Muffins & Murder (Sweet Bites Book 3) (Sweet Bites Mysteries) (5 page)

“How are you doing today?” I asked as I took the seat across from him, sipping the glass of water I’d poured for myself.

Cole sighed heavily. “I still can’t believe she’s gone. Things were going so well for us; I thought we were finally getting somewhere.” He stared at his cinnamon roll, which sat on his plate, untouched. The overhead lights reflected off his forehead—which was extra-large due to his receding hairline. “I mean, I knew she liked to play games and stuff, but things were coming along.”

“What do you mean she liked to play games?” I was pretty sure I knew, but I wanted him to clarify.

“You know how women are—you are one, after all. They flirt and tease to let you know they’re into you, but when you make a move, they shy away. It’s all an act to keep things interesting.” He took a sip of his drink. “She was the queen at playing games. Took it too far sometimes.” His brows furrowed and a scowl drew his mouth down.

It burned me that he would lump all women in with that behavior. I never played those kinds of games, and I didn’t know many women who did. I pulled back my irritation, however, focusing on the information I needed. “That must have been hard on you.”

He nodded. “We were in love; I could see that she felt the same way for me as I did about her. So why was she always pushing me like that?” An edge of anger entered his voice now. “It wasn’t right.”

“No, I can see that.” What I was really thinking was that the idiot didn’t know how to take a hint. I didn’t know Francine all that well, but she didn’t seem like the kind of person to keep someone hanging if she really wanted to date him. “You said you were out of town Friday night? Where did you go?”

His gaze skittered away from mine. “I was fishing. We had a nice dinner at the Silver Spur the night before, and then she got uptight when I suggested going back to her place. I decided I needed to take some time to cool off, so I took my boat out to Silver Lake, caught some bluegill and rainbow. It was nice, you know? Relaxing. I had no idea what was going on at the school.” His eyes watered, but no tears fell. “If I had been there I might have been able to save her.”

I reached out and patted his hand. “You can’t blame yourself for not being there. You couldn’t have known.”

Lenny came to the window between the kitchen and dining area and studied Cole for a moment. I flashed him a smile to let him know everything was fine. It felt good knowing he was there watching out for me—even if I didn’t need it.

“Is there anyone you can think of who might have wanted her dead?” I asked after a long moment. I tried to sound understanding and commiserating instead of like a rumor-broker looking for something juicy, but I’m not sure I succeeded.

“No. Who would want her dead? She was so sweet and innocent.” He wiped at his blood-shot eyes and sniffed a little then touched his hair, like he was worried it might have fallen out of position. That was unlikely considering how much product he used.

I patted his big, soft hand again, not sure what else to do. The front door opened then, and a pair of giggly teens entered. I excused myself to go help them. When I finished with the wishy-washy Nolan sisters, Cole had already left. I wasn’t sure what to think about what he’d said. Had he really had a date with Francine Thursday night, or was that him twisting reality around?

For once Lenny turned up almost nothing in his computer search. He was usually so reliable, but I didn’t really have time for him to do a good job with the hacking, and he was working from the bakery, not his setup at home, so I had to give him props for finding Francine’s sister and learning she lived in a suburb of Abilene.

“Emma,” he said. “Nice name, a little old-fashioned, but considering her sister was named Francine, I guess she got off easy.”

I wondered if she was coming to town to claim the body. I was sure the Yavapai County medical examiner would finish with Francine by the end of the day, if he hadn’t already, and hoped I wasn’t too late. I picked up the phone to call Marge across the street. “Hey, I need a favor,” I said when she answered. I explained what was going on. “Can you find out if Francine’s sister is in town? I need to talk to her.” Marge knew everyone in town, having lived there for about a hundred and thirty years—or maybe it just seemed that way. She was a terrific resource when I didn’t know where to start looking for someone.

“Let me check out the grapevine.”

Marge hung up and I turned back to Lenny. “Now that you’ve done the online search, I’ll see if Marge can track her down. It seems odd that I haven’t heard of her showing up yet, especially since Francine had someone who
could
come out. I wonder why Tingey didn’t mention it?” Thoughts zipped through my head with lightning speed and I tried to grab them as they zoomed past.

 “Obviously the cop’s keeping it to himself. He never did like to share,” Lenny reminded me. “Take, take, take, that’s what they do best.” His words were mostly joking.

“Yeah.” The jerk probably only shared things with me so he could keep the other details to himself. And he seemed so helpful and open. I should have known better.

Thankfully, Marge called back within the hour, and she was full of useful tidbits. “I spoke with Gus at the funeral home. He was contracted to prepare the body after they finished the autopsy. He said Emma’s in town to pick up the remains today, and should be in his office any minute, but she won’t be here for very long. She and Francine are headed to the airport within the hour.”

“Great. Thanks.” Almost three days had passed and I hadn’t thought of Francine’s family until now—I must be slipping. I turned to Lenny. “Can you cover here for a few minutes while I run to the funeral home?”

“Sure, sure. I have nothing better to do than to cover for you while you hare off on your investigations. I had no idea that was why you hired me to work for you.” His tone was dry.

“You’re the best,” I told him, then returned to the phone. “I’ll run out there now. I’ll take her some cookies or something to say we’re sorry for her loss. And with any luck, I’ll get her talking.”

