Fudge Brownies & Murder (6 page)

"He certainly could've been referring to somebody here." Brooke leaned against the door of a narrow storage cabinet. "Esther Mae was very aggressive about attracting customers. I heard from a couple vendors that when her business got slow she would wander the aisles and tell people standing in line at other booths that there was no waiting at Southern Gals. She tried it here a few times, but nobody left my line, so I think she gave up. All of the vendors here are pretty cool, but that tactic wasn't."

So the sniper attacks on Riverbend's and The Veggie Crew's booths weren't random incidents. Customer hunting expeditions were a regular part of Esther Mae's business strategy. Part ruthless and part cunning. The tactics were as bold as she looked. "She did the same thing two days after Sophie opened the bakeshop here. It freaked us all out, but then Esther Mae came back and apologized."

"Really? First time I've heard of that. Maybe she was beginning to realize that stealing customers wasn't winning any friends in the market community." Brooke glanced behind her at the order window. "But it wasn't just customers. If she found out a dish was selling well for another vendor, like my loaded cornbread, within a few days she would conveniently
discover
a recipe for the same thing in her grandma's cookbooks and start offering it at Southern Gals. They say all of the dishes they offer are old family recipes, but I don't believe it."

"Wow! I had no idea that was happening." Amy handed her money to Ellie in exchange for a paper bag full of smoky pulled pork on a toasted ciabatta bun. It would pair nicely with the squash casserole, even though the veggie dish had been intended as a main dish by the vegetarian chefs. "She seemed a bit snarky but more in a funny than malicious way. At least that's what I thought from what little time I was around her."

Brooke shrugged. "I thought the same thing, but so many people complained about her, market management moved the booth to the end of the aisle facing the hallway to the bathrooms to minimize exposure to other vendors. Nobody wanted to be their neighbor."

"It sounds like she was stirring up a big old pot of trouble, along with her shrimp gumbo." Esther Mae had been a grandmotherly Southern belle with a ruthless streak as wide as the Mississippi.

Amy took a sip of the vanilla latte which she had bought from the Kellerton Library's new café on her way into the meeting. The hot drink was nowhere near as good as the ones made by the baristas from Riverbend Café, but the warmth and caffeine were welcome. There were many people at the library stocking up on books—an instinctive reaction to the onset of winter, so she'd had to park in the back of the parking lot. The conference room was warming quickly as bundled up volunteers arrived for the last planning session before the food pantry's giveaway. Local families would be able to prepare home cooked meals they wouldn't be able to afford otherwise, thanks to the pantry.

In the chair beside her, Sophie tugged on the string of the orange spice tea bag floating in her foam cup. She was a self-admitted coffee snob and rarely drank the beverage if it wasn't prepared by herself or one of the baristas she employed. Riverbend Café would provide fresh baked rolls to those who wanted them, but she also contributed money to buy cornbread and biscuit mixes, plus the eggs and milk needed to make them. A resourceful cook could stretch those ingredients over many meals.

"How's Alex doing?" Sophie asked as she plopped the spent tea bag onto a napkin. An orangish-brown ring bloomed around it on the porous paper.

"Fine. Or at least that's what he says." Amy tugged on a strand of her straw-colored hair. "You know how you talk to people and can just feel they're leaving things out of the conversation? That's totally happening every time he calls. He's mastered the art of the
un
-detailed description."

"Oh boy. Are you worried?"

"A little. I know he's careful, but I also know he's an adrenalin junkie. Like he told me he was going to go on a zip line course. The next day he admitted that it was some sort of forest ninja challenge, so the zip lines connected to things like jumping out of the top of a tree onto a net and walking across a slack line twenty feet off the ground." She released the hair strand and switched to curling another strand around her index finger instead. "That kind of thing gives me the heebie-jeebies, so I've been occupying myself in the evenings with the blog. I'm doing a series of freezer recipes that people can make ahead then just thaw and heat. Killing two birds with one stone since I'm getting Carla's freezer stocked before the baby arrives and picking up new readers who are interested in those kinds of meals."

