Baking is Murder (A Bee's Bakehouse Cozy Mystery) (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 1) (4 page)

“Clarice,” Jessie said, rapping on the door of the cottage.

She waited, tapping her foot impatiently. It was still bright and sunny, but it felt to Jessie like there was something sinister in the air. She knew she was being crazy; that her imagination was running away with her.

This is Springdale
, she reminded herself.

“Hello,” she said, knocking again. “Clarice?”

Jessie hoped everything was okay. It was now more than twenty-four hours since she’d tried to return Toby. She thought of him with a pang. If Clarice was still missing, then what had Mike done? She wished she’d asked for his phone number to check up on Toby.

Maybe Aunt Bee will have it.

She turned and walked up the slightly overgrown path to the gate. Clarice’s home was on the edge of town, with a sprawling vacant lot on one side and a similar cottage on the other. It was isolated in a way that would have been charming at any other time. Jessie looked up and saw two uniformed officers approaching the gate.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, heart in her mouth. “Have you found her? Please tell me—”

“Ma’am, I can’t tell you anything at this time.”

She shook her head. “Please. Can’t you just let me know if she’s okay? I don’t know her well. But I… I…”

The older of the two officers regarded her suspiciously. “You from around here? I don’t recognize you.”

She closed her eyes, willing her brain to stop leaping to morbid conclusions. “No. I’ve just moved here to be closer to my aunt, Beatrice Martin.”

It was as if both of their demeanors suddenly changed. The officers exchanged glances.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am. We didn’t realize. If we’d known who you were then we wouldn’t…”

She shook her head, wondering how her aunt held such sway over law enforcement. “That’s okay. I understand you guys have protocols to follow. For all you knew I could have been a reporter or something. No, I’m just trying to make sure she’s okay. She allowed me to take one of her puppies for a stroll yesterday, which was kind of her considering she had no clue who I was.”

The officers exchanged grave looks.

“Oh please. I heard there was a murder yesterday. I just want to check in with her. Don’t tell me…”

The one with the mustache held up his hand. “I’ll level with you. But not a word to anyone else. And don’t tell your aunt we refused to help you at first okay? Our lives won’t be worth living if she suspects we snubbed you.”

Jessie nodded mutely, heart pumping. Something deep within her was telling her that the situation was far more complicated than she’d first thought. “Clarice is alive?”

He nodded. “We’ve taken her into custody.”

Jessie gasped. “For her protection? I knew there was something up with all of this.”

“No, ma’am,” the other officer said, lowering his voice even though there wasn’t another soul anywhere near them. “In connection with the murder of Lydia Mackenzie. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave while we search the property.”

Jessie shook her head. “No. this is crazy! Clarice? She can’t have… What about the murdered woman’s husband? Have you investigated him?”

The taller officer stared at her. “You can’t just walk around accusing innocent people of crimes.”

“I
know
that.”

“I was referring to
your
accusations about Mr. Mackenzie,” he said pointedly.

Jessie shrugged. “I don’t know. Isn’t it usually somebody who was known to the victim?”

The officer narrowed his eyes. “Lloyd Mackenzie was at a bar in Dukefield all evening.”

“Oh,” Jessie said in a small voice, wondering what had possessed her to get involved. It wasn’t as if she even
knew
Clarice.

So why am I acting like the woman’s attorney or something?

She turned and walked away before the officer had to tell her again.

***

Think, Jessie,
she urged herself as she rushed back to the café.

She didn’t know anything about Clarice really, but she’d seen how the woman was with her dogs. But that wasn’t proof of innocence, was it?

She turned onto Main Street and rushed along, almost tripping on the sidewalk in her haste to get back to the café. Bee was outside, picking fresh thyme from one of window boxes. She took one look at Jessie’s face and her hand flew to her neck.

“What’s wrong, dear?”

Jessie shook her head. “It’s Clarice. They’ve taken her into custody.”

Aunt Bee frowned. “Huh. I knew they’d identified the body as poor Lydia’s, but I didn’t know that.”

“It’s just happened. I called to her home to see if she was okay. I met two cops there. They told me they’d arrested her.”

Aunt Bee shook her head. “It’s hard to believe.”

