A Crouton Murder (9 page)

Shocked, I watched Porter grasp BettyJo by the arm and move her away from her father. “That’s enough of that. Don’t do it again,” Porter warned. “I wouldn’t want to take you in for assault, BettyJo.”

He looked toward me and asked, “What did you use to make the croutons, Melina?”

I shrugged. “Nothing special. I toasted them with melted butter. There was garlic salt and parsley included in the recipe, but that’s all. I don’t use oil to make my croutons.”

Seever rounded on me and shouted, “You’re a liar. There was grape seed oil in them. I could taste it the moment I chewed the croutons.”

“I said I don’t use oil. Someone else added it when no one was looking. Who knows you’re allergic to grape seed oil?”

Realization dawned on him as Seever glared at me. “Only two people knew. Why didn’t I think of that? Corinda and BettyJo are aware of my allergy to anything that has to do with grape seeds and grapes in general. That’s why I don’t even drink wine,” he mumbled, more to himself than to us.

BettyJo folded her arms across her chest and glared at her father. “You could have died, Dad. You did all of this because you needed to control my life and even incriminated Melina, when all the time your bitchy mistress tried to kill you? What the hell is wrong with you?” she yelled. BettyJo pushed the hair from her forehead, drew a deep breath, and in a calmer tone, said, “Detective, you can have him, but please find out if Corinda is the guilty party here. After all, she was sleeping with both men, and might have preferred one over the other.”

Potter nodded. “That’s my plan. I’ll do what I can to keep you informed, BettyJo, but I can’t compromise a case. I hope you understand.”

BettyJo sighed and sank onto the nearest chair. “Thanks, I’d appreciate it, Porter.”

I watched Porter hustle Seever out of the building. The sound of heavier footsteps on the stairs raised our heads at the same time. We watched Aidan stride into the living room, a look of bewilderment on his face.

BettyJo sprung off her seat with an exclamation that her next clients were undoubtedly waiting.

“Are you sure you don’t want to cancel?” I asked.

“Can’t. Too late for that. I’ll get through the evening and then catch up with you when you get back, okay?”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. It’s not the first time my father has been an ass and it won’t be the last.” She glanced at Aidan and then said to me, “We’ll talk later.”

I gave BettyJo a hug, told her she’d done the right thing, and stood silent as she raced down the steps. My gaze went to Aidan, who stood staring at me with a puzzled look.

After a moment or two, he asked “Are you ready, lass?”

“Just a minute, I’ll be right back.” I hurried into the bedroom, dragged clothes from the closet, and changed for my date.

We left the bread to rise, BettyJo to read some poor sot’s cards, and headed to the pub where I drank way more ale than I should have.

Life can be unexpectedly unkind at the best of times. For BettyJo, this was one of them. My heart went out to her as I watched her pace the kitchen when I returned from my evening with Aidan. He’d wanted to know what had happened and was greatly surprised when, obligingly, I filled him in on every last detail.

“Can my father beat these charges?” BettyJo paused mid-stride to ask.

“Probably not, but that’s not your problem. He knew what he was doing when he began this whole mess. You are not to blame. I hope you know that.”

“If I’d moved back home, all this wouldn’t have happened. You know that, right?” she asked.

“What I know is that nobody has the right to run the life of another. That’s what this boils down to, BettyJo. Think about it, your father drove your mother away to God knows where, he sent you off to boarding school, and then tried to control you throughout college and afterwards. You were too strong to succumb to his demands and badgering. You’re tougher than he ever thought you would be. After all, his blood does run through your veins. That’s why you’re so successful at what you do. The other part of you is kind, considerate, warm, and friendly. That’s your mother’s donation.” I smiled when she did.

“You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t feel so responsible. Things will work out one way or another. The fact is my father has more than enough money for a whole tribe of lawyers. I’m sure he’ll get off with a light sentence.” She snickered. “Imagine if they make him do community service with people he feels are beneath him? That would be worse than jail. I’m sure of it.”

