Gluten for Punishment (23 page)

CHAPTER
31

"I
broke up with Craig,” Tasha announced when she pushed open the front door of the
bakery.

Meghan was making more coffee after the morning rush. She gave me a look and disappeared
into the kitchen to box up the online orders for shipment.

“Sit,” I ordered, poured a cup of strong coffee, and brought Tasha a huge cinnamon
roll. “What happened?”

She peeled off her jacket, slung it on the back of her chair, and sat down. She then
grabbed the sugar container and dumped sugar into her cup and stirred as if her life
depended on it.

“Tasha? I thought things were going so well . . .”

“I got to thinking about what you said the other day.” Tasha pounded her spoon on
the edge of her cup and set it on the saucer.

“What did I say?” A feeling of dread hit the bottom of my stomach. I did have a tendency
to speak without thinking especially around my friends.

“You said Craig sounded like an abuser. You know, separating me from my family and
friends.”

“I did?” I glanced at the floor and frowned. “When? What were we talking about?”

“I was telling you how I didn’t tell you things because Craig wanted us to be a couple
who relied on each other—not friends. And you said it sounded like he was obsessive
and could possibly turn into a stalker.”

I winced. It did sound like something I’d say. “But you said he was a perfect gentleman
and great with Kip.”

“He is great with Kip. Like I said, he has this nephew with autism. He even does a
relay to raise money for autism awareness.” She picked at her cinnamon roll.

“Then why the breakup?”

“I told him we talked about my mortgage problem and he said my mortgage was none of
your business. He got kind of agitated.”

“What do you mean agitated?”

“He started pacing and making a fist and flexing his hand and making a fist.” She
went back to stirring her drink. “I told him to calm down. You’re my best friend.
I’ve known you forever. You wouldn’t do anything but help me.”

“Then he said you were a busybody who needed to mind her own business.”

“Wow.” I was taken aback. I literally leaned back in my chair as if I had been slapped.
“I thought Craig and I were on our way to being friends. I mean, he’s been helpful
and nice.”

“He has.” She nodded and sipped her coffee. “But I told him he was out of line. He
needed to understand you had been in my life long before he came along and you would
be in my life long after.”

I winced. “Ouch.”

“I know.” She made a half frown then wrinkled her nose. “That was a bit over the top.”

“What did he say?”

“He got all upset and hurt. ‘What do you mean?’ he said. ‘I thought we were working
toward a forever relationship.’”

“Yikes.”

“We got our wires crossed. I told him we’d been dating less than two months and I
was still working on the getting-to-know-him part.” She stirred her coffee again out
of habit. “I mean, who starts thinking forever at two months?”

“I don’t.”

“Me, neither, too many bad relationships taught me that. So, I told him I needed some
time to think things through.”

“What did he say?”

“He said it wasn’t good for Kip to have men coming and going in his life. That I’m
a fool not to realize a good thing when I had it.” She paused, her spoon midway between
the saucer and the cup. “Is he right?”

“He was angry.” I patted her hand. “Whatever happens, Kip will get over it. He’s a
smart boy. Be honest with him and tell him you and Craig had a fight.”

“Why do men make up these stories in their heads?” she asked me. “You know, you say
you’ll go on one date and suddenly you belong to them.”

“Not all guys do that,” I pointed out. “Or so I’ve heard. I can’t say as I’ve had
much experience with the ones who don’t.”

That got a laugh out of her. She rested her elbow on the table. Her long blonde hair
brushed her shoulder and she cupped her chin in her palm. “I’ve got so many worries,
what with the mortgage fiasco and Kip. I don’t have time to figure out if Craig is
a good guy or a bad guy.”

“If he’s a good guy, he’ll figure out you’re worth the wait.” I lifted my coffee cup
to my lips and sipped.

“And if he’s not?”

“Then good riddance to bad rubbish.”

CHAPTER
32

G
randma Ruth was once again sitting on my front porch when I got home. “Hi.” I climbed
the stairs and sat down next to her. She squinted at me through her smoke.

“Did Sam stay long last night?” Today she wore a plaid hunter’s cap with earflaps
and the brim snapped up. It covered her orange hair completely. She wore a man’s corduroy
coat, a heavy denim skirt that pulled up to her widespread knees, wool knee-highs,
and dark Keds.

“How do you know he didn’t simply drop me off?”

“Because I believe you are a smart girl.” She waggled her eyebrows at me. “A man like
that should be invited in for coffee.”

“Grandma!”

“Besides, Bill and I happened to come by and saw his fancy truck still parked in your
driveway.”

