Gluten for Punishment (10 page)

“Don’t say a word to anyone until I get there.” I heard him get up and put on his
coat. “And most important, don’t worry. I’ll see you’re fully protected.”

I bet he got a lot of girls with that line.

CHAPTER
11

"I
came as soon as I heard.” Tasha scooted under the tape. She wore a jazzy sweater
set, tailored pants, wool trench coat, and shoes to die for. I envied her a little.
I was dressed in my standard chef gear of black pants, white shirt, white apron, and
my blue jacket. My hair whipped around in the wind while hers looked naturally gorgeous.
I didn’t want to even think about my red nose and the tissues I needed to blot it
every two seconds.

I gave her a quick hug. She smelled of expensive perfume. “You can join the crowd.
Everyone in town’s here.” I motioned toward the standing-room-only group assembled
in the bakery.

“Yikes.” She rubbed my arm. “Maybe you should tell them all to go home.”

“Oh, no, after yesterday, I’m serving every customer I can get. Grandma Ruth is inside
manning the register. Hopefully the coffee won’t run out. Apparently I’m not allowed
inside while they search.”

“I can go in and take care of that.” Her gaze was filled with concern. “Are you all
right?”

“Truth? I’m not sure. I called Tim and he said they also had a warrant for the house.”
I rubbed my arms to ward off a shiver. The reality of what was happening was sinking
in.

“This is ridiculous. I’m going to go in there and give those cops a piece of my mind.”

“I wouldn’t.” Brad’s deep voice shocked us both into whiplash-evoking head turns.

“Oh, hi, Brad.” Tasha smiled and did a little hand wave.

“Hi, Tasha, how’s Kip doing?”

“He’s good. Great, in fact.” Tasha flipped her hair and I think my jaw fell open.
I elbowed her. “What?” she hissed.

“Hi.” I held out my hand and pretended to be a professional. “I’m Toni Holmes.”

Brad encased my icy hand in his warm one. “Yes, I remember. You were two years behind
me in high school, weren’t you?”

“You remember me?”

“I remember Tim.” Brad pulled his hand away. “He played on the basketball team with
me.”

Of course he did. Sigh. I pushed the stray hair out of my eyes and wiped my nose with
the tissue.

Brad looked into the windows. His handsome face and square jaw held interest. Thick
blond eyebrows raised a fraction. He still had a full head of wavy, blond hair. “Did
they give you a copy of the search warrant?”

“Yes.” I held up the paper. “Although I don’t know why. They didn’t need it. I’d have
let them look at anything if they’d asked.”

“That’s not a real good idea,” Brad’s tone chided me.

I stuck my chin out in response. I hated to be chided.

“May I see it?” he asked and held out his hand.

I handed him the paper and shoved my hands in my pockets to warm them. While Brad
perused the paper, I took the time to peruse him. He was still extremely tall, maybe
six-foot-five. I was five-foot-seven and had to look pretty far up to see his electric
blue eyes. His broad shoulders were encased in a standard black wool trench coat,
which hung open to reveal a smart suit in some dark pinstripe, a dress shirt in a
coordinating blue-and-white stripe, and a red silk tie. The man was a walking
GQ
billboard. What was he doing in Oiltop, Kansas?

“I can’t figure out what they are looking for,” I said. “They have to have probable
cause, right?”

“It lists you as a person of interest.” Brad turned his electric-blue gaze on me.
In high school, the rumor was he wore contacts to make his eyes that particular color,
which was fine by me. “The warrant says you had motive because George assaulted you
at your grand opening. When his body was found, there was a paint can nearby and evidence
he’d started to paint something on your storefront.”

“And they got a warrant because of that? That shouldn’t be enough of a reason.” I
stomped my foot, which tingled from the cold. “For one, I didn’t know he was behind
the flour bombs. Last I heard, the chief said it was a prank. Two, I didn’t even know
George was out here until I opened my door at seven
A.M.
, nearly two hours after he . . . died.”

Brad glanced at the papers. “It says here you admitted to being in your shop at the
time of the murder.”