She had also been chatting by email with the graphic artist in Chicago who would be making the new logo and border art for Amy's Kitchen. The blog would look completely different, in a very good way. She was so happy Rori had convinced her to go to the blogging conference. Esther Mae's death had been the only bad thing about the experience.

The yoga teacher was also at the food pantry meeting, but she sat two tables away in the packed conference room. Rori had decided to help with the giveaway after Amy told her about it at the conference. The library's room was the biggest space the organization could find to hold the gathering as the event had picked up more and more volunteers wanting to help. At the front of the room, the director of the pantry, Liz, called the meeting to order. Charms on her bracelet glinted in the harsh overhead lights as she waved a notebook over her head to get the crowd's attention.

During the proceedings, Amy cycled between sipping her latte, taking notes, and doodling flowers and curlicues around the notes as she listened. Organizers had procured frozen turkeys and chickens for over 200 families, along with ingredients to make side dishes like green bean casserole and rice pilaf. Donors to the pantry had taken advantage of Thanksgiving sales to stock the shelves and freezers with food that would last for far more than a single holiday meal for a family in need. One of the tasks that Amy had worked on was making a recipe booklet, in case any of the families didn't know how to cook a whole turkey or what to do with canned yams. She and Sophie were to be roving cooking consultants during the giveaway to help answer any questions that recipients might have about preparing the foods they were receiving.

Rori's arm shot up when the director completed the list of food that had been collected. "What about meals for vegetarians or vegans?"

The director's cheerful smile flattened into a thin line as she peered over the top of her glasses to zero in on the objector. She flipped through a few pages in her notebook then said, "We should be able to add a few extra vegetables to take the place of the meat."

Rori shook her head. "There are products that mimic meat, like seitan or TVP. Those things should be available to people who want them for a main protein source instead of throwing in an extra can of creamed corn to replace a turkey. That isn't an acceptable trade off. People shouldn't have to give up their dietary preferences just because they've fallen on hard times."

"I agree with your sentiment. However, I'm not a vegetarian, so I have to admit I'm not familiar with the products you are suggesting for meat replacements. I haven't heard any complaints from anybody about the food we offer until now." The director, who owned a cleaning service, had been super-organized and unflappable through all of the planning meetings before then, but the newcomer's demands cracked her professional demeanor a bit. She tossed the notebook onto the table in front of her. "I don't know how we can come up with a decent supply of any of the foods you have suggested this close to the giveaway date, let alone where to get them."

"I can take care of that. The food will be the contribution from my business, Yoga For You."

Liz nodded at Rori. "Thank you. Food never goes to waste, so I appreciate you and your business's help."

The meeting continued after the tense discussion with Rori. People volunteered for roles from transporting the food from the pantry's warehouse to the library where it would be distributed, to traffic coordinators who would help keep the expected line of cars from blocking traffic. Soon the meeting adjourned, and the room filled with chatter. Amy had planned on talking with Rori, but the dedicated vegan rushed out the door. Maybe she had a class to teach soon at her studio. As Sophie was shrugging on her coat, she said, "I had never thought of offering protein options for people who don't eat meat. I'm sure there will be people looking for meals who will appreciate it. One of my friends is vegetarian ninety-five percent of the time, but she will give in to her cravings and have a steak once in a while. Rori is on a different plane than most of us with her dietary convictions. I'm sure her views go beyond eating a plant-based diet just for good health. The world needs more people who are passionate about things they believe in."

Amy looked at the door that the yoga instructor had exited through. Rori's dedication to her earth-friendly lifestyle was admirable. But that zeal had gotten her on a list that was a very dangerous place to be. Shepler was a fair detective who would cross murder suspects off his list when he determined they weren't guilty of committing the crime. Until he got to that point, though, he methodically looked at all information both incriminating and exonerating. Since Amy hadn't spoken with the daddy-to-be recently, she had no idea which way his suspicion scales for Rori were tipping.