I gave her shoulder a squeeze and asked if she wanted wine. She nodded and I poured. I’d had enough to drink and said so. The daily bread would be wonky if I had another sip of alcohol. Ale packs a punch, but tastes great. At least, Aidan’s does. But then, he could do no wrong in my mind, so there you have it.

While I worked, she sipped and we chatted. Her views on the afternoon’s issues were interesting, as was her attitude about the poisoning. Porter had called her while I was out for the evening.

“I never, not for a second, thought you poisoned my father, Melina. Not for a split second, even. It never occurred to me that he’d reacted to grape seed oil. Not only did Corinda know, but Ezra knew, too. According to Porter, apparently she’d told him. That really leaves you with something to consider, huh? Were they in it together? I asked Dad when he called from jail, while you were out with Aidan. He wanted me to contact his attorney and then he said that he’d told Porter about the medical coverage situation. He said Corinda was indeed skimming money from the account and she might have been funneling it to Ezra. He found it amounted to hundreds of thousands of dollars. I guess Porter will look into it.”

Astounded at the amount of money Corinda had managed to swindle, I stopped cutting up the dough for rolls and turned to BettyJo. “How could Corinda hide that large amount of money without getting caught?”

She lifted one shoulder and said, “No idea. I haven’t a clue of how to steal from anyone and don’t want to know, either. Oh, uh, Porter picked up the stalker guy. He pleaded innocent to his part in scaring me half to death. So tell me, how are things with your gran?”

“How did you know about that?”

She laughed. “It was only a matter of time until you lost your cool with her insistence to move to the land of heather and sexy men.”

“Right, you must have seen her march across the parking lot today. She was quite put out with me, but we got it settled. For now,” I said with a wink.

A light rap on the door caught our attention. Aidan stood on the doorstep, a smile on his face and a bottle of ale in his hand.

“I knocked on your door, BettyJo, but when you didn’t answer, I knew you’d be here. I brought you a wee draught of ale.”

Pleased at his gift, BettyJo grinned, winked at me, and took her leave with the promise of seeing me soon.

*    *    *

“Have you time to sit a minute? I wish to ask you something,” Aidan said with a serious expression.

Worried over his sudden request, I nodded and left the knife on the table along with pans of rolls waiting to be baked.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

He took my hands in his and wiped them with a clean towel. Holding them gently, he stared into my eyes and asked, “Would you consider moving to Scotland to take up a special job I have in mind for you?”

I withdrew my hands from his hold and moved away from him. All the while trying to keep my temper at bay. I’d just gone over this with Seanmhair. We wouldn’t be going to Scotland, not to live and certainly not to work. Exasperated, I said, “I’ve made it perfectly clear. There’s no way I’d move lock, stock, and barrel to Scotland or anywhere else.”

“Are you sure, lass?” he said softly with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Uh, huh, very sure,” I answered.

“Not even as Mrs. Melina Sinclair?”

His words rocked my world. He really wanted to marry me? Me, Melina Cameron? Was he joking?

“I take it you’re dead serious about this?”

“Absolutely. I want you to marry me.”

“Can you come back tomorrow and ask me again?” I said, thinking he’d had way too much ale for any clear-headed wisdom.

“Aye, I can. Think about it, though, will you?”

He drew me into his arms and kissed me deeply. I wished with all my heart that I’d make the right decision. But . . . what would it be? In light of all that had happened lately, I was unsure whether to hightail it to Scotland with the man of my dreams, or stay here in America. When we had kissed, I felt passion free itself from where I’d shoved it aside and locked it away. This man was more than a dream, he was flesh and blood. A man I’d be stupid not to spend the rest of my life with. I stared at him dreamily and murmured, “Come back tomorrow.”

J.M. Griffin is a student of the human condition, wielding the written craft
to stimulate the imagination. Like an artist, J.M. uses blank pages to draw vivid characters. Her first book in the Deadly Bakery Series is
A Crusty Murder.
J.M. is also the author of the Lavinia (Vinnie) Esposito mystery series. Her other books include
For Love of Livvy
,
Dirty Trouble
,
Dead Wrong
,
Cold Moon Dead
, and
Season For Murder
. J.M. lives in rural Rhode Island, a colorful and interesting state.