Death by Scones (28 page)

I stepped over the piece of soggy, ashy quarter wall and onto what used to be the bottom landing of the stairs. I glanced over, and my heart grew heavy. The closet beneath the stairs no longer existed, and lumps of ash sat where our things once were. Looking up, I wondered if the movers had accessed our bedrooms at all. They'd need a ladder to get there, so chances were they hadn't. I hoped looters wouldn't do just that, but at this point, would it have mattered? Some of the best things—Mom and Dad's stuff—were already gone. Everything else could be replaced.

I walked into the living room. The place reeked. I doubted we'd ever get rid of the burnt stench. The sofa and TV were still there. The tables had been taken away. I placed a finger on the couch. It was damp. The bookcase, which I was certain held wet books, stood by the kitchen. Had the movers been able to save anything?

I headed to the garage before going to the kitchen The garage was empty. Too bad there hadn't been anything in there that held sentimental value. I doubted I'd be upset if our shovel had been disintegrated. The good thing, however, was that my bike was salvageable.

I turned to head to the kitchen and spotted a shadow by the stairs.

For the umpteenth time that night, I flinched, and my pulse rose. "There's nothing here to take," I managed to say to the looter.

He or she didn't say anything, and for a moment I feared the figure was Holly. I checked out the shadow's hands. I didn't see a knife.

Then the person stepped forward into a dim ray of light, and I let out a semirelieved breath.

"Mrs. Hendrickson? What are you doing here?"

My relief didn't linger though. Her grandson was a killer, and she showed up at my house? There was nothing innocent about this.

"You are so entitled," she spat out.

I stepped closer to the kitchen. It may have been full of soot, but there had to be some sort of weapon in there just in case. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course not. Everything you've ever wanted, you received. Your parents, your grandmother gave you everything."

She was this upset that Will and I broke up? It didn't make sense.

"My parents are dead." She couldn't have needed the reminder. I was just so stunned by her acidic tone that it was my first thought.

I expected her to bow her head and apologize, but instead she said, "Boohoo. Poor little Riley lost her parents. That was one sour note in a lifetime of melodies."

I flinched as if she'd struck me. She'd never spoken to me this rudely before. What was wrong with her? This couldn't be just about a breakup.

"You still have family," she said. "Your health, your smarts, the bakery, and your home."

She looked up to the ceiling and laughed. "Well, maybe not all of your home. But knowing you and that infuriating woman, you'll probably build fresh and your new home will be more spectacular than this. Because you both always land on your feet. I should've made sure this place burned to the ground."

I gasped. "You did this?"

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, maybe you don't have that many smarts. And here you were thinking that family was responsible for it all. Those Dearborn trailer-trash sisters."

Mrs. Hendrickson smirked. "I've been watching you. I've grilled that stupid cousin of yours every day when our shifts overlapped. She told me about your suspicions of Holly and Gloria. They are probably responsible for something heinous, but it wasn't their brother's death."

Oh my God, was this really happening? What about Will? Had the two of them teamed up?

I took another step and spotted them. The sofa was no longer blocking part of her body, and on her feet were the moccasins. They didn't belong to Will. They were hers. Which meant she was at Doc Eckhardt's office tonight. Had she been the patient Will was with?

"You killed Nathan?" I said in a breathless whisper.

"That was very unfortunate. I hadn't realized he'd scarfed down so many scones. The man had obviously never heard of the word
moderation
. He was just supposed to have a reaction."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Not only was she responsible, but she more or less handed him a plate of peanut oil scones and hoped for the best. That wasn't normal thinking. I thought back to the day, and his odd behavior, and then how she and I nonchalantly talked about him and the good ole days of community theater after.

"You sent out the e-mail?"

She smiled and looked quite pleased with herself. "I needed a way to get him to ingest the scones."

"But how did you get him there?"

