Bun for Your Life (11 page)

“All right. When I talked to you at the bakery . . . Molly . . . I asked you if, other than the argument I heard you have with her the day of the fair over booth space, you'd had other incendiary incidents with Calista. You said no.”

I thought he was going to choke on my name. Maybe he just hated the name Molly. “Because I didn't. If this is going to take a while, can I get dressed?”

He seemed to notice for the first time since he arrived that I was only wearing a robe. He averted his eyes, and I thought I saw a little color creep into his cheeks, which I found endearing. “Go ahead.”

I went into my bedroom, closed the door, threw a bra on my girls, then slid on underpants, a T-shirt, and jeans. He was still standing where I'd left him when I returned. “To continue, Calista and I had disagreements, but nothing that would lead
to murder. I've already explained all I can to you. What more can I say? Are you going to arrest me?”

“No. I didn't bring my handcuffs. Plus, you're right. You didn't have any other incendiary incidents with her. But your great-grandparents did.”

He couldn't have shocked me more if he'd gotten down on one knee and proposed. I couldn't believe he had found out about that. My family rarely brought it up anymore. I've never even said anything to Calista about it. Besides, she had been forgiven by most of us. I hardly thought about it. I couldn't even tell you the last time I had actually thought about it. Did it upset me when I did think about it? Yes. Did I kill Calista because of it? No! “How did you find out?”

He cocked an eyebrow at me again as his velvety brown eyes beneath the clichéd thick, long eyelashes that so many men seem to have stared at me. “Because I'm a detective? That's what we do. We find out things. Tell me what happened.”

“Why?” I folded my arms in front of my chest, which I'm sure to him screamed defensive posture, but I didn't care at the moment. Besides, I felt defensive. “Apparently, you already know. I wasn't even born when it happened, so what I tell you will be hearsay.” I should have been polite and invited him to sit, but I was annoyed at him for bringing up something that occurred before I was born, and for questioning me about Calista's death—again.

“Humor me.” He went over to one of my purposely mismatched dining room chairs, pulled it out, and sat anyway.

I pulled out a chair for myself. I got the feeling he wasn't going to leave until I gave him what he wanted. At this rate I was never going to get my bath. Or anything to eat. It's a good thing I'd had some of Dottie's cookies.

“My great-grandmother Alice, on my mother's side, worked for the Danforth family. She cleaned, ironed, shopped for groceries, stuff like that, and took care of Calista. My great-grandmother said she was the one who took Calista shopping for clothes and school things. She even went to a couple of parent conferences.

“Danforth Orchards has been around since like the eighteen hundreds, so Calista's family's money goes back generations; they were one of the first families to settle in the area. Plus, her father had invested in oil, gold, and cattle or something, so they were very, very wealthy. The richest family in Destiny. Probably the whole state. Her father bought a bracelet from Wallis Warfield Simpson's collection for Calista's mother. She's the American woman King Edward the Eighth gave up his throne for. Wallis, not Calista's mother.”

“Yeah, I got that,” he interjected.

I let his sarcasm slide. This guy had a way of making me talk despite my annoyance with him. “Anyway, it was some kind of really fancy lion or tiger with a bunch of diamonds. He paid millions for it at an auction. Alice was accused of stealing it, among other things.”

“Did she?”

I jumped up from my chair and glared at him. “No! She would never do something like that. How can you come in here and suggest my great-grandmother stole from people? You didn't even know her! I thought you knew the whole story. If you did, you wouldn't think that at all. “

He remained unruffled and unperturbed by my outburst. “I didn't accuse her of it. Just want to hear your version. Go
on.”

I finally sat back down. “You have to remember I'm repeating what I was told.”

“I'll remember. Go on.”

“Calista's mother kept it in her jewelry box. Personally, I'd have locked it in a bank safe, but the woman had tons of jewelry. She wore it all the time, even to the grocery store. That is, when she didn't send Alice to go shopping.”

One day, she noticed her jewelry box was a little off center. She opened it and saw that a few pieces were gone. Including the bracelet. They searched the house. Nothing. Calista, who was then around thirteen, told her mother she saw Alice put the pieces in her purse. When Calista's parents demanded to see her purse, Alice agreed. She was probably stunned at their request, but she had no reason not to show them her purse. I'd have told them to get lost, then quit. Sure enough, some pieces were found at the bottom of my great-grandmother's purse in a pink pouch.”

