Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery) (10 page)

It didn’t help that Officer Emry was not my favorite member of the Oiltop police force. But I wasn’t going to tell Aunt Phyllis that. She got to leave Oiltop when this was over. I, on the other hand, was trying to fit in here.

“Aunt Phyllis, you can’t camp out outside the police station.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you had bailed your grandmother out like I expected.”

I winced at the accusing look in her eyes. “Hey, I warned you both to lay low. I told you that they had witnesses who could identify your van as driving from the scene last night.”

“Technically it was the night before last.” Phyllis sipped her coffee and climbed up on the other stool in the work area.

“Not to mention that you both snuck out on me while I was busy helping Tasha figure out where Kip was.”

“The boy was home safe and sound. We made sure before we left.” She wrapped her small, thin hands around the mug.

“How would I know? You didn’t tell me you were leaving or where you were going.” It was my turn to practice my accusing glare.

She shrugged and grabbed a donut off the cooling rack. She bit off a hunk of cinnamon apple and chewed thoughtfully before she washed it down with more coffee. “We didn’t tell you because you were busy.”

“Not that busy.”

“You would have kept us from going.”

I wanted to say,
Duh
, but I refrained. She knew it as much as I did. Maybe when Grandma finally got home I’d sing the “I Was Right” song.

“I know, I know,” she said without my having to answer. Phyllis took another sip of coffee and settled into her suede jacket. The fringe swayed with her movement as she nibbled on the donut. “Ruth thought she remembered another question from her investigation and thought Homer Everett’s papers might hold the answer.” She sipped again. “If it helps any, we were simply going to go and dig through the collection one time.”

“The courthouse is closed after five
P.M.
on weekdays.” I hated to point out the obvious, but someone had to do it. Besides, she needed to know I was smart enough to shoot holes in whatever tall tale she and Grandma had come up with on their way to being arrested.

She waved my objection off like a silly gnat. “We made a key impression the other night. The key we had cut should have worked.”

“Aunt Phyllis!”

“How were we to know they had rekeyed the thing? I mean, the government is supposed to be slow. We broke in over the weekend and by Monday evening they had it rekeyed? First of all, how did they know we made a key? Second, where’d they find anyone to fix it anyway?”

I got up and put the bat back in its corner behind the office door. “I’m sure with it being the county courthouse and next to a crime scene, they called someone to rekey the entire building.”

She followed me into my office when I sat down in my chair and wiggled my computer mouse to bring up what I was working on earlier.

“Speaking of new locks, did you know that they don’t have to cut a new key when they replace a lock? All they did was put a new center in the lock and then used a master key to rotate the pins to match.”

“Oh, no . . .”

“Yes.” Phyllis grinned and held up a key. “I have a friend on the inside with a master key. Of course, if that doesn’t work then there’s always my ability to pick a lock.”

“No!”

“‘No’ as in ‘Yes, let’s go make copies of all the files’?”

I put my elbow on the table and dropped my forehead in my hand. “No. ‘No’ as in ‘No, I’m not going anywhere near the courthouse at this hour of the night..’”

“Technically, 4:30
A.M
is morning.”

I shot her a dirty look.

“No problem.” She raised her hands in surrender, went out and came back into my office pulling one of the stools. “I can wait.”

I turned back to my paperwork. “You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Will I? Ruth will be out by three
P.M
.”

I sat back in my seat.

Phyllis had both eyebrows raised and her arms crossed over her chest.

“Really?” I said. “You’re going to blackmail me now?”

“Oh, it’s not blackmail when it’s the truth.”

“B
rad is going to be so mad when he has to bail me out of jail,” I muttered. “We could have waited until the courthouse opens at nine
A.M
.”

“Shush and hold the light up a little higher.” Phyllis had a hairpin and a lock pick in her hands and was doing an impressive job of unlocking doors in the courthouse. There was a double
click
sound and the door opened.

“How did you learn to do that?” I asked as we stepped into the darkened records room. A chilled breeze snaked around my legs. I refused to think of all the ghosts that ran the halls of this old building. Even worse was the thought that Lois might be one of them. “Why not use the copy of the key you made?”

