grateful. Not just for this but for everyone that day. Even Mrs. Hendrickson.

"Thanks for staying longer and for the ride," I said to Amber as I opened her car door.

"Anytime."

I pulled my bike out of her trunk and wheeled it toward the front door. As I unlocked it, Amber honked and drove off. I wanted a moment of fresh air by myself, so I left the bike propped up against the door and took several steps down the driveway. I shut my eyes and breathed in the salty air.

A shuffling or scattering noise, almost like dry autumn leaves, sounded close by. It was far from fall though. The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I opened my eyes and thankfully saw no one, but it didn't put my mind at ease. I stared at the houses across the street and peeked past the neighbor's bushes along the sidewalk. To my right, only a short way down, was the beach. The closer you got, the fewer houses there were. The area was denser to my left though, and I couldn't make much out. I didn't see anyone. Nothing looked out of place, but I wasn't certain a person wasn't hiding in one of the parked cars.

I turned and ran to the front door. I may not have seen anyone, but there was definitely someone watching me.

*   *   *

After a long soak in the tub, I nuked the bit of leftover teriyaki and collapsed in front of the television. I had just enough energy to channel surf. My phone chirped. Luckily, it was on the cushion beside me, or I would've ignored it. It was a text from Grams.

Sorry I wasn't back last night and won't be tonight. Tomorrow.

Last night? I checked the time of the text. I'd received it this afternoon. The bakery had been so busy—I hadn't even heard my phone. I dialed Jared and hoped I wasn't disturbing him. I wanted to have this conversation face to face, but I wasn't going to move from this spot, and delaying it wasn't a good idea.

I still believed the kiss wasn't Will's business, but the way he had found out about it sucked.

"Hey, I was just thinking about you," Jared said when he answered. "I drove past the bakery earlier, and it was still mobbed. How'd that work out?"

"Fine, although my feet are definitely complaining."

He chuckled. "I don't miss waiting tables."

"Are you glad you're back home?"

"Absolutely." He hadn't hesitated. That was a great sign. "How's your face?"

I laughed from surprise, but I wasn't sure why I was any longer. Nothing stayed hidden for long, and in this case, Jared had probably known seconds after it happened. "You know?"

"I guess you haven't seen the video online?"

"Oh my God, seriously?"

"I didn't," he continued, "until I got to class this morning and some students were watching it on their phones."

My stomach churned. "It's interesting enough for teens? Great."

Jared chuckled. "Actually, the students all said that it was an unfair fight, that you could've taken the drunk down with one hand tied behind your back, and that you're hot."