A. Gardner - Poppy Peters 01 - Southern Peach Pie and A Dead Guy (13 page)

"Then we need to get better," he continues. "What better time than now?"

"Okay," I agree. "We'll go back. That is, if one of us isn't hauled away to jail before then."

Bree is pacing nervously around the living room when we walk through the door. She breathes a sigh of relief and urges us to sit down. We made it back before dinner, but I expect that Bree has already eaten another one of her frozen dinners after a long shift at the student bakery. I glance in the kitchen, thankful that she doesn't have another tasty dessert waiting for us. I can't swallow another morsel.

"I'm surprised you didn't make pecan sandies or something," I comment.

"I made oatmeal raisin cookies this morning, but I accidentally ate them all." Bree sighs.

"How do you
accidentally
eat something?" Cole asks.

Bree ignores him and grabs the water bottle sitting on the coffee table. She gulps it down before she looks at us again. My muscles go tense as I wait for her to speak.

"The police came this morning," Bree says. "They were looking for you." She stands up and peeks through the blinds. "They could be back any minute."

"What?" I gasp.

"It's your turn to be questioned," Bree continues. "When I told them you weren't here they were not happy." She hands me a card with a phone number on it. "A detective guy wants me to give you this. He wants you to call him as soon as you get home."

"Do you think they'll lock me up?" I gulp.

"Don't give them a reason to," Bree responds. She looks at Cole. "I think the two of you should just tell the truth."

"That we broke into the professor's office?" Cole responds. "No thanks."

"Whatever we tell them our stories need to match," I instruct.

"And they'll eventually find out that you guys were nosing around in the professor's office," Bree adds. "Maybe you should take your chances?"

"We might not need to," I say. "Cole and I met the son of Thomas Calle."

Bree's eyes go wide. She stands up and starts anxiously peeking through the blinds again.

"What did he say?"

"Cole and I think all the stories about the ghost of Old Man Thomas come from the night he ran away. He had an argument with someone in the kitchens. He was so angry that he threw a few things, but that's not the strangest part." I pause to let Bree process the information. "The night Thomas ran away, whoever he argued with was making
beignets
. Powdered sugar was thrown all over the place."

"Like the night the professor was murdered," she mutters.

"Exactly," Cole chimes in. "We've decided to go back to the student kitchen and see if we can find anything else."

"I don't think that's a good idea anymore." Bree shakes her head. "That detective guy has been stalking that building all day. You'll look even more suspicious."

"We have to
try
," I argue. "Tonight."

"We will need some kind of distraction," Cole says. "It will only give us a few minutes to sneak in, but it's worth it, right?"

"The detective knows the three of us are friends," Bree points out. "Do either of you know anyone else who might help?" She looks at me as she says it. I roll my eyes.

"I think I know someone," I reply. "If we hurry we might be able to catch him ending his shift."

"Shift?" Bree asks.

My chest tightens. I never told Bree about Jeff working at the student bakery.

"Yeah," I admit. "He sorta kinda was asked to work at the student bakery too."

"What?" she pouts. "I thought he was there washing dishes for extra credit?"

"You can do that?" I fold my arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Who are you guys talking about?" Cole looks annoyed. His forehead is crinkled as he looks from me to Bree.

"Jeff," I blurt out. Cole immediately frowns.

"
That
dude won't help us," he answers.

"He will because he has a thing for Poppy," Bree insists.

My cheeks start to feel warm so I quickly change the subject.

"Let's go. Who's ready?
I am
." I race out the door before Bree has more time to tell me all about the men who are looking for me. I am too close to clearing my name to quit now. I dash across the quad, practically running. I hear footsteps behind me as Cole and Bree struggle to catch up. I wipe my forehead when I reach the bakery doors. The blast of AC when I walk in reminds me of my first day in Georgia. I remember hardly being able to breathe as I waited in line for one of Buzz's rise and shine orange rolls. That day feels like it was years ago. I had no clue what I was in for back then.

I inhale the smell of gooey cinnamon rolls and look behind the counter. My eyes dart to the tray of beignets. Such a mischievous dessert those things are turning out to be. I glare at them as if they are intimidated by my death stare.

Why do they have to smell so good?

Jeff walks out of the kitchen looking surprised to see me. He grins as he collects the almost empty tray of raspberry Danishes. I put on my best smile and prepare to be flirtatious. I haven't thought through what I am going to say to him. I will have to wing it and hope he agrees to keep watch for me or distract a cop while I snoop around the crime scene. Too bad there's no time for Bree to bake a fresh apple pie.

