Much Ado About Muffin (7 page)

I nodded. Another car approached, and he directed Deputy Urquhart to go around the front and make sure no one exited the building that way. I was impressed; from Gogi's phone call he must already know Minnie, Deputy Urquhart's aunt, was dead, and didn't especially want the nephew to be one of the investigators on the scene. Nothing got past Virgil, and everything he did had a reason. He then told the other deputy, a young woman, to back him up, and they went in together to establish that she was indeed dead. They came out two minutes later; he was grim-faced, but confirmed that there was no one else in the building.

He radioed in, then guided us away from the action as the late summer heat began building, shimmering in the air. He left for a moment, directing his deputies on a search of the business district, such as it is, of Autumn Vale. They were to look for anyone who was not where they should be, and any stranger or unknown vehicle.

He came back to us, his gaze softening as he saw his mother's white, frightened face. Gogi, as owner and operator of a senior's home that also provided hospice care, had seen more than her fair share of death. But this was murder, and it was different. He gave her a brief side hug and touched my shoulder, while I drank in the comfort of a strong and capable man. I'm no shrinking violet; I can take care of myself. But Virgil is as solid as they come—big, square-jawed, muscular, and tough without surrendering his humanity—and in an emergency it was nice to have him near.

“I have to make a call,” he said. “This murder happened in a post office, so I have to call the United States Postal Inspection Service.”

“Who are they?” I asked.

“You could say they are the police arm of the post office. I can't do anything more than secure the scene.”

Frustrating for him. Virgil is a doer, not a waiter.

“Why don't you two go over to Binny's, or somewhere else close? But don't discuss this with anyone!”

“Can we go to the Vale for coffee?” I asked.

He shook his head. “The morning crowd has already gathered. You won't survive unscathed with that pack of gossip hounds.”

He was right, of course. We could sit in my car, but folks passing by would be sure to stop and try to get us to talk about what was going on.

“What should we say to Binny and Patricia?” I asked. “It's obvious
something
has happened.”

“Just say . . .” He pondered that for a second, his brown
eyes thoughtful. “You found Minnie dead, but that you can't say anything else because it's post office business now, and you have to talk to them first.”

Gogi nodded and I agreed. Of all people, Binny was safest to sit with. She is relatively incurious when it comes to anything other than food and money.

We did exactly as he said. The bakery was a safe haven, and I never got tired of examining her collection of teapots, begun when her mother was still in town, Binny once told me. They line the walls of the front of the shop, impeccably clean, as is everything in her bakeshop. The front of the store is relatively small, with curved old-style glass cases filled with treats, and stacks of Binny's Bakery white pastry boxes behind the counter ready to be filled with her excellent bakery goodies.

Binny was alone. She brought us out a couple of folding chairs, and we sat along the wall under one shelf of teapots while she made a pot of herbal tea.

I remembered something I noticed, though it hadn't made an impact until this moment. “Was Minnie in here this morning before she went to work?” Gogi sent me a look, but we were all thinking of Minnie, and we couldn't
not
talk about her.

“She stops in
every
morning at about ten to eight,” Binny said. “Or . . .
stopped
, I guess, not
stops
. Jeez, that's so sad. She'd buy a dozen assorted pastries, ‘
to share,'
she always said, but I don't think she actually shared them.”

I nodded. I had noticed one of Binny's bakery boxes on the counter by one of the shelves. It was spattered with blood, like everything else. “What time does the mail truck get there?”

“He's always there by eight twenty or so. Sometimes he goes to the Vale and picks up a coffee to go, but this morning he was a little late; I noticed because he drove out of town fairly quickly without stopping.”

Hmm . . . interesting. The police would look into that, I was sure. “Did Minnie say anything? How did she seem?”

Binny looked up from her task; she was building more bakery boxes, standing at the pass-through to talk as we sipped our tea. “She was pretty normal, I guess,” she said. “She complained about the heat, and said her feet were aching already. Did she have a heart attack or something?”

I shook my head and exchanged a glance with Gogi. “I don't want to speculate.”

“It's weird; I can't believe she's gone. She was always my third customer of the day.”

“Third?” I said.

She nodded. “Isadore comes in first thing. I save her day-old stuff, and she buys what she likes. Lately, now that she's making a little money at the Vale, she's been buying everything. She's so skinny! I don't know what she does with it all. The second is Helen Johnson,
most
mornings. She's always got some church group meeting that she's buying treats for. I don't think she knows Isadore comes in before her and buys all the day-olds.”

“They're kind of friends, aren't they?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. I think they were, but not lately. Helen is pushy, and Isadore is kind of a recluse.”

Kind of
was an understatement.

“Bad mixture,” Gogi said.

