A Crouton Murder (5 page)

“You’re BettyJo’s friend, aren’t you?” he asked. “The one who made the croutons that nearly killed me?”

Uncomfortable, I began to sweat and stammered softly, “Y-yes, I did make them, but it hasn’t been proven they were what poisoned you. No one even knows who the intended victim was, Mr. Seever.”

He seemed to listen, but then shook his head. “Keep her away from me,” he remarked to Aidan. “She’s dangerous.”

A cold gleam entered Aidan’s eyes. “You’d be better off if you didn’t make unfounded accusations, Franklin. The only thing I fear from Melina is that she might have stolen my heart. She’d never harm a soul.”

Surprised at his words, I felt Aidan grasp my arm a bit tighter when we moved on. I looked up, saw the rigid line of his jaw, and then turned my eyes away. Yep, the evening was likely to get worse, rather than better. Sometimes, it pains me to be right.

Soft music played as we walked among guests who were dressed better or worse than I was. Aidan wore an expensive suit and exuded confidence. I’m no slouch in the confidence department, either. I simply don’t care for crowds of business people who talk of nothing else but business and making money.

An hour or so later, I had excused myself for a trip to the rest room. I’d just turned the corner leading along the corridor when I heard two women whispering. Their backs to me as they awaited their turn to use the room, they had their heads together in gossip mode. Neither woman heard my footsteps on the carpeted floor.

The brunette murmured, “She has a nerve coming here after what happened to Franklin, the poor dear. She owns that little bakery on Wickendon Street. She’s just a shop keeper. I can’t understand why she hasn’t been arrested for attempting to kill him.”

“I know. Can you believe Aidan would be interested in the likes of her after dating Christa?”

Worse than being caught eavesdropping is being caught when you’re the subject of discussion. Hells bells, why had Christa, whoever she was, been thrown over for me? Had she ever been invited to Scotland? And was she as rich as all the others here? I shook my head while making my escape the same way I’d come. No chance of going to the toilet or being counted as a business owner among the wealthy who ate and drank, gossiped and joked about money, at this party.

Approaching Aidan, I felt curious looks follow me as I passed a few guests. Abreast of him, I touched his arm and asked in just above a whisper, “I have a migraine coming on. Would you mind taking me home?”

He gazed down at me, probably saw more than I wanted him to, and agreed to my request. With regrets to our host, Aidan and I left. We walked toward the car in silence. I reached for the car door when Aidan’s hand covered mine.

“Let’s walk a bit. The fresh air might do you good,” Aidan said as he slung his arm around my shoulder.

With no choice, but to accompany him down the quiet street, his nearness warmed me, while questions buzzed around my head as bees would among flowerbeds. Doubt filtered through me. I wasn’t cut out for a life with a man such as this. I’d felt uneasy within the high and mighty group we’d left behind. Was this the type of people Aidan dealt with all the time?

As if he read my thoughts, Aidan kissed my temple and said, “I know you were uncomfortable back there. Any special reason, Melina?”

“No,” I answered too quickly.

He stopped, turned me toward him, and asked the question again. Determined to get the truth, he held both my arms lightly, and peered into my face.

I sighed. “Fine, I heard two women gossiping when I headed to the bathroom. They were unkind and it made me aware that I’m not of their financial or bad manners’ level. Happy now?”

He laughed, pulled me close, and hugged me until I could hardly breathe. “To hell with them. I had to go to the party, not by choice, but bound by business. You were great, handled yourself as I’d expected you would, and can’t think why you didn’t straighten those witches out.”

“Who’s Christa?” I blurted.

“Ah, now the truth comes out, does it?”

“They said you threw her over for me. Did you?”

He smiled, said nothing, and gathered me to him again. A moment later he looked into my eyes and said, “She’s the daughter of one of the many bankers I dealt with when I first arrived. All I’ll say is that she’s not the person I thought she was. In my book, she wasn’t worth being with. You are. Satisfied?”

“Mmm, maybe.” I glanced up at him. “I’m starving. Can we get something to eat?”

“I know just the place,” he answered and ushered me back the way we’d come. Once in the car, we drove into downtown Providence, parked on South Main Street and entered Hemingway’s, a superior restaurant I hadn’t been to in quite some time. The food was excellent, the service sublime, and the atmosphere was soothing.