"Poppy," Jeff says. He lightly touches his hair net. "I didn't think I would be seeing you here."

"Please tell me your shift is almost over," I respond.

"It ended a while ago, but I volunteered to stay a little longer. Raspberry Danish?" He holds up the tray and urges me to take one of the leftovers.

"No thanks," I say. "Wow, I didn't know you were such an overachiever."

"That's me." He grins wider. The bakery door chimes, and Jeff directs his attention behind me. "Let me help these customers, and we can hang out."

"Okay." I watch Jeff fill a box full of beignets for two men wearing T-shirts and jeans. Jeff grabs each one from the front of the tray and happily hands the men their box. They nod as he quickly rings them up on the register. When the men leave, Jeff takes off his hair net.

"Done." He smiles. "So what were you thinking? Practicing for the contest? Homework? Dinner?" I feel a little queasy when he mentions going out to eat. I have had enough food today to last me all month.

"A little field trip?" I suggest.

"I trust you will be staying
in
the country?" a voice says behind me. I turn around and see Bree shrugging. Cole has his head down, and a man in a tie is standing next to them with two cops in uniform. I gulp.

My time is up.

"What's going on?" Jeff asks.

"I was never pulled in for questioning yesterday," I respond, looking at the detective.

"Poppy, is it?" The detective shakes my hand. His short hair is chestnut brown. It matches the scruff on his chin. The man is taller and younger than I was expecting him to be. He would still tower over me even if I was wearing my high-heeled boots.

"Yes."

"I am Detective Reid. I am going to have to ask you to come with me."

"Okay." I nod. I can't avoid it any longer, and I'm not feeling stupid enough to run. I follow Detective Reid outside and across the quad to an empty classroom.

"You first," the Detective says to me. I enter the classroom with one of the policemen. The other one stays in the hall with Bree and Cole. My hands shake as I sit across from Detective Reid. He looks down at a folder when he speaks to me.

"I know what you're thinking," I say.

"And what is that?" he asks.

"I'm about to be expelled and I wasn't exactly the professor's favorite student. You have to believe me though. I did
not
kill him." My voice quivers slightly at first, but I eventually find my confidence.

"So you did find him that night?" he asks.

"Yes," I gulp.

"What were you doing in the kitchens so late?"

"Would you believe me if I said I was studying?" I shrug. It's worth a try.

"Look Poppy," Detective Reid says. He rubs his eyes like he hasn't slept in days. "I want to help you, but you have to help me. I realize that telling me the truth feels like the risky thing to do, but you need to weigh your options here. Becoming a murder suspect is serious stuff."

I slump my shoulders as I have an inner debate with myself. I have to tell him the truth. Maybe he can help me piece together this puzzle.

Or maybe he is an absolute dirtbag.

"Fine." I take a deep breath. I search for the right words. Words that don't make me sound like a shady truffle thief. "Have you already spoken to Mr. Dixon about me?"

"He gave me your file," he says honestly.

"So you know about the package of missing black truffles?"

"I do." The detective nods. I tap my fingers on the countertop as I think back to how that night began.

"I didn't steal them," I say quickly. "I was in the kitchen practicing for the school contest coming up. I made puff pastry dough for napoleons, which ended up being thrown away. Probably by one of my classmates who doesn't think much of me. Anyway, I decided to leave when I heard noises coming from the kitchen next door. When I got into the hallway I saw Professor Sellers."

"What kind of noises did you hear?" he asks.

"Pots. Pans. You know, kitchen noises."

"That was the night the black truffles were stolen?" he confirms.

"Yes." I nod. "The next day Mr. Dixon pulled me into his office and said I would be expelled if the thief wasn't caught. I guess Professor Sellers told him I was the only student in the building at that time. He thinks I am guilty."

"Then what happened?" Detective Reid is writing furiously.

"I decided to snoop around to try and clear my name." I look down at the floor and take a calming breath. I still don't know if I am doing the right thing by telling him all this. "I snuck into the professor's office after hours, because I thought maybe
he
was the one who stole the truffles, and that's when I heard a scream." I gulp. The memory is beginning to re-live itself in my head. "We ran to the kitchens, and that's when we saw him."

"We?"

I blush.

"Yeah," I respond. "Cole, that guy in the hallway, was with me. He was only trying to help."