“Pish keeps trying to befriend Isadore, but he's going about it all wrong,” I said. “I think she's probably closer to Hannah than anyone, but Hannah doesn't push, she . . .
pulls
with her kindness.”

Zeke and Gordy charged into the bakery all agog, wanting to know what the cops were doing at the post office. I followed the rules Virgil had set out, and simply said Minnie had died.

Gordy looked alarmed. “Did they . . . did
they
get her?”

Gogi gently said, “Who are ‘they,' Gordy?”

He glanced around and bent closer, his shoulders hunching, and whispered, “NWO forces!”

Zeke sighed and looked impatient, rolling his eyes.

“What is NWO?” Gogi asked, head to one side, her gaze intent.

“The New World Order! She's a government worker. Maybe it's beginning.” He shuddered slightly, then poked his head back out the door, looking up at the sky. “Have you seen any government troops?” he asked, looking back to us. “Was there a helicopter, a black one, and guys wearing helmets?”

“No, not at all,” Gogi said.

This was a part of Gordy's descent into conspiracy theory belief. For the most part he went about his life like any small-town fellow. However, get him on the topic of his all-encompassing theory that the world was being taken over by some strange amalgam of government forces, illuminati, black ops, and aliens, and he becomes ever so slightly unhinged. Zeke was silent. Gordy's beliefs seem to be the only source of tension between the two friends.

“There were no government troops and no helicopters, Gordy. There
is
no conspiracy. What are you boys up to today?” I asked, to deflect the conversation away from Minnie's demise.

“Gordy's driving me to work in Ridley Ridge,” Zeke said.

“Then I'm going to work at my uncle's.”

I had hired them to look after the grass and landscaping when I first arrived, before they were both gainfully employed. “Would you two have time to come out and look after the grass at Wynter Castle?”

Zeke brightened. “Sure would, as long as we can do it on our days off! Gordy, you up for it?”

Gordy, his expression clear now that he had been deflected away from his fretful bugaboo, agreed that he could borrow his uncle's farm equipment.

“Say, Binny, we've got a problem,” Zeke said, turning to
the baker. He shuffled and sighed, his Adam's apple moving up and down his throat. “We got this guy staying with us. He, uh, came to our door last night and we don't know what to do.”

“Yeah, we don't know what to do,” Gordy echoed, swiping his wispy hair off his forehead.

“About what?” Binny asked. “Who is he?”

The two exchanged glances. “His name is Karl. We have to be gone all day, but he's not out of the place yet, and we don't . . .” Zeke sighed and shifted on his feet, rolling his shoulders. He seemed excessively twitchy. “We don't want to give him a key to the apartment to lock up when he leaves.”

Karl . . . I had heard that name lately. Where? When?

“Why is he staying with you? Who is this guy?”

“He's actually, well . . .” Zeke's Adam's apple goggled. “He's one of Minnie's boarders. He came over last night and asked if he could crash on our couch.”

Bingo.
That's
where I had heard the name before! Janice had filled me in on Minnie's boarders.

“We said okay,” Gordy added unnecessarily.

I filed that info, since that put one of her boarders pretty close to the scene of the action. “Why did he want to stay at your place if he's boarding with Minnie?”

Zeke's gaze shifted to me. “He had a humongous fight with her last night and took off.”

“W
hat did they
fight about?” I blurted out.

Gogi gave me a quelling look, but I had to ask.

“Gordy knows Karl from meeting him a couple of weeks ago at the pool hall in Ridley Ridge. They played a few games, then Gordy gave him a lift back to Autumn Vale. I guess they hung out at our place playing video games.” Zeke didn't look happy about that, and cast his friend a censorious look. “So he knew where we lived. We were watching a
Dr. Who
marathon and he banged on our door. I guess him and Minnie fought, but he didn't say what over. He said the other two didn't help much; I don't know what that means. When he stormed out he came to our door. What were we gonna do?”

Tell him to take a hike, I thought. But then I have done much the same thing in the past—caved in to an unwanted visitor—so who was I to judge?

“Did Miss Urquhart have a heart attack or something?” Gordy asked.

Binny caught my panicked look. “Don't worry about it, guys. I agree: don't give him a key.”

We hadn't told Binny it was murder, but she's a smart cookie when she's paying attention.

“So what should we do, Binny?” Gordy asked plaintively. “About Karl, I mean?”

Binny's father owned the building the bakery was in. They rent out the two two-bedroom apartments upstairs, tenanted by Zeke and Gordy in one, and Patricia and Juniper—a strange and silent girl who had landed in Autumn Vale after a series of odd events—in the other. Though Binny had originally designed the ladies' apartment for herself, she had moved back into her dad's home after his rough patch. “I'll take care of it,” Binny said. “Tell him to come see me when he's leaving, and I'll lock up.”

“You don't seem to trust him, fellas,” I said. “What's up?”

