Murder Gone A-Rye (A Baker's Treat Mystery) (6 page)

I could feel the heat rising again. It was pretty clear he’d heard about Brad being over at my house. Oiltop was a small town. Not much happened that didn’t get around in a matter of hours. “Sheesh, if only murderers were noticed as quickly as my house guests,” I muttered.

“Wait—you had house guests?”

I winced. Maybe he hadn’t known and I just gave myself away. I shoved my hands in my back pockets, the spotlight hanging from my wrist like a bad purse. “Grandma invited Brad over to dinner to pay him back for getting her out of jail.”

“Ruth was in jail?”

I tilted my head. “Now you’re messing with me.”

He grinned and climbed into the driver’s seat. “Last I heard, you swore off dating. Is that still the case?”

“Still the case,” I said. “I promised myself I’d wait until I got my feet under me.”

“I can respect that.” He closed his truck door and rolled down the window. “As long as I get a fair chance at taking you out. If I remember correctly, I did ask first.”

“You asked first.” I took a step toward the truck.

“So what does a guy have to do to get your grandmother to ask him over for dinner?”

I shrugged. “Give Grandma your get-out-of-jail-free card?”

“Oh, right.” He started up his engine. “I don’t have one of those.”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Let me drive you over to your van.” He pointed toward the empty passenger seat.

I knew better than to get into a truck with him. That much lovely maleness in a tiny enclosed space and I might end up throwing myself at him. “No, thanks, I can walk.”

“Go ahead, then.” He jerked his chin toward the van. “I can’t leave until I know you’re safe.”

“Men,” I muttered. “I’m a big girl. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you will,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you alone in a dark parking lot near a murder scene.”

He did sort of have a point. The place had been creeping me out before he got there. Trouble was, I wanted to go back and find out what the shiny thing in the leaves was. I blew out a breath. It appeared I was going to have to pretend to head home “Fine.”

“Good. Have a good night, Toni.”

“Bye, Sam.”

I waggled my fingers and strode with firm purpose toward the van. I had every intention of getting in and waving him on, then popping out to look at the crime scene. Then someone tripped the courthouse alarm.

Lights flashed and bells rang at eardrum-piercing decibels. It was so loud, in fact, that it was deafening—and I was at least half a block away. Sam was out of his truck and beside me before my brain could register the movement. “Someone else is here,” he said, pushing me behind him.

I rolled my eyes as sirens wailed and Grandma Ruth and Aunt Phyllis popped out of the bushes. The two older women were moving faster than I would have imagined they could. I mean, all Grandma had was her walking cane, and still she was puffing right along.

“What the—”

“Get in the van,” Grandma ordered as she and Phyllis rushed by us. They opened the van’s side door and hopped in. “Quick, before the cops show up.”

I didn’t even glance at Sam. Grandma’s loud voice was so stern it had me leaping into the van’s driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition. I squealed the wheels and peeled out of the parking lot, leaving Sam in the dust.

“Who was the handsome guy?” Phyllis asked as we turned a corner out of sight of the courthouse.

“Sam Greenbaum.” I looked into the rearview mirror to see Grandma settling into her captain’s chair next to Phyllis.

“Don’t worry,” Grandma said. “Sam won’t tell the chief it was us.”

Phyllis’s eyebrows drew together, confused. “Why not?”

“Because I’ll invite him to have dinner with us at Toni’s house.” Grandma’s wide grin sparkled against her paint-darkened face.

I rolled my eyes.

“What exactly did you two do to set off the alarm?”

“We established beyond a doubt that that wall contains Champ’s murder weapon,” Grandma said with pride.

“You what?”

“No worries,” Aunt Phyllis added. “We didn’t dig it out of the wall. That would be tampering with evidence.”

“And you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Who us?” Grandma grinned. “Of course not.”

Why then did I worry that they did?

T
hank goodness for my new bakery assistant. Without Meghan, I would be in deep trouble. I hadn’t slept but an hour before my alarm went off and I had to go to work. Pie on an hour’s sleep tended to be a bit crisp around the edges.

Today Meghan wore her black hair in a fauxhawk. One side was shaved close. The hair at her crown stood up stiffly, and the rest reached halfway down her back and was twisted up in a 1940s-style hairnet. Her beautiful blue eyes were rimmed with liner with a small kitten flick. The rest of her makeup was pale, except for her lips, which were bright red. She wore a puffed-sleeved blouse in a green stripe, a green plaid skirt, ripped fishnet stockings, and heavy combat boots. The girl certainly had her own style.

“We have fourteen pumpkin custard and seven pecan.” Meghan pointed at the trays of pies on the roller cart. “How many of the chocolate silk are we making?”

“Ten,” I said, and hid a yawn behind my hand. “I left them for last because you have to stand and whisk the pudding until it thickens.”

“Do you want me to do that part?”

I waited for her to push the rack into the big walk-in freezer. “I’ll do half while you observe, then we’ll have you do half.”

She took long strides as she came over to see me mix the sugar, cocoa, cornstarch, and milk.

“It looks so runny.”