"I see," he responds. "Well, I appreciate your honesty." He keeps a straight face as he writes. I can't help but roll my eyes. It was hard for me to dive into those memories again, and he won't even give me a reassuring nod.

"Sure you do." I watch him until he looks up. "Is this the part where you arrest me and say thanks anyways?"

"No." He allows himself to chuckle. "This is the part where I ask you to stay near campus, because I'll be contacting you
real
soon."

"To arrest me?"

"I could just arrest you now if you prefer?" he jokes.

"No thanks." I stand up to leave. "Are we done here?"

"One more thing," the Detective adds. "How many kitchens does the school have?"

I wrinkle my nose.

"I don't know," I respond. "Quite a few. There are three or four in this building and some across campus where the more advanced students meet."

"Are there kitchens anywhere else?" he asks.

"The dorms and apartment buildings? But those are more
kitchenettes,
if you ask me."

"Thank you," he says. He glances at the officer standing next to him. "Rope them all off." Detective Reid looks at me again. "You can go now, Miss."

I raise my eyebrows as I walk out the door. Cole and Bree look worried. They eagerly wait to see what I do when I exit the room. I stroll right up to Cole and put my hand on his shoulder.

"I told them everything," I whisper.

He shakes his head.

"Poppy, you can't trust the po-po. Have I taught you nothing?" I hear him grind his teeth as he slowly walks into the classroom for
his
interrogation.

"He'll get over it," I whisper to Bree. I take a deep breath and realize I lied to Detective Reid without realizing it. There is one more kitchen that I forgot to mention to him, and it is in the student bakery. Whoever has been sneaking around will have no choice but to use that kitchen unless they want to make that kind of noise in one of the dorms where there are paper-thin walls. "I have a plan, and it involves some extra strong tiramisu."

I was only joking about the tiramisu, but Bree made one anyway. After I mentioned it, she couldn't get it out of her head. All I wanted was coffee that I could eat by the spoonful, because my plan involved staying up late.

"Do you think we are under surveillance?" Bree whispers.

"Maybe?"

It's midnight, and I am dressed in a pair of black leggings and a black top. I taste the coffee as I take another bite of Bree's tiramisu. My heart is pounding. This might be one of the gutsiest things I've ever done, apart from confronting Mom one Christmas when she almost sold my car while I was away.

I just hope that I get lucky.

"If Cole doesn't show soon I'm leaving without him," Bree mutters.

"So you are positive that the student bakery is open tomorrow?"

"Yes," she says impatiently. "For the hundredth time, yes. I overheard princess Georgina saying she was asked to run the kitchen until closing time. Geez, Mr. Harris is handing out early rotations like candy."

"Waking up at 3 a.m. is not a
sweet
reward," I remind her.

"But it scores me brownie points." Bree pulls down the hem of her black party dress. It is the only black thing she has in her wardrobe.

"Are you sure you'll be able to run in that?"

"Who says we are running?" she asks. "What would we be running from? I thought we were going to snoop around the crime scene again?" She takes a deep breath and smiles. "Man, I love a good mystery."

That's because she's not the one being considered as a suspect.

"Let's just go," I say, opening the front door.

"What about Cole?"

"Maybe he forgot to set his alarm clock or something?" I respond. "We don't have time to wait. I really hope this works."

I quietly walk down the street and across the quad. No one is in sight. I glance at our usual student building. Bree begins moving towards it, but I keep walking. She jogs to catch up with me. I stop and hide in the shadow of a tree as Bree practically waddles in her dress to keep my pace. She leans over and catches her breath.

"What are you doing?" she whispers. "You are going the wrong way."

"No, I'm not." I look forward at the student bakery. Bree follows my gaze and widens her eyes.

"Poppy," she scolds me. "We are
not
breaking into the bakery."

"Relax," I reply. "If I am right, we won't have to break in."

I continue walking quietly. My eyes scan from left to right looking for cops or crooks who might be following us. My hand brushes the front doors, and I peer inside. The bakery is dark. I keep walking along the edge of the building as Bree keeps a hand on my shoulder. I hear her gulp.

"Poppy," she whispers. "I changed my mind. I say we wait for that hot detective to solve this one."

"You thought he was hot?" I ask. I sneak towards the back door leading to the kitchen.

"Didn't you?"

"If you set aside his dull personality," I respond. "Sure."

"Uh-huh." Bree quietly giggles.