“I dated an escape artist in my twenties.” Phyllis grabbed a flashlight from me and walked by the shadowed research table, around the librarian’s desk and straight back to the glass-covered shelves in the back. “I like to keep up on the skill. If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

“You dated an escape artist?” I shook my head. “Is there such a thing? I mean, didn’t Houdini die in the nineteen thirties or something?”

“Houdini died in 1926 and that’s beside the point. Ferdinand worked the carnival circuit.” Phyllis counted three shelves over and found the display with Homer Everett’s pro uniform and Purple Heart medal. “He was quite handsome. I remember paying a quarter to see his act and falling in love on the spot.”

“You fell in love with a carny?”

“It was one of the best summers of my life. We traveled with a little circus to all the county fairs and church festivals from Illinois to California.”

“What year was that?”

“The year before I met your grandma.” She deftly unlocked the case and stuck her flashlight under her chin so she had both hands free. “I was . . .”

“Sixteen,” we both said at the same time.

“You ran away and joined the circus when you were sixteen?” I asked.

“Of course not.” She pushed aside the presentation boxes and yanked out the archive boxes at the back of the shelf. “I had an affair with an escape artist when I was sixteen. Just because he was with the circus doesn’t mean I was. The fact that I wasn’t a true carny was a bone of contention that finally split us apart. The circus stopped in Oiltop. When it left, Ferdinand went with it and I stayed here.”

“The traveling circus must have been pretty bad for you to ask to be left in Oiltop.” I took the box she handed me. It was heavier than I imagined.

She took hold of her flashlight and replaced the presentations. When she was done I doubted anyone would know the things had been moved. Locking the glass case behind her, she waved me forward. I took the box and placed it on the research table.

“Not here,” she said and grabbed the box off the table. “This is coming home with us.”

“Oh, no.” I stood firm. “It is one thing to break and enter, and another thing completely to be a thief. I draw the line when it comes to taking something.”

“We’re not taking it,” she said and scooted out the door. “We’re borrowing it. I promise to bring it right back.”

I hurried after her. The door slammed shut with a dreadful echo. I froze at the sound, but Phyllis kept going. She might be small and as old as my mother, but that woman could book it when she wanted to.

I heard a soft voice whisper, “Don’t stand there. Run!”

So I did. The chilled breeze wrapped itself around my shoulders as I pounded down the stairs and out the side door. I learned a few things on this adventure. One: Aunt Phyllis had an affair with a carny when she was only sixteen. Two: the courthouse is definitely haunted. And three: borrowing was not stealing if you intended to give it right back.

• • •

“Y
ou stole a box from the courthouse archives and brought it back here? Way to be a rebel.” Meghan raised her thumb in a sign of approval. Her fauxhawk had pink tips today. She still had on torn fishnet stockings and combat boots with heavy heels. This time she also wore a pencil skirt, a blue-and-white striped boatneck tee, and a leather jacket with metal spikes. Her lips were painted with a blue tint and the corner of her right eye was decorated with thin, black, stylish whirls and loops.

“It’s not stealing. It’s borrowing,” I said as I packed pies in a large box for her to put in the delivery van. “Besides, I couldn’t take it home. Not with Tasha and Kip staying with me. I wouldn’t put them in that kind of danger.”

“Oh, so there’s danger attached to that box? Cool, what’s in it?” She took the pies from me. Her hands were covered in black gloves with the fingers cut out to display navy blue painted fingernails with white swirls drawn on them.

“I’m not sure. Phyllis left to go see to Grandma Ruth as soon as we got back.” I put three apple pies and two mincemeat pies in a second box. Each big box was marked with an invoice number and a copy of the order. I then numbered each pie according to its invoice order. It was the only way I could keep things clear and simple when I had two hundred orders a day going out for the next week.

“You went through all that, broke the law, and still haven’t even looked in the box yet? You stink at being a bad guy.”

“I have a business to run.” I couldn’t tell if that sounded whiney or full of disdain.

