Bun for Your Life (16 page)

“I apologize. I must have missed the bulletin announcing you were my superior. Don't you have cupcakes to bake?”

I ignored his deepening scowl and pointed remark. “Tomorrow morning. I've got plenty of time. Who's going to be in charge while you're away? What if another dead body shows up?”

“Then I suggest you call 911,” he growled. “That's not shutting down just because I'm gone. Or you can call the main number of the police department. The chief is still in town. Rigby Police Department is also a backup. Sergeant Jacoby's there and has volunteered to pitch in. I've brought him up to date on the case.”

“Why don't we let him finish his story, dear?” Dottie put in.

I sat back down, hoping I hadn't caused her any distress. I felt bad, causing a mild scene in her living room, but how could he leave town at a time like this, with a murderer running amok? What was he thinking?

“I'm sorry, Dottie. Go ahead, Detective. I'll be quiet.”

“Thank you. As I was saying”—he looked at Dottie—“if you can't watch Beau, I'll find someone else. He's used to you, that's why I thought of you.”

“Oh my.” Dottie looked crestfallen. “I would love to watch Beau but I'll be away myself. I'm going to visit my sister in Texas. I'll be back right before Christmas, too, since they'll be departing on a cruise. I'm leaving this Saturday. I was going to ask you two to keep an eye on my place.”

I'd be alone in this big house? With a killer stalking the streets? Okay, maybe not stalking the streets, but I liked having Dottie and the detective nearby at night. I admit it: I'm a scaredy cat as soon as darkness settles.

“That's okay, I'll put him in a kennel,” said Sean. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”

“No,” I protested. “Leave him with me. I'll take care of Beau.”

Sean looked as surprised as I felt. Sometimes my tongue has its own brain. I don't know what's going to come out of my mouth. But in this instance, I was doing the right thing; Beau is an adorable dog. I didn't want him in a kennel.

Dottie beamed. “That's a wonderful idea. I'm so glad you won't have to put the poor thing in a kennel. He would hate that.”

Sean's surprised look morphed into a more skeptical one. “Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you.”

“It's not an inconvenience. He'll be good company with you and Dottie away. Yes, I'd love to do it.”

He got up. “Okay, then. Thanks. Thanks for the tea, Dottie. Best I've ever had.”

She beamed at him. “Thank you, Sean. I'll walk you to the door.”

“Such a nice young man, don't you think?” she said, smiling at me, when she returned to the living room.

“I suppose, but I wish he'd made more progress on Calista's murder investigation. Now he's leaving town.”

“Don't you worry. I bet he has it all under control. He looks like the macho, take-charge type to me. You never told me what happened on your date, dear. How was it? Will you be going out again?”

“It wasn't too bad, but I don't think we will be going out again. We aren't really compatible. He drives a big truck that pollutes the air and uses too much gas, he eats meat, which I don't, and his taste in music is abysmal. To me, at least.”

She burst out laughing. “For heaven's sake. Is that all? My husband, Ben, God rest his soul, he's been dead for five or so years, was a Republican, I'm a staunch Democrat. He was Roman Catholic, I'm a Baptist. He was an avid outdoorsman; hunting, fishing, all that boy stuff. Other than my garden, I love being inside. I was fiction, he was nonfiction. I could go on, but you see where I'm going. We were complete opposites, yet he was the one for me. Don't let a few minor details stand in the way of true love. Never be afraid to throw away preconceived notions about people. You might miss the love of your life.”

I laughed. “It's hardly true love, Dottie, but your story is touching. I'm sorry Ben's not around for you anymore.”

“Thank you. I miss him every day. I'll never find another one like him.”

“Oh, you never know.” I wandered over to her bookshelf. I scanned all the mystery books she had. She had some of Enid's. I'd never read any of her books. I preferred modern writers. I'd have to now, I guess. She even had a couple of Enid's son Chase's that I hadn't read. But based on the ones of his I had read, I wouldn't be reaching for those too soon!

Staring at Enid's books, I suddenly had the best idea I've ever had. It was genius, if I could pull it off. Especially if it helped catch Calista's killer.