“Behind a locked door.” I waved my hand at the glass door now covered with fingerprint
dust. “Who knows who was on the street at the time? It could have been anybody.”

“I agree,” Brad said after studying me for a full breathless moment. “Their cause
is weak. You should have called me the minute they asked you to go in to be fingerprinted.”

“Which, by the way, was humiliating.” I pursed my lips and frowned. “And should have
ruled me out as I hadn’t touched anything at the crime scene.”

I saw movement in the window and noted the CSU guys were carrying my computer out
of the back room. “Hey, is that my computer? They can’t take that. More than half
my business is online.” I grabbed the door handle to storm in but Brad’s hand covered
mine and stopped me.

“They can take anything they deem evidence.” His deep voice soothed me but his words
frustrated me.

I was even too mad to notice how long it took him to remove his hand from mine. “I
have customers who depend on me.” I glanced at Tasha. “People with kids who require
routine.” I grabbed Brad’s coat sleeve. “My baked goods are part of their routine.
I have to have my computer.”

“I’ll go in and see what’s what. You stay out here.” He pulled open the door and went
inside.

“Wow, if I didn’t have Craig in my life I would totally want to be you,” Tasha said
watching him move toward the cops on my behalf.

“What?” All I could think about was how much I hated to be told what to do. Plus,
my life was disintegrating before my eyes. Why would Tasha want to be me? I mean,
look at me.

“Between Sam Greenbaum and Brad Ridgeway, you’ve got a whole lot of hot testosterone
in your life.”

I could not believe her mind had gone there. My life was falling apart, and she was
busy playing matchmaker? I shook my head. “I told you, I’m not interested. Besides,
my hands are full with my own problems. I don’t have time to add someone else’s to
the mix.” I blew my nose. “And I need my computer.”

“Brad’ll get it back for you.” Tasha had awe in her eyes.

“What if he can’t?”

“You have a library card, right?”

I frowned. “Yes . . . why?”

Tasha shrugged, her attention on the men inside. “Go to the library and use its computers.”

“Wait, what? No! Some rush orders come in late at night.”

She looked at me funny. “You check your orders late at night?”

I tilted my head, my eyes wide. “It’s how I get things shipped on time.”

Tasha pursed her lips. “Point taken. Okay, the library is out.” She looked down at
her watch and sucked in air. “I have to run and check on the maid. We’ve had a few
issues.” She slipped a key off her key ring and handed it to me. “Brad’ll fix everything
eventually. Until he does, you know where my office is. Feel free to use my computer
anytime, day or night.”

“Thanks!” I clenched the key in my hand and hugged her tight. “I think you just saved
my life.”

“That’s what friends are for.” One more long look at Brad through the window and Tasha
took off for work.

• • •

T
he police finished their search right after noon. Candy and Rocky left to file yet
another front-page story. The crowd dwindled off, and I was left with a shop covered
in black fingerprint dust. Grandma Ruth left to write her blog about the oppressions
of a police state and to go see Mike Smith, the
Oiltop Times
editor, to see if the increase in sales meant he would hire her back.

Without my computer, which Brad said they could keep for at least forty-eight hours,
there was little I could do but clean up.

Fingerprint dust was difficult to get off. It took all afternoon scrubbing to get
the place clean. I washed the windows three times before the streaks went away. Then
I took pictures of the spray paint and set to work scrubbing the bricks with a wire
brush and soap.

“Oh, you shouldn’t do that,” Sherry Williams warned me as she stepped under the crime
scene tape. Her perky Miss Kansas hair and put-together outfit made my back teeth
ache.

“The marks are bad for business,” I said, pointedly looking toward the empty shop.
“Something about graffiti scares people away. I thought you, being convention and
tourism bureau manager, would know that.”

“Au contraire,”
she said with a perfect French accent. “This outdoor crime scene is just the thing
for tourism. People love all that CSI stuff. And later, we can do walking ghost tours.
People will pay to simply walk by your shop and touch the trough.”

I tossed the wire brush into the bucket of suds and stared at her. “It’s morbid.”
My hands were cold even wearing thick pink rubber gloves.