“But Calista was really the one behind it,” he said. “Your great-grandmother was exonerated.”

“Yes. Calista stole her mother's jewelry. She blamed it on Alice because she wanted Alice fired and arrested. She got caught because she wore one of the necklaces that Alice supposedly stole when she had her class picture taken. Smart girl, right? Her parents recognized it and asked her about it. She finally confessed what she did.”

“Why did she do that to Alice?”

I didn't want to remember what Calista had done to my great-grandmother. I'd get upset for her all over again. “Alice always felt sorry for Calista. Her parents barely paid her any attention. She felt it was Calista's bid for attention. If she got rid of Alice, her parents would have to step in and pay attention to her. Act like Calista was their daughter instead of a family pet whose care could be entrusted to just anyone. My great-grandmother should have been a psychiatrist.”

“Did Alice continue working for them?”

“No. She couldn't. She was deeply hurt.”

“Is your great-grandmother still alive?”

I shook my head and studied the uneven wood grain of my dining room table. “She died last year at ninety-six. My great-grandfather the year before.”

“I'm sorry.” His voice was softer now. “My condolences. Did Calista ever apologize to her?”

I looked up at Sean. “Thanks. Not that I know of. Her parents did. They felt very badly about what their daughter did. My great-grandmother never got over it, even though she understood the reason behind it. But she continued to talk to Calista. She never shunned her, or her family.”

Sean was silent. After a moment, he rose.

“I didn't kill Calista because of what she did to my great-grandmother,” I informed his broad shoulders. “Or because she accused my bakery of having mice.”

He turned around, bracing his hands on the back of a chair. “You must have been upset when you heard the story about Alice.”

“Of course I was! Wouldn't you be? I couldn't stand thinking of my great-grandmother hurt like that. But Calista was a kid. Sort of. I'm not excusing her behavior because of that, but it's not something I'd kill her for. I must say, this feeling you have that I'm the killer is getting very tiresome. I'd appreciate it if you would scratch my name off your list and move on.”

“Thanks for talking to me,” he replied. “I'll see you Saturday. I can let myself out.”

I didn't answer. I didn't have time to, he was out the door so fast. I stood there for a minute. Did he really think I was a suspect? Why did he keep coming back to me? I locked the front door and went to my bedroom, where I stripped and started my bath all over again. I wasn't opening my front door for anyone else.

*  *  *

“Molly, sweetheart! What brings you here?” My mother came up behind me as I got settled at the library's research computer. She was wearing what I called her librarian outfit: black pencil skirt, white shirt, medium heels, and black reading glasses sitting on top of her head. Her blonde pageboy grazed her shoulders.

“Hi, Mom. I'm doing a little research on Trey Hamilton and Blake Ellsworth. Looking up old newspapers.”

“Research? How come?” She reached for a chair and sat beside me.

I turned to look at her. “For my date for tomorrow night. Detective Sean Corsino—”

“The guy from the bachelor auction,” she broke in, smiling at me. “How nice! I hope you have a wonderful time.” Her smile faded. “I heard about Brian's engagement to Lola. You did hear about it, didn't you?”

I nodded. “He came over and told me himself.”

“How are you feeling about it? I know you're still close. Dad and I thought maybe you'd get back together one day.”

I lifted one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I'm okay. We definitely aren't getting back together. Especially now. It's weird, I still consider him mine. I don't think about us getting remarried or anything, so I guess that's kind of stupid, huh?”

My mother smiled and squeezed my forearm. “Not stupid. Hey, maybe your date with Sean Corsino will lead to something. He's a good-looking guy, and he seemed super nice when I met him before the auction. Kind of quiet, but very polite and sweet.”

“Sweet”? That was not a word I'd use to describe him.

My mother sighed and continued. “I really, really want you to meet someone you can settle down with. I'd love to see you married again and working on having my grandchildren. Your father's, too, of course. Detective Corsino is handsome, and he's got a nice build. You want someone like him to father your children. He looks rugged and healthy. You can tell by looking at him he's at the peak of his masculinity. He smells very good, too.”