“I know. The thing about this kind of filling is that you have to stir until it thickens, then stir another minute. Then add it to the egg gently and cook it another minute. Once it’s done, you add the butter and vanilla and combine. Then pour it into the prebaked shells.”

“I will never go back to instant pudding after your chocolate silk.” She pulled up a stool and sat down beside me. It was a rule in the kitchen that if you were cooking you had better be standing, but if you were watching you could sit.

“I use the same recipe for banana cream and coconut cream; I simply substitute bananas and coconut for the cocoa.”

“Like I said, yum!” She chewed on her lower lip for a moment, coloring her teeth with her red lipstick.

“What?” I asked.

“I heard about your grandma killing Lois Striker.”

I frowned. “She did not kill Lois.”

She shrugged and intertwined her fingers. “I heard the cops have proof she did it.”

“No,” I stated firmly. “They only asked her some questions then sent her home. Trust me, if Grandma had been the killer they would have arrested her right away.” I pulled the pot of thickened, bubbling cocoa from the heat and added a small portion to the beaten egg and whisked. Slowly adding pudding to the egg and combining it without cooking it was an art. It had taken me a while to perfect it. Finally, when the egg was brought up to a temperature close to the pudding I added the entire thing back into the saucepan and stirred for another minute. Then I removed it from the heat and added butter and vanilla, then whisked it all together.

“If she didn’t do it, who did?” Meghan asked. “Do you know?”

“Why would I know?” I had to wait five minutes before I poured the chocolate into the prebaked pie shells lined up on the table.

“You were seen going into the police station. We figured you were investigating the crime.” She shrugged and stood.

“I went to collect Grandma before she drove the police crazy. We both know the cops in this town couldn’t keep up with Grandma’s mind.”

Meghan giggled. “She is one sharp lady.”

“Isn’t she?” I scraped out the filling into the last crust and washed the pan in the deep sink full of hot soapy water.

“Do you have a clue who did it?”

“No.” I rinsed the pan and grabbed a towel to wipe it dry so she could make the next batch. “

“Poor Lois.” Meghan shook her head. “I heard they bashed her head in with a rock, then left her lifeless body near Homer Everett’s statue.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“My friend Emily’s mom works at the morgue. She said that Lois’s head was a mess. Then John Ellsworth—his dad owns the funeral home—said that it took his dad an hour to clean her up and make her appear presentable for the visitation.”

“Huh, are they certain it was a head-bashing?”

“What do you mean?” Megan took the pot from me and measured in the corn starch and sugar.

I sat down on the stool and watched her work. “There’s a third-floor window above the area where Lois’s body was found. There was some speculation that she might have been pushed from that window.”

“Oh, no, that window is in the ladies’ restroom and has been painted shut my whole life.”

I wanted to know how she knew which window I was talking about, but then thought better of it.

She paused and waved a wooden spoon in the air. “Come to think of it, there was a break-in at the courthouse last night.”

“I saw that on the police blotter this morning. They think it was a raccoon or something.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Why?” I tried not to sound too obvious. “Don’t they get critters opening windows and such? Especially in the fall when they’re looking for places to hibernate for the winter.”

“No, Mrs. Thacker told Chief Blaylock she spotted a VW van racing away from the courthouse. Rumor has it she even got the license plate number.”

My stomach flipped a little. “Huh, did she see who was driving?”

“No, it was too dark.” Meghan stirred the thickening pudding. “But I have no doubt Chief Blaylock will be able to figure out who was in the van.”

“Right.” I paused. “Stir that harder or it will scorch on the bottom and you’ll have to toss the entire batch.”

“Anyway, Mrs. Spader told my mom that she’s seen a VW van around town the last day or two. There aren’t too many of those in Oiltop.” Meghan stirred slowly as the pudding boiled with soft thick plops. The scent of cocoa filled the air. The little volcanoes in the pot always reminded me of the trip I made to see the geysers in Yellowstone National Park. I’d been eighteen and a girlfriend and I had taken a last-minute road trip to the area. Funny, but it didn’t seem to bother either of us that we had no reservations and no tent should we have to camp at the busy national park.

I let out a sigh. It had been a lot of years since I’d taken a carefree, spur-of-the-moment trip. There’s a certain freedom in the innocence of youth. Since I’d been married and divorced and was now in the countdown to turn forty-one I felt past such moments of spontaneity.

Meghan chatted away about how awesome it would have been to own a VW van. “We could totally make a party bus out of it. You know, in a
Scooby Doo
sort of way. Hey!” She smiled big as the inevitable came to mind.

“Don’t say it.”

“What? That a VW van would make a great Mystery Machine?” She giggled. “Too bad you didn’t buy a VW van for the bakery deliveries. It would have been super cool. We could paint
MYSTERY MACHINE
on the side.”

“I am not solving any more mysteries,” I insisted—not that anyone ever listened.

“Oh, come on, everyone knows it was you out in the VW van.” She pointed the whisk at me. Chocolate dripped off the end.

“Don’t stop stirring!” I jumped up as she stuck the whisk back into the pot and continued to stir.

“Got ya!”

“Got me? How did you get me?” I asked as I grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and cleaned up the floor.