A waiter took our order, brought drinks, and left us alone. I scanned the room, saw several people who frequented my and other businesses on Wickendon Street, and smiled when they waved. My confidence soared at having been acknowledged by them. Unlike the guests at the party, these were real people, with real lives. Two of them were attorneys, one was a local actress, and the rest were managers of various high end stores at the Providence Place Mall.

“Let’s discuss the possibility of you opening a bakery in Scotland. Seanmhair would really enjoy life there, you know. I think you would, too, Melina.” Aidan sipped Glendronach malt scotch and leaned back comfortably in his chair while he waited for my response.

“You’re not serious about this, are you? Seanmhair is enthralled with the idea of living there, but truthfully, I don’t think it would last. Once the newness wore off, she’d likely wish she’d stayed here. Her friends are here,” I said with a slight shrug.

“Sean is well aware of what it would take to make the change and is willing to do so. Why are you so adamant about not doing so?”

“Aidan, I have a life here. Would you move to another country because your grandmother thinks you should?” Was there another reason he wanted to get me to Scotland? A romantic reason? I shied away from the thought of giving up everything I’d worked so hard to attain, just to give it up for a man.

His laugh was soft, as was the look in his eyes. Oh, geez.

“You make a good point. I thought you might consider moving to be closer to . . .”

Our dinners arrived and conversation came to a sudden stop. Thankful for the respite, I realized it was me who might not be ready for a commitment and used moving to another country as an excuse. I dug in to the salmon with fervor. Scrumptious spinach couscous and citrus salad finished off the meal. Later, our waiter brought dessert menus for our perusal. I handed mine back with a shake of my head as did Aidan. Tempting though they were, the last thing I needed was to add to the bit of fluff around my middle by indulging in dessert. We lingered over coffee.

Unwilling to allow Aidan to renew the relocation to Scotland conversation, I brought up Franklin Seever’s issues instead.

“Word is spreading about Franklin’s supposed poisoning. I hadn’t expected to see him tonight, although BettyJo says he puts business ahead of all else.”

“Who do you think was supposed to be poisoned, Melina?” Aidan asked pensively.

“I can’t be sure. I know BettyJo’s been having some problems lately. Not with her father, but she seems to think she’s being followed. A stalker, you know? I encouraged her to take safety precautions and plan to put in a call to Vinnie Esposito, a woman who owns a gift shop down the street from here. BettyJo hasn’t agreed to it yet, but I’m working on her.”

He nodded, glanced at the waiter, and signaled to him. “More coffee, please,” he said when the man arrived and then turned his attention back to me.

“Vinnie, that’s a strange name for a woman,” he said with a smirk.

“Her name is really Lavinia, but long ago she was nicknamed Vinnie and it stuck. She teaches criminal justice at a local university. Nice woman, smart, too.”

His brows had risen as I explained. I guessed he didn’t know many people in Vinnie’s line of business, or maybe women in Scotland didn’t teach that subject. Either way, I found his expression amusing.

Aidan stirred his coffee and asked, “Why would someone stalk BettyJo? She’s a sweet person.”

“Beats me. BettyJo might be imagining it. She’s not sure. I’ve never seen anyone following her, but we don’t go out together very often, either. I figure the best way to handle that situation is to be ready, should there be someone following her.”

“You’re a good friend to look out for BettyJo. She could simply be nervous over all that’s happened this week. Have you considered that?”

I gave him a nod, drank my coffee, and checked my watch. There was bread to be made and the hour had grown late. Dang, I wanted to stay here with Aidan.

“I know you must get back to make the bread. Am I right?” Aidan said with a good-natured attitude.

“Sorry, I’d rather stay and chat, but my customers will be unhappy if they don’t have fresh bread tomorrow.”

“Good business sense, I’d expect nothing less from you,” Aidan said and summoned the waiter.

Instead of returning to the shop right away, we walked along South Main Street and peered into shop windows. This historical section of the street remained true to the days of ship merchants and the like. The sidewalks were cobblestone or brick, and petite shops and eateries inhabited many of the neat buildings. We had arrived at Conclavia, the shop owned by Vinnie Esposito, and gawked at all the lovely merchandise displayed so beautifully in the front windows.