The two shrugged. I found that revealing, and was itching to tell Virgil about their guest who had had a beef with Minnie just last night. Maybe this would be one murder that would solve itself.

“If you don't want him there, tell the guy that your landlady told you it was against your rental agreement to have long-term guests,” Binny said. “In fact, I'm telling you now: he can stay one more night, but then has to find someplace else, okay?”

Gordy looked relieved, but Zeke, though he nodded, still seemed worried about something. Binny gave them a bag full of bakery goodies, then they left, first back upstairs to tell Karl what to do, and then off to work.

Though Binny and Gogi kept talking, I had trouble paying attention. My mind was at the castle. Despite the potential for an easy solution, the fact remained: Roma had attacked Minnie at the castle with one of her decorative letter openers. If the weapon was a part of that collection, it was hard to imagine how some boarder of Minnie's had gotten it out of the castle and used it on her.

I took Gogi aside, and we whispered about Karl. She agreed that it was important information. She stepped outside and called Virgil. Shortly after that, Virgil's female deputy approached the building and went up the stairs through the door to the right of the bakery to question both Karl and, presumably, Patricia. Juniper had left hours ago, Binny said, before dawn, since she had clients for her Jumpin' Juniper Superclean service.

Binny disappeared into the work area of the bakery for a while, and came back with coffee made in a French press and a plate of madeleines. Several people had come into the bakery meanwhile, and I popped up to serve them. Having worked on and off in Binny's shop I knew where everything was and how to work her computerized cash system. People were curious about the scene. Apparently there was a crowd gathering nearby, and by now everyone in town knew that Minnie was dead. We steadfastly refused to answer questions, saying it was a police matter. Folks eyed Gogi when I said that—as mother of the sheriff and a prominent businesswoman, she was known to everyone—but for the most part didn't press. I had no doubt they would find out all about it at the Vale Variety and Lunch.

There was a lull; Binny came out and we had our breakfast. I wasn't sure if I could eat, after what I had seen. But Gogi and Binny are good company, and the madeleines were delightful: gorgeous, golden brown, perfect shell imprint and lemony, with just the right buttery texture, like tiny sponge cakes. Dipped in French press coffee . . .
délices sacrés
. I could imagine I was in a patisserie on the Rue Bonaparte in Paris. I often told Binny that her considerable talents were wasted on the people of Autumn Vale, who mostly wanted a good bran muffin and a dozen chocolate chip cookies, (not that there's anything wrong with that—both favorites of mine, too) but she labored on, presumably converting unbelievers to French, Viennese, and Italian pastries one palate at a time.

During one of the lulls, while Binny went to the back and starting cleaning up from her morning baking, Gogi asked me, “So what are you going to do about Roma?”

Maybe turn her into the feds, I thought but did not say. I still wasn't sure how to handle the information I had: that the weapon used to kill Minnie was very likely a decorative letter opener from my guest's collection. “Helping Roma is important to Pish. I feel like I should ride this out, let him do what he needs to do for her.”

Patricia came through from the back, tying a white apron on over her chambray shirtdress. Her expression was sober as she approached the pass-through. “What a shock!” she said, leaning on it and watching out the front window. “The police were at my door; that's why I'm late. Minnie Urquhart is dead? How? Why?”

“We can't talk about it,” Gogi said, with a glance to me.

She nodded. “The deputy told me that they were bringing in the feds. I guess whatever happened, happened in the post office?” She eyed us both.

I nodded. “Yes, it did, and that's all we can say. We found her.”

“Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!” she said. “Poor kid . . . to come back to
this
.”

“How is it going, living upstairs with Juniper?” I asked.

She chuckled, a warm comfortable sound. “That girl is a scamp!”

Juniper? A scamp? I was taken aback. As much as I truly did like her, the sullen and silent Juniper I knew was not so much mischievous as malevolent. “I'm glad you're getting along.”

“I'm teaching her how to bake and cook. The child knows
nothing
. Last evening she made us homemade pizza; it was so good! We gave some to the boys, had a little pizza party. I think Gordy's got a thing for Juniper, but she's not
interested in him. Poor fella. He's so caught up in his own little world that he's missing so much.”

That was one way of looking at Gordy's kooky conspiracy theory obsession. From dealing with him I had come to the conclusion that if all conspiracy theory nuts were like him, they combined suspicion of unnamed otherworld and international “powers” with a dreadful naïveté when it came to people in their own lives. I was more than a little worried about Karl, but Binny had said he had to leave, so I hoped he would. Or be arrested.

“I guess they've got a visitor who stayed overnight?”

“Yeah,” Patricia said, with a slight frown. She started collecting dribs and drabs to one tray using long tongs, and took empty trays to the back. She returned to the counter. “I heard a commotion last evening and peeked out; it was one of those kids who board at Minnie's place. I guess, from what I heard, he had a fight with Minnie and stormed out.”