I shook my head. “He didn’t stay that long.”

“I didn’t say he did.” She squinted one eye and studied me. “Not exactly your usual
type.”

I leaned back in a huff and crossed my arms. The puffiness of my winter coat made
my huff awkward to say the least. But the season had turned cold, and warmth was more
important to me than looks. “Who do you think ‘my type’ is?”

“I always thought you had a thing for the bad boys.”

“Maybe when I was thirteen.” I blew out a breath. Neither one of us talked about my
ex. I preferred it that way. “Besides, it’s nothing. I told him I’m not interested
in dating until I have my business on its feet, and that includes having the murder
solved.” I rolled my head her way. “Got any good leads, Grandma Ruth?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. The speakeasy was first used as part of the Underground
Railroad. Did you know that?” She eyed me. “I figure most people in town at the time
weren’t sympathizers.” She looked back at the big elm shaking in the cold wind. “Who
knew?”

“I was talking about the murders, Grandma.” I rolled my eyes and stood. The swing
didn’t even rock from my motion, as Grandma had her feet firmly planted.

“Do you know why your mother left you this house?” she asked me as she blew a smoke
ring over her head.

“Because I was the only one of her children without a family? Without a life?” I crossed
my arms and the jacket puffed out.

“Because she wanted you to have roots, Toni. She wanted you not to get lost up there
in Chicago all by yourself. She wanted you here near your family, near me.”

“Near you? You have fifty-two grandkids, Grandma. You don’t need me.”

“I love all my grandkids, Marie, but your mama knew something I’m just now realizing.”

“What’s that?”

“You are probably the only one smart enough and creative enough to keep up with this
old lady.” Grandma studied me with a half-smile. “Someone has to be around to keep
an eye on me. Who better than you?”

I turned my head, raised my chin, and kept my mouth in a flat line while I thought
about what Grandma Ruth said. Truth? I still think it’s because Mom knew the other
kids would be more practical and sell the old place, splitting the proceeds. I had
always had a soft spot in my heart for all things family, from old houses to old ladies.
“Are you coming in?” I asked.

“Do you have dessert?”

“I always have dessert.” I shook my head. “You know that.”

“Good.” She put her cigarette out in the sand. “You need to get some pumpkins and
maybe one of those skeletons for the front door. Halloween is coming, you know.”

Along with Grandma’s birthday. She had been born on November 2, the day after All
Saints’ Day, which was known as All Souls’ Day. “Not quite a saint, simply an old
soul,” she’d say every year. “Makes things more interesting, don’t you think?”

“Are you coming over to hand out candy?” I asked as I flipped on the lights, tossed
my gear on the foyer table, and took off my puffy coat.

“I come over every year.” Grandma Ruth closed the door behind her. “It’s tradition.”

Ever since she had moved into her apartment in the senior living complex, Grandma
dressed up and sat on my mom’s porch and scared the living daylights out of trick-or-treaters.
The neighborhood kids came to see what kind of monster she’d be. It was something
different every year. Grandma Ruth could make the best costumes, every part of them
done with her own hands and imagination. No one in my family had ever worn a store-bought
costume. Not when we had a talented costumer on hand.

“What are you wearing this year?” I asked, heading straight to the kitchen. When I
flipped on the light, I froze.

“I thought about dressing up as George Meister. You know, with a bashed-in skull . . .”
Grandma Ruth stopped beside me. “What happened?”

The kitchen had been completely trashed. All my special flours were pulled from the
pantry and flung about the countertops and floor. Chairs were overturned. Dishes were
broken. The ugly words
Mind your own business, bitch!
had been spray painted across my cabinets in black paint.

“They’ve never touched the house before,” I whispered. My heart sank into the pit
of my stomach.

Grandma had her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed 911. “This is Ruth Nathers.
Someone has broken into my granddaughter’s home and trashed the place. Send a squad
car right away.”

My first instinct was to rush in and take some kind of inventory, to see what was
left of my expensive gluten-free flours. I made a move forward but Grandma’s large
hand clamped onto my shoulder and stopped me.

“Of course, we won’t touch anything,” she said into the phone. Her loud voice rumbled
through my stunned brain. “No, we haven’t checked the entire house. Yes, we’re heading
outside to wait for you there.”

The pressure of Grandma Ruth’s hand had me turning around, and we walked what felt
like a mile down the hallway back to the front door. I couldn’t tell if any of the
other rooms had been touched because the hall light didn’t shine very far into them.
But the idea that someone—with that kind of hatred in their heart—had been in my house
made me want to throw up.