“So this is Vinnie’s place? Does she teach at college and work here?” Aidan asked.

“No, she has a couple of staffers that handle all this.”

He gave me a nod, we turned back toward the car, and Aidan drove me home. At the door, he kissed me soundly, laughed when I kissed him again, and then said he’d see me the next day.

From inside the shop, I watched him drive off and disappear in the night.

Bread cooled in rows on tall racks while I removed rolls from the oven.
With a wide yawn, I saw how late the hour had become. Later than I usually worked. The evening with Aidan had been worth the extra time I now surrendered to bread making.

A loud knock at the rear entry announced BettyJo’s arrival. She marched in and plunked her butt on the nearest stool, her face cheerless. Her chin cupped in her hand, BettyJo eyed the cooling bread, rolls, and the plate sitting nearby. I grinned, tossed her a Diplomat and watched her gleeful expression. Diplomats are a favorite of ours, but then, we weren’t fussy, either. The small Parisian breakfast bread is considered by many to be a pastry, though the French don’t see it that way. BettyJo peeled away the edges of the flaky croissant to reveal the creamy custard filling I’d dotted with raisins. She grinned and licked her fingers.

Pleased at the joy she found in the food from my kitchen, I remarked, “Now you’ve got sustenance, tell me why you were so disconsolate when you arrived.”

Around a mouthful of tasty goodness, she mumbled, “I’m afraid you’re right about my having to take a lesson or two in self-safety if your friend Vinnie will show me what to do. I’m definitely being followed.”

I scooted over and sat down opposite her, all my attention on BettyJo. “Tell me everything.”

“On the way to the post box, I decided I’d go the long way and walk a while in the fresh air. When I turned the corner past Mutts, I glanced back and saw this guy walking along glancing at shop windows. I didn’t think anything of it until I rounded the block. Each time I turned a corner, I nonchalantly looked back and there he was.” BettyJo shivered. “It’s downright creepy, Melina.”

It only took a second or two to find and dial Vinnie’s number. When she didn’t answer, I left a voice mail message on her phone. “Hey, Vinnie, it’s Melina Cameron from the Hole in the Wall Bakery. We met a while back and you offered to look into some things for me should I ever need it. Instead of doing that, could you stop by the bakery tomorrow after you’re done teaching? I’d like to speak with you about an issue my friend is having. I’ll be here all day. Thanks.”

I glanced at the clock and was glad Vinnie hadn’t picked up the call. It was after midnight, and not everyone burned through the midnight hours like I did. I tucked the phone into my apron pocket and asked BettyJo, “You’ll be around tomorrow, right?”

She bobbed her head up and down as she finished the Diplomat and then said, “Clients all day and then dinner with Dad, he’s cooking. Can you imagine? I didn’t know he dabbled in cooking. It seems he and Ezra have taken a few classes at Johnson & Wales. The school offers special evening events where you’re shown how to make a specific recipe. It’s a hands-on thing.” BettyJo giggled. “I hope I’m not the guinea pig for a recipe he’s yearning to try out. When I was a kid, Mom cooked. After she left, Dad hired a fulltime cook. He couldn’t make toast, for gosh sake. By the way, I didn’t have a chance to mention Corinda to Dad. He couldn’t stay long, so our coffee-time was brief.”

I chuckled along with her. “You’ll have another chance, I’m sure. Have you told your father of this stalker?”

“Uh, that would be a
no, definitely not
answer. Don’t you tell him, either. Promise.”

“You needn’t worry on that account. I saw your father earlier this evening and he was less than cordial.”

“Sorry, Melina. He can be pompous. I’ll talk to him about his behavior,” BettyJo said.

I put my hands up and said, “Please don’t do that. Either he’ll come around or he won’t, once he figures out I didn’t try to kill him, that is.”

“Sure, if that’s what you want. I won’t say a word.” BettyJo shook crumbs from her shirt and asked for another Diplomat. Laughingly, I gave her one and ate one, too.

“How was your date with Aidan?”

After I’d given her a rundown on the disastrous party and our marvelous dinner at Hemingway’s, BettyJo joked about Seanmhair’s wish to move to Scotland.

“She might find a nice Scot to keep her company. No strip clubs, no paddy wagons, no police station. Just think, someone might sweep her off her feet,” BettyJo said with a hearty laugh.