“That’s the tourism business.” She smiled. “So stop what you’re doing. Besides, I
think the only way to really get it off is to paint over the bricks.”

“That’s a job for my landlord.” I stood and brushed off my knees.

“Exactly.” Sherry took my arm. “Come on, I’ll buy you a cup of coffee. I want to talk
tourism and ghost tours.”

I let her drag me inside especially since she was going to buy coffee.

“You see,” Sherry said, as she sat across from me at a table, “the whole thing requires
you to sign a waiver allowing me to use your bakery’s name and image. But here’s the
good part—it’s great publicity. People will stop by to see if they can see George’s
ghost and then we’ll file inside for warm drinks and tasty treats. What do you think?”

“I think I’d be profiting from a man’s death.” I made a face. “Is that legal?”

“Very legal.” Sherry nodded, her eyes wide, her plaid wool jacket complementing her
skin tone. “Pete’s talking about adding brass crime scene tape to the trough.” She
leaned in until her dark green silk top fluttered above her coffee cup. “People love
a juicy murder.”

“I don’t know.” I sat back and warmed my fingertips on the sides of my cup. “It sounds
creepy. . . .” I wondered what the police would think about me actively using the
murder to drive sales. They’d probably think it added to my motive. Not good.

“We’ll start with a memorial service this Friday. We want you to cater, of course.
People can leave flowers near the trough, and we’ll get a whole crowd into your bakery.”

“Wait, do you think my catering is a good idea? I’m already a person of interest.
What if the police think my profiting on George’s memorial is more motive on my part?”

“That would be great!” Sherry’s enthusiasm nearly bowled me over. “People will really
want to come out then.”

Her words took me aback. “More people will come out if I’m moved up from person of
interest to suspect?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“They’ll want to be here if the police arrest you. Just the idea that they ate your
food and were here for the arrest will get them talking.”

My jaw dropped open. “What if I say no?” Seriously, it was bad enough people went
to see a person hanged. I didn’t want to experience what it was like to be the hangee.

Sherry merely shrugged and dismissed my threat with a wave of one perfectly groomed
hand. “The memorial notice will be in tonight’s paper. People will come to see if
the killer shows up. It doesn’t matter if you cater or not.” Her gaze grew hard. “As
for the ghost and murder tour, the mockups for the tourism brochure are already being
designed. It’s your loss if you don’t sign the waiver.” She pushed the paper toward
me and eyed me over the top of her cup. “Haven’t you lost enough business because
of George Meister?”

I stared at the paper as Grandma Ruth’s voice went through my head.
“Remember, in business, you can’t care what people say. What’s important is they talk
about you.”

Saying a small prayer that I wasn’t giving the chief more reason to hang me, I signed
on the line. Sherry smiled her pageant smile and left with a baker’s dozen GF chocolate
chip cookies for the office.

I returned to scrubbing and hoped I hadn’t made the worst mistake of my life.

CHAPTER
12

"T
his is serious.” Grandma Ruth took a long drag on her cigarette and closed the newspaper.
She turned it so that I could see a photo of me once again on the front page above
the fold. This time I looked shocked and almost guilty. The headline screamed, “Dead
man identified as George Meister, bakery protestor
.
Baker possible suspect.”

I grabbed the paper from her. “I should have kept the front door locked like Officer
Emry said.”

Grandma puffed on her cigarette and gave me a stern look while her wild cap of carrot-colored
hair rustled in the breeze. “Mike says sales of the
Oiltop Times
have tripled.”

“I know. I heard.” I crumpled the paper so I couldn’t see the headline. It was nine
P.M.
and I was sitting with Grandma out on the wide front porch of Mom’s house.

“The whole town thinks you did it.” Grandma Ruth had changed clothes from this morning
and was now sporting a yellow blouse, a butterfly-patterned vest, and a paisley skirt
with knee-high hose. The outfit was topped off with blue-and-white men’s running shoes.

“You know I didn’t.” I wanted to throw the paper away but with my luck I’d get arrested
for littering. “I don’t think the cops are looking at anyone else. The worst thing
is, the longer they take to look at me, the farther away the real killer gets.”