I ignore her and stand quietly next to the back door.

"Shhh." I press my ear against the wood. When I hear noises coming from inside, I am thrilled and terrified at the same time. My chest starts pounding and a surge of adrenaline rushes through my veins. My thoughts start spinning out of control, and my feet feel like they need to run for miles before they can calm down. "This is it.
He
is in there."

"Who?"

"The freak who stole those black truffles. The crazy person who killed Professor Sellers. This is the only available kitchen on campus right now. If anything fishy is going on, it's happening
here.
" I reach for the door handle, but Bree stops me.

"Are you crazy?" I hear her swallow hard. "Why don't we call the cops?"

"Because," I protest. "I might never get a chance like this again, and whoever is in there might leave at any moment. I have to at least see who it is, Bree."

She gulps and takes a step back. I nod at her, and she nods at me. My hand slowly turns the door knob. It is unlocked. My hands and feet feel prickly as I open the door. Light floods the sidewalk. I take a step inside, and immediately something hits my ankle. I jump and look down.

"Cole?" I gasp.

"Poppy," he says through his teeth. "Get
out
of here." He has a worried look on his face. My eyes dart around the kitchen. I look back at Cole and quickly realize that he has been tied to a chair. He rocks back and forth trying to scoot himself closer to the exit. His forehead looks damp, and there are sweat stains underneath the armpits of his shirt. I get down on my hands and knees and hide behind a counter. "
Poppy
." Cole rolls his eyes as he watches me crouch down and investigate instead of run to get help.

"Shhh." I glance back at the back door and it closes before Bree has the chance to follow me. I am alone now. I hear more noises. Pots and pans are clanging, and I hear sizzling from the deep fryers. Footsteps approach. I crawl to a corner as someone in an apron comes to retrieve more mixing bowls.

Hiking boots.

Faded jeans.

Blond hair.

Jeff.

A wave of disappointment washes over me when I see Jeff collecting mixing bowls like it is an everyday chore. All the while, Cole is tied up in the corner with a scowl on his face. My feeling of disappointment quickly turns to anger as I think about how he conned me into thinking he was a normal guy from Seattle with similar hopes and dreams as me. I jump to my feet, letting my emotions do my thinking. It's a habit that I can't shake.

"Hey!" I shout.

"Poppy!" Cole scolds me.

"Poppy?" Jeff responds, turning around. He raises his eyebrows. "You can't be here. Get out!"

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." I stamp my foot. Cole clears his throat. "Oh, and you let Cole go."

"Last chance," Jeff mutters. "Leave the way you came!"

"What's that, my boy?" another voice calls from across the kitchen. Heavy footsteps thud towards me. Mr. Harris steps forward. His forehead looks shiny in the light, and he practically growls when he sees me. His gaze is fiery, like a mad man lurks behind his eyes. "Grab her."

As soon as he commands it, Jeff grabs me. I struggle against his force, but he's too strong. He grips my arms so tight that I can start to feel bruises forming on my skin in the shape of his fingers. He grabs some butcher's string, the kind used to tie rotisserie chickens. With my hands behind my back, he ties me to the leg of a metal counter.

"I'm really sorry," Jeff says quietly. "But I
did
warn you." I try to jerk myself away from him, but I can't, so I settle for giving him a death glare. Jeff sighs and resumes with his chores. He returns to the nearest counter and begins grabbing more kitchen equipment for Mr. Harris.

"We'll decide what to do with them when we are done," Mr. Harris grunts. He wipes his forehead with his plump finger. I notice a Band-Aid wrapped around his thumb. He grabs one of the school's specially-made mixing bowls. I remember them from orientation. They have the school's emblem on them.

I watch Jeff mix a blend of spices, molasses, and sugar, and quickly catch on to the fact that he's making beignet batter. My eyes dart to a bowl of confectioner's sugar near the fryers. Each batch that Jeff completes is taken over to Mr. Harris for examining. I look at Cole.

"What are you doing here?" I mutter.

"I was on my way to scope out the crime scene when I saw Jeff out by the Dumpsters," he whispers.

"What happened to going together? We waited for you."

"I thought I would check to see if the coast was clear," he whispers back. "Being stealthy isn't really your strong suit. No offense."

"You realize what's happening here, don't you?"

"Late night snack attack?" Cole mutters.