“Do you? Believe it?”

Her aunt shrugged. “People surprise you, dearie.”

“But she…” Jessie shook her head. She didn’t want to seem naive, but there was a voice inside her that niggled. “What about the dead woman’s husband? Wouldn’t he be the first person they’d investigate?”

“You have a good heart, Jessie,” Aunt Bee said, taking her arm. “I guess they’d found something that leads them to believe Clarice was involved. What we said about Lloyd Mackenzie—you mustn’t take that out of context. He’s a good man; he just had his problems. The chief is a good man too—he wouldn’t just arrest somebody unless he had reason to think they were involved.”

Jessie bit the inside of her cheek, thinking. “I guess I shouldn’t poke my nose in where it doesn’t belong, right? But one thing that does worry me—what happens to her animals when she’s in custody? And Toby. Toby. That guy I told you about, Mike; the one who gave me a ride home last night. How can I get a hold of him?”

Aunt Bee smiled. “You could try the mayor’s office.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. “Seriously? A woman’s just been killed and several animals’ welfare is at risk if Clarice is charged. And you’re
still
trying to set me up with the mayor?”

Aunt Bee’s eyes danced mischievously. “Mike Stevens
is
the mayor, honey.”

“What?”

Bee nodded.

“But he’s young and normal and—” Jessie stopped. She’d been about to say ‘handsome’ before she checked herself.

“Well anyone over thirty-five can run for mayor,” Bee said with a shrug. “It’s not like city politics here. It’s less about who you know and how much money you’ve got in your campaign fund. Mike is a real good guy. He’s done great things for this town.”

Jessie shook her head, wondering what other surprises the day would bring. But she didn’t have time to reflect. “Where’s the mayor’s office? If we’re not too busy I’ll go there right now, just to check Toby’s safe.”

“Oh of course, dear. Toby’s welfare is the only thing on your mind.”

Jessie felt sure she’d heard a trace of sarcasm in her aunt’s voice.

“You never told me you were the mayor,” Jessie said, leaning back in the leather guest chair and glancing around Mike Stevens’ office.

It was smaller than she’d expected and it seemed like every free inch of wall space contained a framed photograph of Mike with yet another member of the Springdale community.

“You never asked,” he said with a smile. He followed her gaze. “I know, I know. It’s not the Oval Office.”

Jessie flushed. “I was looking at the pictures. You really care about this town, huh?”

He nodded. “It’s my home.”

“I’m surprised we’ve never met. I used to come here for the holidays when I was a kid.”

“I moved away for college. I’m sure I’d remember you if we’d met.”

She smiled and shook her head, thinking back to all of the summers she had spent in Springdale. She and her cousin Melanie had made friends with many of the local kids their age. She figured Mike must have been just old enough so that they didn’t move in the same circles, but still she had trouble believing that. If he’d been around she would have remembered him; she felt sure.

“So what brings you to Springdale?” he asked.

She smiled. “Aunt Bee and the Bakehouse.”

He tilted his head to one side. “I know her brownies are out of this world, but there must be another reason? Most migrants to Springdale are retirees.”

Jessie shrugged and stared out the window onto the square below. She felt comfortable with this man, despite barely knowing him. “‘I got divorced and then I lost my job’ is the short answer.”

His rapid intake of breath was the only indication that she’d surprised him with her answer. “Sorry,” he said, his demeanor quickly returning to normal.

“Don’t be. You’re not the one who divorced me or fired me.”

“Still. It’s not polite to ask about sensitive topics like that. Forgive me. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Jessie shook her head. “No, please don’t be. It happened a long time ago now. And the truth is, I don’t regret anything. I was stuck in a rut in my old life. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

“A fresh start in Springdale?”

She smiled at the thought. “Exactly. I’m going to help Aunt Bee with the café and try to work on some sculpture projects I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I never had enough time or space back in the city.”

“Sculpture,” he said, eyes widening.

She nodded, warming up to the topic. “I took a fine art minor in college. I’ve always been interested in sculpture. It’s so hands on. But the flipside is you need a ton of space in order to work.”

“Well if you ever need a workspace, you’re welcome to come and take over my garage. It’s full of junk.”