This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have now. Or later, for that matter. I certainly didn't want to picture myself popping out the detective's babies. And I for sure didn't want to know how my mother could tell he was at the peak of his masculinity. Or that she liked the way he smelled. But it was harmless chatter; my mother totally adores my father. “Can we talk about something else?”

“I'm sorry, sweetheart. I interrupted you anyway, didn't I? So, tell me. Why are you doing research for your date?”

“Sean keeps questioning me about Calista's murder.”

“What? He thinks you killed her?”

“I don't think he seriously does. He's just annoying me with questions. I had an argument in the bakery with Calista over booth space at the Apple Harvest Fair. He happened to be in the bakery when that happened. Then, somehow, he found out what Calista did to great-grandma Alice, so I guess he thinks I executed a revenge killing.”

She smacked the desk with the palm of her hand. “That's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. What's wrong with that man? How could he accuse you of such a thing out of the blue? What kind of detective is he, anyway?” she cried.

I smiled. Two seconds ago, she wanted the detective to father her grandbabies; now she looked like she wanted to kick his butt. “To be fair, he hasn't exactly accused me. Officially, at least.”

My mother continued talking. “What about Blake? He was dating Calista for her money, plain and simple.” Her face took on an annoyed expression. “Him and his classic cars that he can't afford. Money is a powerful motivator for murder.”

I smiled at my mother's serious pronouncement. “I heard about his disastrous TV interview on TV. I have a feeling that helped turn the tide of gossip toward him.”

“Hmmm.” My mother abandoned the subject of Blake Ellsworth. “I'll let you get back to work. I have a board of directors meeting in fifteen. Hope you find what you're looking for.” She got up, then kissed the top of my head. “Call me and tell me about your date. Don't sleep with him until there's a ring on your finger, and make sure he takes whatever facts you've dug up seriously.”

I promised her I would. Make sure he took my facts seriously, that is. Her other comment, I didn't want to even acknowledge. I turned back to the computer, ignoring the curious looks of some older patrons who'd heard my mother's parting comments. The second one, by the look on their faces.

I looked up Blake Ellsworth first. I printed out what I found and highlighted the important parts. Then I scribbled notes in my new notebook. Researching Trey took longer. The library had newspapers going back to the eighteen hundreds. I found lots of stories about the Hamiltons and Danforths. I printed some of them out and, again, scribbled notes. When I looked up at the clock, it was almost four. I owed Olivia one for letting me take today off.

I still had to go to the mall. I planned on wearing the same dress I had for the auction on my date tomorrow, but I needed a new pair of shoes. Flats this time. I could use some makeup and a new purse, too. My phone rang softly just as I finished packing up. “Hi, Liv, what's up?”

“You're actually answering your phone?” She laughed at the other end.

“Isn't that what it's for?” I huffed as I pushed open the library door, then made my way toward my car.

“Glad you've finally realized that. You will never believe this.”

“Believe what?” I asked as I lowered myself into the Prius and closed the door.

“Bobby Crandall, a reporter for
The Destiny Trumpet
, was just here interviewing me.”

“For the paper?”

“Yes, for the paper. Why else would he interview me? He wanted to know our reaction to one of our doughnuts and T-shirts being used to facilitate a murder.”

“Did you answer him?”

“Yes. He took pictures of the bakery, inside and out, then some of a couple of willing patrons, and of me. He asked them some questions, too. Too bad you weren't here. The article could bring us business.”

“Or morbid curiosity seekers,” I said. “Like those kids and the honeymooning couple. Did you explain that the T-shirt didn't really facilitate a murder?”

“No, I didn't bother. It's going to be in tomorrow's paper, so make sure you get a copy. What are you doing now?”

“I will. I'm on my way to the mall.”

“Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Yes, Sean and I aren't leaving for dinner until five thirty.” I paused. “Liv?”

“What's the matter? You sound like you're about to cry. Talk to me.”

“Remember what you said about Brian not putting a diamond on Lola's left hand?”

“Yes. Why?”

“He did.”

“What?” She screamed so loudly I almost dropped the phone. “When?”

“He came over last night and told me they were engaged.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

“I wanted to think about it alone for a little while. I'm sorry, Liv. Don't take it personally.”

“I don't. How do you feel about Brian marrying Lola?”

“Sad, happy for him, mad, scared he'll stop talking to me, afraid Lola isn't right for him. Want more?”