She pointed to me. "That was easy. I simply told him that you found out how he killed your parents and you wanted to talk to him. He didn't even wonder why I was making the call and not you directly." She giggled.

His words replayed in my mind again.
Where should we do this?
He was talking about what…our conversation? If I'd only taken him aside, I could've learned everything right then. But there was no way I knew he was there for me.

"He was your friend."

She lowered her gaze to the floor, as if she truly felt sad, but there was no remorse on her face or in her voice.

"Like I said, it was unfortunate. He was a good man."

"What were you hoping to accomplish by poisoning him?" I asked.

She widened her eyes and looked momentarily innocent. "It was never about him. Always about you, Cinnamon, and the bakery. Nathan would have an allergic reaction, and then that Pickles man or one of the other reporters would write a story about how negligent the bakery was. The business would die, and I'd live happily ever after."

The more she spoke, the more unhinged she sounded. Was she always this way, and we hadn't seen it?

"You work at the bakery. That's your income. Why would you want to see it fail?"

She shook her head, then tsked me. "I don't need the money. I can move to Florida and live with Will's parents anytime. They have a room waiting."

They had moved there a couple of years ago. Will had expected Karen to go with them, but she remained up here.

"Then why stay?"

"So I can ruin you. Do you know how much it pained me to see you with Will? You of all people. The granddaughter of that insufferable woman."

So this was about Grams.

"But then he seemed so happy, and I couldn't hope you'd fall apart. That would've been cruel."

But murder wasn't?

"And then you whored around, and he's miserable. I should've found a way to separate the two of you from the beginning. Of course you'd bring him heartache. First Cinnamon and now you. It's only fitting, right?"

"Wait, what? How did Grams cause Will heartache?" Confusion swam around all the things she said.

She threw up her arms. "When he choked on that damn chocolate chip cookie."

The cookie incident? Oh my God, this was about some ancient vendetta? I knew she had stayed mad about my sneaking Will a cookie for some time, but I never suspected she
still
hadn't gotten over it after all of these years.

"Kids eat fast and sometimes choke. How was this Grams' and my fault?"

"Don't blame him. You weren't supposed to give him that damn cookie. If only you'd listened to my rules, but no, you thought you knew best. Even as a child. He was always fragile after that."

"Grams saved his life."

She huffed. "I know how to do the Heimlich. I would've saved him if she hadn't gotten in the way."

She was twisting everything around to her warped way of thinking.

"Cinnamon acted as if choking was just an everyday occurrence," she said.

"So you waited twenty years to enact your revenge?"

She narrowed her eyes. "She gave the bakery to you when she retired."

So this was about Karen feeling slighted too. "I'm her granddaughter. It's a family establishment, and if it wasn't for me, she wouldn't have started the bakery."

"I have worked for her since the first day she opened the doors. I gave my time and sweat to that place, and she didn't even consider handing over the keys to me. That should be my bakery. I deserve it."

I felt the sudden urge to hug her for sounding so needy and desperate, as well as for obviously being so delusional. I also wanted to slap her. If she had felt that Grams valued her, would Nathan still be alive?

"I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted, but no one should have had to die over that."

"Just you." Her expression turned into a snarl, and she reached out both hands and shoved me.

I hadn't expected her to charge at me, so I was unprepared and staggered back, bumping into the arm of the sofa.

I yelped. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything, dear," she said calmly. "You're going to kill yourself."

"You're certifiable," I said with a forced laugh. I hated to point out that the crazy lady was crazy, but this had gone on long enough. "There's no way I'd do that, and no one would believe it."

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a pen and small notepad. "That's why you'll write a note."

"No way." I backed up more and more until I was at the garage door again. Not exactly the direction I wanted to go in. I redirected my steps and moved toward the kitchen, but this time she followed—step by step. Surely I could outrun her and take her in a fight, but fear wormed its way through my body, and I wasn't confident.