"No." I say it a little too loud. Jeff turns around and looks at me. I refuse to make eye contact with him. I soften my voice. "No. Jeff and Mr. Harris were the ones making those strange noises in the student kitchens this whole time. They were the ones in the kitchen that night when we found Professor Sellers.
One
of them killed the professor."

"Professor Sellers must have walked in on them that night," he responds. "But why would they
kill
him? What's so incriminating about a late night beignet binge?"

I remember what James said back in Alabama. They have been making beignets since the school opened. Thomas Calle got into a fight with one of the teachers when he walked in on him making these sweet treats. Professor Sellers caught Jeff and Mr. Harris in the act and wound up dead.

"
Black truffles
," I mutter out loud.

"What?" Cole tries shaking the chair to loosen his ropes. He does it a second time and starts wiggling his arms. Jeff hears him and races over with a kitchen knife. My entire body freezes with fear. Jeff glances at me and quickly cuts Cole's ropes.

"What are you—"

"Go," he instructs him. Jeff runs to cut me free. I feel relieved when the string around my arms and wrists finally drops to the floor. "The old man is crazy. Get out while you still can."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Cole says.

"What about you?" My chest is pounding so loudly that it is all I can hear.

"I have to stay," Jeff whispers. "Mr. Harris will turn me in if I don't."

"Turn you in for what?"

Cole pulls my arm towards the door with a pleading look on his face.

"I kind of lied on my school application," he admits.

"You
murdered
a man just so you wouldn't get kicked out of pastry school?" My face feels like it's on fire.

"Poppy," he barks. "I had nothing to do with that. I wasn't even there that night."

"And I am just supposed to take your word for it?" I reply.

"Alright," Mr. Harris yells. The sound of his voice scares me so much that it forces the air from my lungs. Heavy footsteps race in my direction. "Play time is over." I hardly have the chance to think before the back door bursts open. Detective Reid enters with a group of policemen and draws his gun as a sweaty, lumpy arm wraps around my waist. I hear Mr. Harris's nasally breathing in my ear, and it grosses me out. My entire spine fills with goose bumps. This might be the one time in my life I wish I wasn't so thin and petite. Mr. Harris grabs me with little effort, as if I'm a mini cupcake.

"Poppy, are you okay?" Detective Reid says calmly. He gently takes a step forward. I see Bree standing behind him. She's staring right at me and nervously biting her nails. I glance down and notice that Mr. Harris doesn't only have his disgusting, hairy arm around me. He is also holding up a kitchen knife, taking me as his hostage.

"What do
you
think?" I angrily respond.

"Let her go, professor." Detective Reid takes another step. He reaches out a hand like he's a long lost friend. "We can talk this out."

I hear Mr. Harris's breath quicken. His knuckles lock in place. He is starting to panic.

"Don't make another decision you'll regret later," the detective says firmly. He stares straight at him.

"I…I didn't," Mr. Harris stutters.

"I know," the Detective responds. He takes another step. "You didn't mean for any of this to happen."

I feel something moist drop onto my neck. I slowly look down, praying that it isn't blood. It is a tear. Another one drops onto my T-shirt. I feel Mr. Harris's grip around my waist start to loosen.

"It was an accident," he stammers. "I thought he was unconscious, not
dead
. He was only supposed to
forget
what he saw. He couldn't
know.
No one can
know.
" He lets go of me to wipe his face.

A surge of adrenaline pumps through me, and I run as far from him as I can manage. My legs carry me towards the tray of warm beignets and I stumble, nearly knocking the whole pan over. A couple of warm beignets fall off the counter and break as they hit the floor. Something round and dark pokes out of the middle. I lean in closer to try and make out what it might be.

I hear the clicking of handcuffs as Detective Reid recites Mr. Harris his rights. Bree and Cole call my name, but I pick up a broken beignet and pick it apart. My nails hit something hard embedded in the center. I finish pulling apart the pastry and see a black lump in the center of the fried batter. I wipe away the mess of powdered sugar dusted on top and hold up a black truffle, added after the batter was fried and cooled.

"Yes!" I shout. "That's it."

"What is
that
?" Detective Reid asks. Bree and Cole stare at it looking bewildered. Mr. Harris hangs his head.

"One of the missing black truffles," I answer. I look at Jeff and remember how he carefully filled a box of hand-picked beignets for a couple of out-of-towners. "He has been selling the truffles by hiding them in these stupid beignets." The detective looks at Mr. Harris and then at Jeff. "How long has this tradition been going on, huh? Since the day the school opened?"