“You always amaze me, girl. But if anyone can do it, it’s you.”

We hung up and I put together a small box of treats, then walked to the back door, taking off the apron I had slid over my chef’s jacket while I frosted cupcakes earlier.

“Be back soon.” I headed to the funeral home, which was only a few blocks from my bakery.

Gus was in his sixties, easily old enough to retire, but seemed entirely uninterested in the option. His steel gray hair didn’t hide the youthful exuberance with which he faced every task. “Tess, so glad you could make it. Emma is in the other room, checking over the paperwork before she leaves. I’ll be taking the casket to the airport soon.”

“Thank you so much for letting Marge know so I could chat with her for a few minutes.” Gus and I first met when I joined the local Chamber of Commerce last spring; he’s like everyone’s favorite grandpa.

“You be nice to that girl. She’s hurting,” he said. “Then again, looks like you brought her something sweet, and that can’t hurt.” He winked at me.

Since I clearly remembered my own grief at the loss of my parents and later, my grandma, I wasn’t about to tread heavily. I cracked open the door to Gus’s office. “Emma, do you have a moment?” I asked.

She looked up at me, her eyes dry, her face ravaged with grief. “Who are you?”

I used a soft voice, hoping it would soothe, though nothing I said would really make her feel better. “My name is Tess. I knew your sister. It’s a shame you’re not holding a memorial here before you take her home. She had a lot of friends.” Not close friends, apparently, but that wasn’t exactly what mattered here, was it?

She twisted the tissues in her hand. “That’s kind of you. I just don’t understand what happened. How could things have gotten so far? We thought she would be safe here.”

“You mean with her stalker, right?” I asked, taking the seat beside her and setting the pastry box on my lap.

“Yes. We told the police he was dangerous, whomever he was. They didn’t take us very seriously.” She sniffled. “I wonder if they’ll take it seriously now.” Anger made her eyes narrow. “The detective here doesn’t seem to have any idea who killed her.”

“I brought you this,” I said as I passed over the treats. “I know I couldn’t really eat when my parents passed, but I thought, just as a small token. And maybe you’ll want something later.”

She accepted it with a nod.

“Can you tell me what happened with the stalker? Do you know anything about him?” I threaded my fingers together and tightened them so my knuckles whitened, letting myself imagine the way Francine must have felt when he followed her here. “It freaks me out to wonder if he’s still here, why he did something like that.”

Emma reached for a facial tissue from the box on the corner of Gus’s desk. “I only saw the one letter he sent her, but she said they were pretty much all the same. They came in basic envelopes, like you’d get from any office supply place. They had her name on the front, with her address, and no return address. They were delivered with the mail, but on the one she showed me, the stamp hadn’t been canceled. I guess sometimes the machines fail, but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen that, so I didn’t expect it.”

“Do you have any idea who it is? What he looks like?” I was desperate for something more, something that would lead us to the right answers.

“No, she had no idea who he was, what he looked like. It was just the letters, and sometimes he left her little presents on the front porch. From Your Prince Charming—that’s how they were all signed.” She shivered a little.

I considered the new information and tried to narrow down options. “Did she have a cluster mail box, or one that was separate? Most of the people here have individual mailboxes on the street.”

“It was a separate one. On the street. Why?” Emma dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, catching the tears as they started to fall.

“I was just wondering how they got in her mail. But if she didn’t have a box that required a key, anyone could have left them in there.” Which meant they may have come through the postal system, but likely not.

“That’s what I thought at first, but then she said one day the mail lady left the letter with the others when Fran was home.” She brushed the tissue across her cheek. “I don’t know what to think.”

I squeezed her hand. “Thanks for talking to me. I know Francine’s students are going to miss her a great deal. My best friend’s son has been really sad about it. If you ever come back to town, stop into my shop. I’ll buy you a cookie.” I tapped the logo on my chef’s jacket and stood.

“Thanks. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” She lifted the goodies. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy this. Whatever it is.”

“You do that.”

I returned to my car wondering what else might be going on that I was missing. I decided a trip to visit Francine’s friend at the school was in order. I checked my watch—two and a half hours to go until school let out.

Ali Pinkston taught kindergarten and couldn’t have been over five-foot. She had a sunny smile and matching personality that drew people to her. I’d seen her in passing around town but had never spoken to her before. I stopped by the school after the busses pulled out of the parking lot that afternoon.

When I found her, she was wiping down the white board in her classroom, humming the tune to a funny Halloween song Madison and Chance had been singing on and off for weeks. She turned when I knocked on the outer door to her room, though it was wide open.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” she asked.

“Hi, I’m Tess Crawford. I wondered if you might have a few minutes to talk.” I had been trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Francine, but was no closer to knowing what to say.

Ali nodded and took a seat near her desk, gesturing me toward its twin. “You don’t have a child in my class do you? I thought I knew all of their parents.”

“No, I don’t. I wanted to speak to you about Francine.”

Her face paled. “What did you want to know?”

“I understand you two were quite close,” I said.

“Close enough, I suppose. We were friendly, but Franny didn’t exactly confide in me. We went to a couple of plays together, ate lunch now and then.” She clasped her hands tightly on her lap. “She mostly talked about quilting and her class, kept her past life to herself. She was so quiet I figured that was just her way. Now I have to wonder if there was more going on she didn’t tell me.”