“Face it—you can’t stand to break the law, can you?”

I straightened and put my hands on my apron-covered hips. “I’ve been known to bend the rules in my day.”

“Really? And here I thought you were a good girl,” a male voice said behind me.

I gave a little startled sound and whirled to see Sam Greenbaum standing in the kitchen door. “Sam! You scared me.” My heart pounded in my ears. Why did I feel so guilty? Had I admitted to a crime within earshot of him? “What did you hear?”

He lifted one corner of his lovely mouth and gave me a sideways smile. “Enough to know that dating you will be an interesting adventure.”

“She’s not dating anyone, Uncle Sam.” Meghan took the box and went out the back door.

“Yet,” he answered and came over to buzz a kiss on my cheek. “Hey, lovely lady, I’m here for my mom’s pie order.”

“Right.” I couldn’t stop the tiny shiver that went through me every time he touched me. The man was a walking dream in his snap-front Western shirt and tight-fitting jeans. He had his brown cowboy hat in his tanned hand. His black boots shone, not from lack of use but from careful polishing.

“Are you happy to see me?” he asked, his dark eyes sparkling in the midmorning light.

“I’m always happy to see you.” And I was, just not when I was admitting to possible larceny. “I still need to box up your pie order.”

“That’s fine. How’s your grandma?”

“She spent the night in jail.”

“What? No. I’ll go speak to Blaylock. That’s outrageous—”

I put my hand on his chest and tried to ignore the fact that it was solid as a wall, yet warm to the touch. “I made the decision not to bail her out.”

“Why?”

I was very aware of his heartbeat under my fingers and dragged my hand away. Maybe if I made myself busy packing his pies I could stop feeling conflicted by my attraction to him and my guilt over making Grandma spend the night in jail. I mean, when was tough love too tough? I pulled out a big box and placed it over on the prepping station. “I told her that Chief Blaylock was getting suspicious of her behavior the other night and that she should knock off her investigation and lay low.”

“And?”

I liked the fact that he didn’t leap to any conclusions. He simply waited for me to fill in the blanks. “And Grandma went back anyway and got caught breaking into the courthouse.”

“I see.”

I picked up a boxed pecan pie. “Do you? Because I haven’t slept and I’ve been feeling so guilty about it.”

“Your grandma is a grown woman. A brilliant, stubborn, grown woman.” He studied me as he spoke. “Like you, she needs a firm hand, and to be reined in on occasion.”

“Like me?”

“You are related.”

“I see.” I turned and put the pie into the bigger box and was reaching for another when he touched my forearm.

“I meant that in a good way,” he whispered near my ear, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up and take notice. “I like a gal with spunk.”

“Okay, there’s room for one more box in the van and it’s ready for delivery.” Meghan walked into the kitchen, breaking whatever spell Sam was attempting to weave on me. It was working, which meant I was glad she’d interrupted. I mean, for a moment there I thought he was going to say something corny, like he wanted nothing better than to spend his life handling a spunky filly like me.

“Good, grab that final delivery box and staple the top invoice to it,” I instructed as I finished packing Sam’s mother’s pie box.

“Hey, Meghan, how’s the CI fund coming along?” Sam asked as he casually let the space between us grow.

“I’ve got a good thousand dollars in it so far,” Meghan said with pride as she stapled the invoice to the box.

“That’s a lot considering you only started working here a month ago.” He frowned.

“She gets good tips,” I said and slid two pecan pies into the carrying box. Each pie was in its own box. Two boxes were easily managed. Sam’s mom had ordered two pies for the Sunday before the holiday. It’s when his family celebrates. Unlike Sam’s grandmother’s order of ten pies for her Thanksgiving day gathering. My guess was she planned to strike up another lengthy card game. It was his grandmother’s card games that had brought Sam into my bakery in the first place. After that he had come in every day for one thing or another.

I was never sure if that was his idea or his grandmother’s. Not that it mattered. I enjoyed a lovely, well-built cowboy as much as the next girl. Just because I wasn’t dating didn’t mean I couldn’t look.