Bun for Your Life (22 page)

I smiled at her. “You'd be welcome at my parents', too. Mom and I are going to decorate for Christmas.”

She laughed. “Oh, I'm sure they'd love that. That'll be fun, decorating. Are you putting up your Christmas tree?”

“I don't think so. I have a few decorations up at my place, but I think I'll just wait until next year to do the tree. I did want to make cookies, if I ever get around to it.”

Olivia laughed. “You're a baker, you know.”

“I know, right?” I hurried across the street, then down to the next block, made the deposit at the bank, then went back to help Olivia clean up for the day. We locked up after a last-minute customer wandered in, then walked together to our cars. I stopped when we approached the parking lot.

A square white envelope sat on my windshield. My heart galloped. I felt sick. I hadn't been in the bakery that long. A little over half an hour. How did whoever it was know where to find me?

“What's the matter?” asked Olivia.

I pointed. “Look on my windshield. It looks like another note.”

“Oh my God. Who's doing this to you?” Olivia cried.

I realized the person could still be close by. I looked around, trying to stay calm and collected. I didn't see anyone skulking about, or speeding away in a car. “I'm going in the bookstore after I call Sergeant Jacoby. I'll feel safer being inside.”

“I'm coming with you,” declared Olivia. “I don't want to leave you alone. My God, Moll, you're going to have to go into the witness protection program or something, to hide from whoever's doing this.”

I managed to smile as I took out my phone. “I don't want to hide. I want to know who it is.” I shivered, half from fear and half from the cold. This time I reached Jacoby immediately. He promised to come right over. I told him exactly where my car was, and that I'd be inside Barking Mad Books. He'd have no trouble finding my Prius; the parking lot wasn't that big.

“Hi, you guys,” Emily greeted us when we entered. “What's new?”

I glanced at Molly. “I guess I should tell her.”

“Tell me what?” Emily asked, smiling at me. “Something exciting and nice I hope.”

I shook my head. “Short version: I'm getting threatening notes from someone. I think I just got another one on the windshield of my car.”

Emily's smile vanished. “That version is way too short. What are you talking about?”

I looked around. “Any customers here? Upstairs?” I didn't need anyone overhearing me.

Emily shook her head. “Not right now. We're alone. So what's going on?”

I told her about talking to Enid about Trey being the killer, how I was pretty sure he heard me, then the notes I had gotten subsequently.

She inhaled sharply. “That's terrible. Why would anyone do that to you? It's got to be Trey, right? Have you talked to the police?”

“Our police department, including Detective Corsino, is down in New York City. Sergeant Jacoby from the Rigby Police Department will be here soon. I've been reporting the notes to him. He and I are on the road to becoming good friends. I may have to invite him to Christmas dinner.”

Emily turned pale; her eyes behind her large tortoiseshell glasses were huge. “I'd be scared to death if I were you. How can you find humor in it?”

“I have to. I can't think about it too much; I'll want to run away. I think I'm going to browse till Jacoby arrives.”

“I'll come with you,” said Olivia.

The door creaking open about half an hour later made us all jump. It was Jacoby. He had the envelope in his hand. My
knees were rubbery; I hoped I wasn't going to end up in a heap on the floor. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Sergeant. What does it say?”

It seemed like an eternity as he pulled the note out of the envelope. “Are you sure you want to know?” He glanced at my friends.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “These women are my best friends. You can talk in front of them. It won't go any farther than this room.”

They both bobbed their heads up and down convincingly.

He looked at it and read, “‘You're being watched. You don't want to join Calista, do you?'”

None of us said anything for a few seconds. Sergeant Jacoby folded the note and stuck it back inside the envelope. “I'll go outside and dust for fingerprints again and take this with me. You have no idea who's doing this? Other than thinking it's Mr. Hamilton?”

“No. I think he feels threatened by me because he overheard me bring his name up in connection with Calista's murder.”

“You're assuming it's him. Maybe it's not.”

“Sergeant, who else would it be? It makes no sense. I'm sure there are some people in town who aren't crazy about me. It doesn't mean they'd leave notes on my car. I can name several people I'm not crazy about, but if I spent my day leaving stupid notes for them, I'd have no time for anything else.”