"It's a brilliant plan, actually. After being accused of Nathan's death, having the bakery fail, along with your relationship with Will, not to forget the poor fire, you decide the only thing to do is take your own life. You can't go on anymore."

I scoffed and managed to walk into the wall beside the kitchen archway. "That doesn't make sense."

With a low growl, Karen ran at me, her arms extended straight out like a damn zombie. I tried to quickly turn into the kitchen, but her sudden movement caught me off guard for the second time. She fell onto me, and her hands cupped my throat. I pushed at her chest, but her grip just tightened. The crazy old fool was super strong.

This would've been a great time to remind her that I couldn't strangle myself. Therefore, this wouldn't look like suicide. But it was hard to talk when I could barely breathe. My vision got momentarily fuzzy. This wasn't happening.

I pushed on her again, but I didn't have much strength left.

Then suddenly she stopped, and I realized she was no longer on me. I blinked a few times and stared at Will.

He'd pulled his grandmother off and held her by the arm. "What are you doing?" Then he looked to me. "Are you all right?"

I clutched my throat and nodded slowly.

"Why do you care?" Mrs. Hendrickson asked. "You hate her."

He stared at me for another moment before pulling her back to the sofa. Was it true? Did he hate me now too? Were they working together? I'd had so much misinformation tonight, I wasn't sure what was real and true anymore.

"Why?" Will asked her.

She gave him the same speech she had given me about how I, and the bakery, had ruined his life.

"I'm fine," he said.

She shook her head violently. "No, if it wasn't for that cookie, you wouldn't have choked. You got asthma because of it, and you were in and out of the hospital a lot as a kid. That's why you became a doctor."

He spun her to face him and gripped her shoulders. "Choking doesn't cause asthma. It was just a coincidence the asthma started after the cookie incident. And that's not a reason to attack Riley."

"She did more than attack me." My voice was husky and thick. "She killed Nathan and set the fire too."

He frowned at me and then stared at her. "No. Why? You…" He pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest.

The scene would've been heartbreaking if she wasn't delusional and in need of serious psychiatric help. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone, not sure why I hadn't done it earlier.

They must've heard the beeping, 'cause Will glanced at me. "What are you doing?"

"Calling the cops. What else?"

"No." He nearly tripped over Karen getting to me fast enough. He tore the phone from my hand and flung it across the room. It hit the garage door and fell to the floor. The battery cover shot off it. "You can't."

"Why not?" I shouted. My concern was ebbing and anger was slowly taking its place. First she tried to kill me, and now he killed my new cell? These things weren't cheap.

"I can't send her to jail, Riley. She's my grandmother. What if it was Cinnamon?"

Was he really going to compare them? Grams was light years away from homicidal.

"What do you expect to do, Will? Just take her home, put her to bed, and it will all be okay in the morning? Maybe she can write an apology letter to the Dearborns."

The corner of his mouth quivered. I wanted to feel for him, but at the moment it was more important to get away from her.

Before I got a chance to do anything though, Mrs. Hendrickson lunged forward and pushed hard against Will's back. He fell and crashed to his knees. What did this woman eat for breakfast?

She glanced at me, and this time I reacted. I knew what was coming. I was her object of destruction, and I wasn't going to stand there and be strangled again. I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the first thing I saw—Grams' cast-iron skillet.

I lifted the heavy pan with both hands above my right shoulder. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with it. I didn't want to permanently hurt her. Cast iron wasn't nearly as light as a nonstick pan. But if it came down to it, I'd protect myself.

"You need to just stop now, Mrs. Hendrickson. There's no way to get what you want anymore." I wasn't convinced she understood that though.

She groaned.

Will came up behind her. "She's right, Grandmother. Come with me."

I really didn't want them to leave. I feared Will would take her to Florida, and no one would ever know the truth. I didn't know if Will would tell the police the truth. And would they believe me, especially if Will didn't back me up? He had always been an honest man, but this was his family, and he'd just said he couldn't send her to jail.