Barking Mad Books had a great turnout for Enid's talk on Agatha Christie. Mostly females, I noticed, so I was surprised to see Trey there. He was with a woman I didn't recognize. A few people greeted him, a few ignored him, and a few looked uneasy. I wasn't frightened, but I definitely felt more alert than I normally would around him. I didn't know he was an Enid, or Agatha, fan. Emily rushed up to us as soon as we entered. “Hi, Molly.” She looked at Dottie and smiled. “Hi. I know I've seen you in here, but I'm sorry, I don't remember your name.”

“Dottie Brand. Molly was nice enough to offer to bring me along to hear Enid speak. I love her books. I love your bookstore, too. Thank you so much for having Enid here.”

“I love her books, too,” replied Emily. “Thanks for liking my store. Enid's brought me so much business. It's wonderful that she agrees to give these talks. She was so upset about Calista's death, I didn't know if she'd feel up to it ever again.”

I waved to Olivia on the other side of the small room, and with difficulty, Dottie and I made our way over to her. I hurriedly introduced them, then we settled in our chairs and listened as Emily introduced Enid Middlebrook.

Once the enthusiastic applause died down, Enid began her talk. I tried paying attention to her as she went on about Agatha's writing style, the Agatha Christie Code, then something about neurolinguistics, and a mathematical formula, but truthfully, it was difficult.

“This makes me want to read all of Agatha's books again,” whispered Dottie. “It's fascinating. I had no idea people studied Agatha's writing style.”

I acknowledged Dottie, but refrained from commenting. Enid reminded me of a few of my college professors. I didn't think she was engaging us at all, but rather, lecturing at us. I wasn't inclined to read an Agatha Christie book now, but maybe it was just my impression; everyone else seemed riveted by Enid.

I was glad, however, that at the end she asked for audience questions.

My hand shot in the air. “Why did you choose to move to Destiny?”

Her lips pursed together for a second, as if she wasn't happy with the question, then she smiled, and I suddenly understood what people mean when they say “the smile didn't quite reach her eyes” about someone.

“Good question. I am, at heart, a simple woman. I've lived in London and New York City all my life. I wanted a change. I have a good friend who loves this area, and she suggested it. I'm so glad she did, as I truly love this town. I'd never have found it on my own. I needed this break, but in a few weeks I shall head back to New York. I miss it too much to leave it permanently. I'm ready to go home.”

That made sense. Enid took more questions, all of them about her writing. Someone begged her to pen another book, which caused a thunder of applause. She looked pleased, and promised to take it under consideration. After the last question, she took time to autograph books.

“Oh, why didn't I take the time to bring a couple of mine?” cried Dottie. “I'd love to have her sign them for me.”

“I'm sure you'll have other opportunities,” Olivia assured her. “Are you going to leave now, Moll?”

“In a few. I wanted to ask Enid something. You don't mind waiting a few minutes, do you?” I looked at Dottie.

“Goodness, no. Take your time. I'll be over there, browsing.” She pointed to the mystery section.

“I think I'm going to take off,” said Olivia. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow. Have a good night.”

Dottie and I helped Emily put away the chairs and straighten up the bookstore so it would be in good condition when she opened tomorrow. When we were done, I saw the crowd around Enid had disappeared, so I hurried over to her before she went out the door. “Hello, Mrs. Middlebrook. I'm Molly Tyler.”

“Yes, I remember. The girl who owns the bakery; the one who wants to know what on Earth I'm doing in
her
town.”

I wouldn't have put it that way; the way she accented “her” made it sound like I'd demanded an explanation of her choice of Destiny as a temporary residence. That certainly wasn't the case. “I have another question for you.”

“What is it?” She signed painfully. “And you may as well call me Enid. Mr. Middlebrook has long been out of the picture. I doubt he'll be returning anytime soon.”

I wasn't sure if she was trying to be funny, but in case not, I didn't laugh. “Thank you. It's about Calista's death.”

Her shoulders sagged and the corners of her mouth drooped. “That poor woman. What I can't understand is why the police haven't caught her killer yet. It's almost Christmas. The longer they take, the less chance there is of them finding who killed her.”