Jessie felt the strongest urge to ask if he was married. While they’d been talking, she’d scanned the room for pictures of a family. The lack of them told her nothing, though, and it was the same story with his bare left hand. A lot of men left off their rings and didn’t take family mementos to work with them. She wondered how she might work the topic into conversation with Aunt Bee. And then she froze.

How could I have let something so serious slip my mind? It’s bad enough to forget about Toby, but Clarice?

She felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment at her shortcoming. She swallowed. “I heard about Clarice. It’s just terrible.”

He nodded. “Yeah, the chief filled me in when I spoke to him earlier. You’ll be wondering about Toby.”

“Yes.” She glanced around the office. “Where is he? Is he okay?”

Mike grinned. “Of course he is. He’s back at my townhouse. Having the time of his life with my shoes, last time I checked.” He turned and glanced up at the clock. “I’ve got a press conference now, but you can come and visit with him afterward if you’d like?”

“A press conference,” Jessie echoed.

In Springdale, the press amounted to one weekly paper and John the Barber’s blog. There wasn’t the same press presence as there might have been in a larger city or town.

He nodded gravely. “A murder in a town this size sends ripples through the community. The chief and I decided to speak to the media to help allay fears.”

Jessie bit her lip. “But the murderer is still out there, right? Unless you know who killed that woman.”

He stared at her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, hoping she hadn’t overstepped the line. “It’s just… she seemed so nice, you know? I just don’t want to see an innocent person get jailed for a crime they didn’t commit.”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Jessie. My hands are sort of tied here. I know your family has connections to the police, but still I don’t want to be the one who shares details. Perhaps you could go ask the chief yourself. Or ask your aunt to speak to him.”

Jessie frowned, only half hearing his words. There was something she knew she should question, but naturally she was preoccupied. “I’m sorry for prying. I should let the cops do their jobs. And you. Maybe I’ll raincheck on visiting Toby until later. You’re probably busy.”

He held his hand up. “It’s no trouble really. My place is at the other end of Main Street beside the hardware store. We’ll be there and back in no time.”

Jessie nodded and smiled, standing up to leave before she thought of something. “I don’t want you to tell me specifics, but if Clarice is being charged, what does that mean for her animals?”

His face fell. “You’re going to think I’m heartless, but with all of the drama last night and this morning, I’m afraid it’s something I’ve overlooked. I’ll speak to the chief.”

“Wait,” Jessie said quickly.

He looked at her quizzically.

“Maybe I can look after them?” she said, almost shyly.

He nodded enthusiastically. “You would? Speak to Chief Daly. Jessie, I can’t thank you enough. Those poor animals—they shouldn’t have to suffer because of what their owner did.”

Jessie felt her face flush. “You think she did it?”

He turned and stared out the window, suddenly looking much older than his years. She guessed it had a lot to do with the weight of the town’s problems on his shoulders. “I can’t say. It wouldn’t be right for me to speculate. But that’s what our justice system is here for, right? She’ll receive a fair trial and be judged by her peers.”

“But you can’t just arrest someone without proof. I know she’s a dog breeder and so was the other lady. But so what? If a bus driver is murdered, does the suspicion fall to the other bus drivers?”

He shook his head. “It’s not so simple, is it? Bus drivers aren’t actively competing with one another. The same can’t be said for breeders. Apparently there was a lot of animosity between those two.”

Jessie shrugged, remembering what Julia and Bee had told her in the café and wondering if Clarice had a nasty side to her that Jessie hadn’t witnessed yet. “Some people get into arguments wherever they go. It doesn’t make them killers.”

“No,” he said quietly. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

Jessie jumped at the sound of someone clearing his throat behind them. She turned, astonished. She felt certain she’d closed the door behind her, but now it was wide open and there was a tall, broad man leaning against the frame.

“On the other hand, if you found a murder weapon in their home, what sort of conclusion would you jump to?”

Jessie shook her head in disbelief. “You found the murder weapon in Clarice’s home?”

He nodded curtly. “I’m afraid so, Ms. Henderson. I’m Chief Daly. We haven’t met but I’m a good friend of your aunt’s.”