Outside, I paced while rubbing my upper arms. I swear it was twenty degrees colder
than a few minutes earlier. Maybe it was because I had left my coat inside. Grandma
made her way slowly back to the swing, where she settled in and lit a new cigarette.
Police sirens sounded in the distance.

Grandma took a long drag of her smoke and blew it out slowly. Her cane rested on her
knee. “It does make me wonder whose business you’ve been into that they would do this.”

“I don’t know.” At that moment, I really didn’t. I was stuck on the fact that until
now whoever was behind the threats had left my home alone. But now, now they had gone
and trashed my mother’s house. I realized I wasn’t scared. I was mad as hell.

“Don’t worry. We’ll figure out who did this.”

“Oh, I’m not the one who should be worried.” I pivoted on my heel.

Grandma Ruth laughed her hoarse, craggy laugh, which always ended in a coughing fit.
She eyed me through her smoke. “Got you mad, didn’t they?”

“You know, I was upset when they attacked the bakery. But this.” I waved my hand.
“This is attacking Mom and everyone in our family and that I won’t stand for.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“If I tell you, then you’ll be an accomplice.”

Grandma chuckled then sobered. “How come your brother isn’t here?”

“Tim took an extra shift tonight.” I yanked my cell phone out of my pocket and dialed
Tim’s number. “Whoever did this must either know Tim or was watching the house.”

“Or both,” Grandma Ruth said.

Tim’s phone went to voice mail. I left him a message about the break-in and asked
him to call me when he got the message, which I knew might not be until four
A.M.

The next number I dialed was Brad’s office. It was closed of course, but I got his
night service and told them to have him call me as soon as he could. A squad car whipped
around the corner and I raised my hands to flag them down.

It was Officer Emry. Wonderful. He climbed out of the car and spoke into the radio
on his shoulder. Then hitched his belt up and headed toward us. “You ladies have a
problem?”

“Yes, someone broke into my home and trashed my kitchen.” My hands were on my hips
and my feet spread wide as if daring him to say something stupid. I must have looked
like a stone-cold gunslinger because he turned twelve shades of red and stuttered,
“Are . . . are they still inside?”

“We didn’t check.” Grandma squinted at Officer Emry. “We did the smart thing, called
you and left.”

Emry looked up at the four stories of house. His mouth twitched hard to the side.
“I’m going to need backup.” He turned away from us and talked into his radio.

I looked at Grandma. She shrugged and mouthed, “The man’s an idiot.” I swallowed my
chuckle as he faced us again. “You both stay put. I’m going to do a perimeter check.
There’s another squad car on the way.”

I leaned against the porch rail and watched him dig his gun out of his holster, wrap
two hands around it, then figure out he’d need a flashlight to see in the dark. He
pointed his gun to the ground and dug out a flashlight, put the flashlight on top
of his gun and held them out in front of him. The light wavered a lot.

“Stupid man is going to shoot someone,” Grandma muttered from the porch swing where
she’d lit another cigarette. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll peg Mrs. Dorsky’s Great
Dane. He lifts his leg on my scooter every time I leave it parked outside.”

“First my bakery.” I paced to the edge of the porch. “Then my car.” I paced back.
“Now my home. Something’s got to give.”

“What happened last night might not be related to the other occurrences.”

“What do you mean?” I turned to fully face her as Officer Emry disappeared around
the corner of the house. Another siren went off in the distance.

“There were ten reports of slashed tires last night. Chief Blaylock held a press conference.
He was pretty sure it was a bunch of drunk high school kids playing Halloween pranks.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “It happens nearly every year.”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or not. “Could be a copycat,” I pointed out.
“Might have seen the kids at work and thought he’d get away with slashing mine.”

“If that’s the case, your guy has a lot of time on his hands. He’d have to have been
watching the kids and he’d have to have been watching your every move.”

The idea of someone watching me, my home, and my business creeped me out . . . a lot.

Chief Blaylock pulled up to the house. Behind him was a county CSU van. “Evening,
ladies,” the chief said as he approached the house. “Where’s Officer Emry?”

“He went around the side to check the perimeter.” Grandma Ruth waved her large, flat
hands in a sweeping motion as if she were shooing chickens.

The chief stepped off the walk to go after Emry. “Be careful, Chief,” Grandma Ruth
bellowed. “He has his gun drawn. I’d hate to see you get shot.”

The chief looked at Grandma a moment then gave her a short nod of his Stetson-covered
head. “Thanks.” He strode around the house and hollered, “Emry, put that damn gun
away. I’m here to help figure this out.”