*   *   *

Amy had worn the red-hooded coat because she thought the color was cheerful, but now the clothing choice seemed to have plunked her in the middle of a fairy tale. Little Red Riding Hood driving her Mini through the forest on her way to see the widower Bates. A section of washboard-style bumps rattled her teeth and made the aluminum pans in the Styrofoam cooler sound as though they had come alive and were trying to claw their way out. The previous day, she had stopped by Buck's booth after she worked her shift to check on him. He admitted that he hadn't been eating much. So she decided delivering some of the bounty of freezer meals she had been producing was a good thing to do. Since she was running out of space in her and Carla's freezers, giving some meals to the widower was a good thing in more ways than one.

After calling the phone number on his business card several times and getting no answer, she set out to visit the address listed for his workshop. Maybe he was working with a saw or lathe and couldn't hear the phone ringing. As Amy bounced along the frozen dirt roads, she began to regret her decision. The houses were getting much farther apart. The forest was so thick some residences were only indicated by a mailbox and rutted driveway cutting through the brush then quickly disappearing in what appeared to be the movie set for a haunted forest.

Amy jumped when her phone's GPS app announced that her destination was on the right in one hundred feet. Mimi the Mini Cooper thumped around a rutted corner that the little car might not have made it down had the muddy grooves in the road not been frozen in place. A mailbox that looked like a red wood barn came into sight. She stopped and checked the white numbers painted on its side.

"Destination reached," announced the monotone voice from her phone.

The smooth gravel in the driveway crunched under her tires as she maneuvered along the winding lane that twisted between massive, old trees. Suddenly the forest opened up into an expansive yard. A brick ranch-style house sat in the middle of the rectangle of brown, dead grass. A wooden wishing well near the front door was crowned with a sign that said
Esther Mae and Buck Bates
. She was definitely at the right place.

An unattached garage sat close to the left side of the house. Behind that was a towering pole building with red metal siding—an almost exact match to the mailbox. A bow window filled with plants jutted out from the side of the house near the door closest to the driveway. There was a light on inside. Between the leaves, she could make out a white refrigerator. Maybe Buck had shut off the noisy equipment that had kept him from hearing his phone and stepped inside for lunch.

There was no doorbell button, so she knocked. White curtains covered the four pane window on the top of the door. She listened carefully as her breath formed little clouds in the still, cold air. There wasn't a sound from inside the house. The temperature was well below freezing, so the frozen spaghetti with meatballs and Chicken a la King casseroles would be fine if she left them by the door in the disposable cooler. But the house was in the middle of the woods. What kind of animals might raid the food stash for their own dinners? If she couldn't let Buck know she had delivered the meals, he probably wouldn't appreciate finding out when a pack of coyotes arrived at his back door looking for an easy dinner solution.

She hit redial on her phone. The same message—his voice mailbox was full and no more messages could be saved to it. A prolonged series of knocks on the door just made her knuckles sore. Her fingers brushed the door knob as her arm dropped. She didn't even try turning the brass knob, but the door clicked open. Amy obsessively locked her house doors and set the high-tech alarm system. Was something wrong that the lights were on, the door was unlocked, but nobody was responding to her knocks? Esther Mae had been murdered. Had her husband met the same fate?

"Hello…anybody home?" Amy called as she crept into the kitchen while clutching the small white cooler. Just as Buck had said, all of the cupboard doors were made of dark- and light-streaked hickory wood. Too late she realized that if the killer was still in the house, she had just announced herself to him.

Then again, maybe Buck was taking a nap. And she had just startled him awake by barging into his home. He could come charging into the kitchen at any moment to face off with an intruder—her. Hopefully he didn't sleep in the nude.

Through the doorway, she could make out a dark colored couch and a pink camouflage recliner in the next room. That was an interesting choice of upholstery fabric. The living room was gloomy and filled with shadows since all of the curtains were pulled shut. The pans inside the Styrofoam chest rattled and squeaked as though she was still bumping over the dirt road. The cooler turned to lead as she listened for a sound. Anything to indicate that another living person was in the home. The only sound was the humming of the nearby refrigerator's motor.