“I agree totally. That's what I wanted to ask you. Do you think you can help me find Calista's murderer?”

Enid's eyes grew large, and she flattened a hand to her chest. “Help you find Calista's murderer? Where did you come up with such a notion?”

“I've been trying to help Detective Corsino with his investigation, and he's not interested. I thought since you write murder mysteries, you could tell me what to look for. All to help Detective Corsino, of course. Think of it as writing one of your books, only it's real life.”

She looked as if she were considering my request, then blinked. Her dark, birdlike eyes peered into mine. “Why are you so interested in her murder?”

I didn't want to divulge too much, especially that I had sort of, in a casual way, been considered a suspect. After all, how well did I know Enid? “We weren't close, but I didn't wish Calista dead. I can't stand thinking of a killer running around. What if it's someone here in Destiny?”

“Like Trey Hamilton or Blake Ellsworth,” she supplied.

“I'm leaning toward Trey; that's what I want to do, help prove him innocent or prove he's the killer. He had plenty of motive. More than Blake. He and Calista practically hated each other before they supposedly ‘fell in love.'” I did the thing with the air quotes, which usually I can't stand, but this time, it was apropos. “I think he killed her in a fit of rage over her
new apple. He believes it really belongs to him.” I didn't mention his failed marriage proposal. “Of course, if Trey happens to be innocent, then I'm still minus the killer. But my instinct says that Trey murdered Calista. Why it's taking the police so long to come to the same conclusion, I don't know. Really, who else would it be? I think I can bring him to justice. Or help, at least.”

“Aren't you afraid to get involved?”

I glanced around and almost jumped out of my skin when I saw Trey standing very close by. He was looking right at me. I blinked and looked away fast. I felt a little dizzy. Where had he come from? How much had he heard? I guided Enid away from him, my heart racing. If he was the killer, and he'd just heard us discussing him, would Enid and I be next?

“Yes, a little,” I whispered. “That's Trey Hamilton, right there. I also think solving a crime must be fascinating. I must have been influenced by my grandmother's Nancy Drew books.”

“I read those also, long ago.” She fell silent for a moment as she scrutinized me. “You do realize Nancy Drew, and my books, are fiction. My books aren't based on any real occurrence, other than what's in my imagination.”

“I know, but you had to do research for them, right?”

“Of course I research. Have you actually read any of my books?”

I swallowed. I couldn't very well lie (Bobby Crandall thinking I'm with the FBI notwithstanding). I don't do it well, for one thing—I tend to stammer all over the place—and for another, it's not a nice thing to do (again, Bobby Crandall thinking I'm with the FBI notwithstanding). “I've heard of you—who hasn't?—but I've never had the chance to read one of your books yet. I've read a couple of your son's books. He's living with you, isn't he? Maybe he can help, too.”

“It's far-fetched, but maybe you can get an idea of how to . . . um . . . help the detective from actually reading one of my books.”

The relief I felt when Trey and his friend made their way to the front door was quickly replaced by a foreboding chill when his eyes caught mine. One of his eyebrows dipped in a frown, giving him a sinister look. I forced my attention back to Enid and tried to block out Trey's look. It was possible he was just not having a good day. Maybe he hadn't heard me at all.

“I think you helping in person would be more beneficial,” I explained. “Pretend I'm the Melanie Hastings character in your Goose Feather Harbor series. See?” I tried humoring her. “I do know who your characters are, I just never read the books. Say Melanie comes across a dead body. What would you have her do? Where would she start?”

Enid laughed, but it sounded more like a scratchy bark. “You're serious about this.”

“I am.”

“Oh, all right. Drop by tomorrow night. Sevenish. I can't promise I'm going to help, but we'll talk.”

“Perfect. Thank you so much. All I want to do is help to find Calista's killer, and I don't know where to start.”

“I urge you leave it to the police, but since you're determined.” Enid dug in her large purse and pulled out a pen and a notebook. “Here's my address.” She wrote it out, then handed it to me when she was done. “I'll see you tomorrow. Please, do not share my address with anyone.” She didn't wait for a response, but stuffed the pen and notebook back into her purse
and, with a wave to Emily, hurried out the door.