“I'll let you know if I find anything. Give me a few minutes with your car. I'll see if anyone's around who may have seen something; talk to a few of the shopkeepers before I go. Then I'll go lean on Trey Hamilton a little.”

“Don't worry, I'll call you. I have the Rigby Police Department on speed dial. Thank you, Sergeant.”

Emily turned to me after he'd gone. “Did you tell your parents about the notes?”

I shook my head. “Are you kidding? My mother would be hysterical. I'm staying at their house starting tonight. I told mom it was because my landlady and Sean were both gone.”

“Does Sean know about this?” asked Emily.

“He knows. But there's not a lot he can do from New York. He's the one who had me call Sergeant Jacoby. Thanks for being here for me, you guys,” I told them. “Em, I'm going to browse again for a few while Jacoby finishes up with my car. Olivia, go on home. You don't have to stay with me. I'll be fine.”

The door creaked again and we all jumped again, but it was only a customer coming in.

“I'm staying,” replied Olivia. “It will only be a few minutes.”

“Make sure you keep me posted,” said Emily. “I don't want to be kept in the dark.” She hugged me, then headed toward the woman who had entered.

“I will.”

Olivia and I browsed for a few minutes, but my mind was on the latest note, not on the latest bestsellers. We started
toward our cars again after I'd had enough browsing. Halfway there, I stopped suddenly.

“What's the matter? Don't tell me you see another note. I don't see anything.” Olivia squinted her eyes at my car, which was illuminated by the lamppost I had parked beside.

“No. I'm just thinking. The hands that touched my car to leave the note might be the same hands that killed Calista.”

Olivia shuddered. “This is like a movie or something. A scary one.”

“I'm beginning to feel that way, too. See you tomorrow morning.”

She gave me a hug. I got in my car and tried not to think about a killer milling around. I drove home, packed my bag, gathered up all of Beau's things, and piled them, along with Beau, in my car. Poor dog. He must feel confused, first having to get used to my place and me, and now going to my parents'. I bet he missed his quiet life with Sean.

I spent the evening decorating the tree with my mother while my father strung the outside lights, eating chocolate and cookies, and trying to enjoy the season. Beau and Pepper had hit it off and were both sleeping near the fireplace. Beau seemed not to mind being shuffled around. I was dangerously close to considering him mine.

My mother had made spinach-stuffed ravioli for dinner with strawberry shortcake for dessert. The tree looked amazing, and my father had, as usual, done an awesome job with the lights outside. After my mother and I cleaned up we all watched
It's a Wonderful Life
. There's a town nearby that claims Bedford Falls was modeled after it after the director paid a visit. They even have an It's A Wonderful Life Museum, although I've never been.

My father offered to walk Beau and Pepper after the movie was over, so after I expressed my gratitude, I said good night to my parents and headed upstairs to my old bedroom. I wanted to tell Sean about my latest note. Once I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got into my pajamas, I crawled into my childhood bed, but before I could begin writing a text, I received one. From Sean.

Hi. How's everything going?

Hi. What's up?

Everything here is good. Be glad to leave and come home. How's everything with you?

Good. Except I got another note. I was about to text you about it. It was delivered to my car's windshield while it was parked in back of the bakery.

Did you call Jacoby?

Yes. He came over right away and said he'd lean on Trey harder. He was going to talk to some of the shop owners. See if they saw anything.

What did it say?

I told him.

Are you all right?

I am. But I don't want whoever it is finding me at my parents' house.

I'm sorry about the notes. Jacoby said he'd have the patrol car come around like I asked. Please stop investigating
whatever it is you're investigating. Someone isn't happy.

I know. Who?

That doesn't sound like a yes. I don't want anything happening to you. I'm serious.

I don't know what made me type
Why?

I waited for a while before he responded.

My best guess is that you're the first woman I've actually wanted to talk to since my wife died. I don't know why, since you're stubborn as hell.

I stared at my phone. Was Detective Sean Corsino flirting with me? Had he been drinking?
I'm speechless.