“You totally were in that van last night, weren’t you?” She wiggled her apron-covered behind. “Whose van is it? Can I see it? Did you find out anything about Lois’s murder?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” I rinsed the towel out and did a second once-over of the floor, then tossed it away. I glanced at the pot and held out my hand. “Let me test the thickness.”

She handed me the whisk and I ran the implement around the pot once. The perfect little plops of chocolate mocked me.

“Oh, come on, Toni, you can tell me. Who owns the van?”

She wore a striped apron around her outrageous outfit. Since there were no customers today, she had her nose ring in, along with the rings in her eyebrow. Her blue eyes glistened in the sunlight that came in through the door between the front and the kitchen.

“This pudding is done. Here.” I handed her back the whisk. “Stir it once and concentrate on the feel. When it gets this thick then it’s ready for the egg.”

Meghan stirred the pudding. “Cool.” I monitored her while she added the pudding to the egg.

“Careful with the egg. If you go too fast you’ll cook it and have pieces of cooked egg floating in your pudding.”

She slowed down her stirring. “Do you have to add egg? I mean, you don’t add egg to cooked packaged pudding. Why would you need it here?”

“It makes the pudding richer,” I said, and kept an eagle eye on her. “Okay, that’s good. Now add the egg back into the entire pot and cook it another full minute.”

One more minute of cooking and she turned off the flame and pulled the pot across the metal racks of the stovetop.

“Now, add the butter and the vanilla.” I watched as she added the premeasured ingredients. Most people have no idea that most vanilla has gluten in it. It really depended on what solution the vanilla was distilled in. The thing about gluten sensitivity was the sheer variety of foods most people took for granted that held secret gluten, like vanilla or soy sauce or even ketchup. “Stir until the butter is melted and both ingredients are incorporated.”

“Got it. Do we pour it straight into the pie shells?”

“No, let it cool five minutes.” I twisted the timer to five and left it ticking on the counter. “Once it dings, stir it with the whisk, or the top will form a skin.”

“Got it.” She studied the surface of the cooling pot. “How’s it working out with you and Tasha? Is she, like, going to live with you for a long time?”

“I don’t mind having Tasha and Kip around. It helps fill the house.”

“How come you live in such a big house anyway?” Meghan poured hot water into the sink and added dish soap. The resulting bubbles smelled of lemons.

“You mean, why don’t I live in a VW van?” I sat on the stool and teased her.

“Oh, come on, you have to admit the Mystery Machine is pretty awesome.”

“Yes, yes it is.” I nodded. “Too bad that last month’s bad guys weren’t as easy to detect as someone from
Scooby Doo
.”

“So, how come you, like, came back here instead of staying in Chicago? I mean, it’s, like, Chicago . . . and Oiltop is . . . well . . .”

“Oiltop,” I said, finishing the sentence for her. “You know, when my mom died last year, she left me the family homestead.”

“I know, but your family is huge. You could have given it to someone else, right?”

I worried my bottom lip with my teeth. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Instead you moved in and opened your bakery here. You have to admit, it wasn’t easy.”

“Opening a gluten-free bakery in the middle of wheat country?”

“Yeah.”

“My family has a long history in this town.”

“Lots of people’s families have long histories in Oiltop,” she said as she washed up the utensils from the pudding. “And they got out.”

I shrugged. “Grandma Ruth isn’t as young as she thinks she is.”

“Okay?” She shook her head to emphasize that she didn’t follow my train of thought.

“I wasn’t here for my mom’s last couple of years on this earth. I want to at least be here for Grandma’s. I might have lost my mom, but she lost a daughter.” I stood and checked on the timer.

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Meghan said. “So, it’s like your mom can’t be here for her mom, so you are.”

“Something like that.”

The buzzer chimed and I turned it off. “Stir it really well.”

Meghan attacked the pudding with a whisk until it was smooth and even. Then she poured it into the prepared gluten-free crusts. The recipe made five pies. When you had twenty pies to create filling for, only five pies at a time felt like it took forever, but I was proud of the small batches and home-cooked taste of the bakery.

Gluten-free food can be hit or miss. In fact, the best advice I ever got after my celiac diagnosis was to eat only whole or fresh foods. That way you knew for certain what was in them. Sometimes even naturally gluten-free items held enough gluten to really make a super sensitive person sick.

Which was precisely why I prepared small batches with only certified gluten-free ingredients. When you only got baked goods once in a while, it was really important to ensure that they didn’t make you sick . . . ever.

“Done.” She rinsed the pudding out and dumped the pan in the hot water.

“So, now that you know how to do that, I’m going to leave the next batch for you,” I said. My cell phone vibrated in my apron pocket. I pulled it out and stepped through the door from the kitchen to the front of the bakery. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Toni, did you get a chance to get out to the courthouse and see if you can’t figure out what you saw in the mulch?”

“Not yet.” I bit my tongue to stop myself from trying to explain that I had a business to run. With my luck, Grandma would use that as an excuse to go out and look for herself. “I had to show Meghan how to make pudding.”

“Do you need me to—”

“No, I’m headed out that way right now.” I tried my best to sound firm. “You stay away from the courthouse. People already suspect that I’m the one who tripped that alarm last night.”