“Hello, doll.”

I turned at the sound of Jane Addair's voice. “Jane! I didn't see you in the audience. Who are you with?”

“Kate. We had to sit in the back. We were late. My doctor has me on some new medicine. Sometimes I feel exactly like my old self. Sometimes, I'm not so good. I hate what's happening to me.”

I saw Kate a few feet away, and she waved. She was paging through a book, with one eye firmly on Jane.

I put an arm around Jane's shoulders. “I know you do. I'm glad the medicine seems to be helping.”

“I know that woman,” Jane stated.

“What woman, Jane?”

“The one who was speaking. You were just talking to her.”

“Oh. You mean Enid, the author.”

Jane came closer, wringing her hands. “No, no. Not Enid.” Her eyes closed as she concentrated. “Her name is Beatrice Travis, isn't it? I'm sure it is. I told Kate that before. Beatrice was at the hairdresser with me. I told Kate then. I know it's Beatrice. Or am I wrong? She looks so familiar. Her father died in the water over sixty years ago. Why is she back? I was so young. Like Beatrice. Didn't he kill himself? So sorry for what happened to him. Unfair. Oh, why can't I remember? There's something I'm forgetting. My brain, it won't work. It just won't work.”

I gave her a little hug. I didn't like her getting so agitated. “It's okay. You're getting there. What makes you think her name is Beatrice?” I'd never heard of anyone in Destiny named Beatrice Travis, but not wanting to be rude to Jane, I listened.

She frowned, and the helpless look in her eyes tore at my heart. “Who? What do you mean?”

“It's okay, Jane. We'll figure it out.” I sympathized with her. I wasn't in the same shape that she was mentally, but I still couldn't remember what it was that someone said about Calista's murder that had piqued my curiosity, or who had said it. The more I tried, the more it evaded me. Very annoying.

I left Jane with Kate, then went to find Dottie, who was happily chatting with Emily and book browsing. I didn't discuss what I'd been talking to Enid about with Dottie on the way home. I figured the fewer people who knew, the better. Not that I didn't trust Dottie; I just didn't want the word to leak out. That, and the fact that Dottie might think I'm crazy and kick me out of my new home.

“Have you ever heard of a Beatrice Travis?” I asked her.

“The name doesn't ring any bells. Who is she?”

“Jane was at the talk with Kate Addair. She said Enid's name is really Beatrice Travis.”

“I didn't see Jane,” cried Dottie, looking distressed. “I wish I had. I'll have to see her when I return from my trip. I've never heard Enid referred to as Beatrice. She's always written under the name Enid Middlebrook, and I've read her books for years. I don't know of any Travises off hand. I've only lived here for twenty years, so maybe they were around prior to that. Poor Jane. It's most likely her dementia.”

“She knew who I was.”

“Sometimes it works that way. My sister had dementia. One day she'd be quite lucid; the next, she'd be convinced you were President John F. Kennedy. You could be a woman or a twelve-year-old boy, and she'd still be convinced. She got worse and worse until she died. There was no medication to help her. Sad.”

I glanced over. “I'm sorry, Dottie. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories.”

She smiled at me. “No need to apologize, dear. I have plenty of good memories of her to sustain me. I wish Jane a long and healthy life; I hope medicine does make a difference for her.”

*  *  *

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” Olivia asked the next day after she and I had put everything in order in the bakery and locked up.

My meeting with Enid was in one hour. I'd have time to go home, clean up a little bit, brush my hair, etc. I let Olivia's question go unanswered as we walked to our cars. I definitely trusted her, but I didn't believe her reaction would be one of happiness. Yet, I didn't want to keep things from her. “I have an appointment to see Enid tonight.”

She stopped walking and grabbed my arm. “What? With Enid? Why?”

“I think she can help me investigate Calista's murder.”

“Molly, please. Listen to me. I don't want you trying to investigate anyone's murder. Leave it to Detective Corsino. I'm serious.”