“Did he say what it was over?” I asked, ignoring Gogi's side glance.

Patricia was opening her mouth to speak again, but we were all stopped by the sight out the window; it was like a parade down main street. There was a procession of large black cars, and trailing them at the end was a cube van. Along the side was emblazoned
Federal Bureau of Investigation—Mobile Command Center
.

*   *   *

Shortly after that, Virgil approached the bakery with a shorter man who wore a dark suit and a serious demeanor. Virgil beckoned us to come out. The day was turning hot, but while I felt beads of perspiration, the dark-suited, sunglass-wearing man seemed completely impervious to heat.

“Gogi Grace, Merry Wynter, this is Agent Esposito,”
Virgil said, his voice tight with tension. “He'll be the lead on this investigation.”

“We're setting up a space a few doors down, ladies, if you don't mind joining us and telling us what you found this morning,” he said, with no inflection. He turned back to Virgil. “That's all for now, Sheriff. If we need you, we'll let you know.”

And that was how the guy dismissed local law enforcement? Esposito likely thought he had gleaned all he could from the sheriff. I could tell by the set of Virgil's shoulders as he walked away that he was crazy angry at being treated like a gofer, but I also knew it would not affect his professionalism one iota.

Agent Esposito led us three doors down, stopping at one of the vacant office spaces that dotted the streetfront. Gogi pointed out Emerald's new shop, Emerald Illusions, just two doors away. The mobile command unit was presumably parked somewhere behind the post office, which was completely cordoned off from the street, I noticed as I glanced over my shoulder. I also saw blue-shirted strangers knocking on doors and searching garbage cans all along Abenaki. This would surely send the local gossipmongers into a frenzy.

Esposito led us inside. They had commandeered three tables from somewhere, and several fellows in navy golf shirts emblazoned across the back with
FBI
in yellow letters were working on the wiring and phone lines, and installing other electronic equipment. A young woman was setting up a printer on a table along the back wall. It was an empty storefront, but because the big windows were covered in brown paper, there was a yellowish glow to the light. He guided us to a couple of chairs by a desk that was halfway back.

“Sorry about the spartan conditions, ladies. We're getting set up. The mobile command unit doesn't have room to conduct interviews.”

“That's perfectly all right,” Gogi said graciously. She set
her purse down on the floor and took a seat across the table from Esposito, as composed as she always was. I sat in the rickety chair next to her, praying it would hold up.

“I'm surprised at the level of setup you're going through,” I said, glancing around at the bustle of activity. “This may very well be a simple domestic case.”

“You mean because of the information Sheriff Grace's mother supplied to him?”

“Sure. Just because Minnie was murdered in the post office doesn't automatically make it an FBI matter, does it?”

“Regardless, it
is
still a U.S. Postal Service matter, and they've called us in to investigate. Now let's get down to it so you ladies can go about your day.”

I eyed him with surprise. Did he think we were going to trot off shopping after finding an acquaintance brutally slain? Attend a tea party? Have a manicure?

What followed was standard questioning for the most part. Each of us were separately interviewed, Gogi first, while it was taped and video recorded using equipment the golf-shirted crew had set up. Esposito sent her away with a caution to not talk about the crime, and I was taken through my whole day from the moment I left home, which entailed a lot of explaining. Agent Esposito was highly entertained by my castle and tortured family history.

I confirmed, along the way, what we had learned of Karl the boarder and his fight with Minnie the night before. But then came the sticky question I had been hoping to avoid.

“Did you notice the weapon used to kill Urquhart?”

“At first I thought it was a dagger.”

“But then?”

I shifted in the uncomfortable chair and sighed. There was no way to avoid this. “Then I realized that it was more likely a decorative letter opener, or something like that.”

Esposito nodded. “Did you recognize it specifically? Had you seen it before?”

“Not at all. I've never seen it before in my life.”

“You have a houseguest currently staying at the castle?”

I nodded. “Roma Toscano. She's an opera singer who my friend Pish invited to stay.”

“She had a run-in with Minnie Urquhart two weeks ago.”

He was well-informed, I had to give him that. The chair creaked as I shifted. “I heard about it, but I wasn't here. I was visiting family in Spain. If you want information you'll have to ask those present.”

He nodded, a thoughtful look in his gray-green eyes. “She was apparently brandishing a letter opener, one of her collection, just like the one in Ms. Urquhart's body right now.”

“
Just like it?
How do you know that?” I burst out, then shut my mouth.

“
Is
the letter opener part of that collection?”

It was a fishing expedition and nothing more, cobbled together from some vague hints of the attack and Roma's collection. But from whom? “You'll have to ask Roma, because I have no idea.”