That I can't imagine. I should probably wait until I get home to say this, but I'd like to see you again.

As in run in to me at the grocery store sometime?

No. As in maybe dinner again.

Are you asking me out?

Yeah.

Despite my worries over the notes, after my initial shock at reading his words, a goofy smile spread across my face. Then it faded. Was this a diversionary tactic? I didn't care; whatever it was, it worked.

Really? I should remind you that I don't eat meat and I don't like jazz. And you shouldn't drive such a big truck, it's bad for the environment.

I can overlook your misguided eating habits and obvious lack of taste in music. You love Beau.

I don't know why but his statement about Beau made me tear up. Maybe the simplicity of it; as if that's all that mattered to him because Beau was all he had in his life. I went from tearing up to sniffling.

I do love him. Can I keep him?

No! I think you like my truck, too. It's safer than the roller skate you drive. You want to think about dinner or something after I get back?

I ignored his dig about my car. I'd retaliate some other time.
Yes
, I texted back, still smiling like an idiot. I wondered what changed his mind about not wanting a relationship? Not that he wanted a relationship; it was only dinner.

Great. So. You okay?

For now. BTW, am I still a suspect? You never officially said I wasn't.

What's BTW?

I rolled my eyes.
You don't appear to be that old. You need to learn these abbreviations. Means by the way.

Thanks for enlightening me. If I cross you off my list, or at least move you to the bottom, will you stop thinking you can help solve Calista's murder?

That was a tough one. Despite the threatening notes, despite the fact that I had zero experience investigating anything except missing socks at laundry time—and I hardly had a one hundred percent success rate at finding them—there was
something about trying to help put the pieces together of the mystery of Calista's death that intrigued me now. Not that I exactly had pieces, I reminded myself, but the whole process intrigued me, nonetheless.

Plus, I was still fascinated by what Jane had said about Enid being Beatrice Travis. I wasn't convinced she wasn't Beatrice, despite Chase's denial. He was charismatic, no question about that, yet he was a little too polished, a little too slick. My instincts told me he may even have lied. I prayed Jane would be in good shape for the library event with Enid and she'd be able to tell me more. She had been right about Peter Travis. Who's to say she wasn't right about Enid?

Thanks to Chase's interruption, I hadn't been able to look up Max Danforth. I really needed to carry my notebook with me all the time, so I could keep track of my thoughts. I wasn't all that shocked to see a Danforth name involved. But what did this all have to do with Calista's death, or with Enid? Anything?

Are you still there?

I abandoned my musings and answered Sean.

Sorry! Yes.

We'll find out who it is writing the notes. Don't worry.

You can't even find a killer. How are you going to find someone who's writing notes? It's probably the same person.

Sometimes it takes a while. Trust me. I'll find who killed Calista and who's writing you threatening notes.

Promise?

Absolutely. Concentrate on Christmas. Forget about anything else. I'll sleep better at night if I know you're working on cupcakes, not on a wacky scheme to find Calista's killer.

I am not wacky.

I didn't say you were, but your scheme, whatever it is, is wacky.

Maybe, maybe not. Speaking of Christmas, Dottie sent us Christmas presents. In case she didn't see us in time. One for Beau, too. Yours and Beau's are in my apartment. Not opened. She knit me a red hat.

Nice of her. You're going to be careful, right? Not talk to anyone about Calista's murder? You're going to forget all about it, right?

You didn't say I was off your list.

You weren't exactly a suspect. More like a person of interest.

That does not make me feel better. Can I be off your person of interest list?

For now. This is where you tell me, Yes, Sean, I will not talk about Calista or her murder, nor will I investigate anything that seems it could be remotely connected with her murder, since I understand such a connection is probably in my own mind.

I made a face at my phone. I wouldn't be surprised to see a contract in the mail that he'd want me to sign stating just that.

I'll try
. That answer left room for my failure at complying with his request. I didn't want to promise, but I really would
try. A little at least.

Texting him made me feel protected. Like maybe Sean could magically make the notes stop, even if he wasn't anywhere near.
I'll let you go now. Good night.

Good night. Hey, if you wake up later and you need to talk, call me or text me.