“Plus it’s killing your business.” Blue smoke rose up over Grandma’s head. “No pun
intended.”

“Especially since they took my computer away.” I sat back and closed my eyes at the
weirdness of it all. “Now I can’t do any online fulfillment without going to Tasha’s.”

“As far as I see it, there is only one thing to do.” Grandma paused for dramatic effect.

I opened my eyes. “What’s that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “We have to solve this murder ourselves and clear your name—the
sooner, the better.”

Crap. Was that determination I saw on her face? “What do you mean, solve this murder?”

“I mean, we should investigate this crime and find the real killer before he gets
away.” It was determination. Her steely-eyed look always meant trouble for someone.

“The last time I checked, neither you nor I had a private investigator license. I
know neither one of us is on the police force. We are not equipped to solve crimes.
Besides, my superhero cape is at the dry cleaners.”

Grandma snorted. “I don’t need a cape. I was an investigative reporter for years.
I know a thing or two. You’re as smart as me. Together we can figure this thing out
faster than those bumbling idiots in the police station.”

I stared out into the darkness. She had a point. Officer Emry was lavishing all his
attention on me and I was innocent.

“Listen, kiddo, police procedure is going to kill your business. How long do you think
you’ll last with your store taped off and your computer gone?”

“Not long,” I mumbled, my shoulders slumping at the reality.

“Then you have no choice. Now, do you want my help or not?” Grandma’s eyes sparkled
in the low light coming from the front parlor window. She could be fierce when she
wanted, and from the look in her eyes I could tell she was going to do this thing
with or without me. Like Sherry Williams and her ghost/murder tours.

“Fine, I’m in,” I said weakly.

“Good.” Grandma slapped me on the thigh. “Good.” She took a long drag on her cigarette.

“Where do we start?” I hoped she had an idea because I hadn’t a clue. In truth, I’d
been away from Oiltop too long. I didn’t know much of what went on in town. Least
of all what George’s life was like and who would want to kill him.

“We start by finding out who—besides you—wanted George Meister dead,” Grandma Ruth
answered as she twisted the ash out of the butt of her cigarette then shoved it in
her pocket.

“Wait a minute. I didn’t want him dead. I barely knew who he was,” I protested.

“That’s beside the point.” Grandma waved her square hand in the air, then slapped
her hands together and rubbed them in delight. “Tomorrow I’m going to do some digging
in the newsroom archives and public records. George was up to something. We simply
have to figure out what.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You can interview witnesses, in between work and keeping up your orders.” Grandma
reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled out her pack of cigarettes. She tapped
it across the side of her hand then pulled out one long white stick. Putting it in
her mouth, she slipped the pack back in her pocket and took out an old steel lighter.

“Witnesses?” I asked, not sure what she meant. I mean there were no witnesses, right?
Or the cops wouldn’t be looking at me as their main suspect.

“Yes, kiddo, anyone and everyone with a business on Main and Central could have been
on that street or driving by that morning and seen something.” She said the last bit
between her teeth, as she lit her cigarette.

“Got it.” I liked the way Grandma thought. Really, had the cops asked everyone on
Main if they were in their shops? “I’ll take a bunch of business cards with me and
introduce myself to all the business owners and offer a free pastry.”

“There you go, that’s the spirit.” Grandma patted me on the thigh again. “With the
introductions you can kill two birds with one stone. Drum up new business and help
solve the case.”

I scrunched up my nose and scratched my forehead. “Let’s not use the word
kill
at the moment, okay? Someone might take it wrong.”

Grandma laughed real hard, and she started coughing. I pounded her on the back. “You
really should stop smoking.”

“I know . . . it’ll kill me.” She grinned and we both laughed.

• • •

T
he next morning, Tim rode to work with me. I thought it was a sweet gesture until
he mentioned Grandma Ruth had put the fear of God in him. She said there was no way
she was letting me go to work alone with a killer on the loose and told Tim if he
didn’t act as my bodyguard she’d make sure he never got a good night’s sleep again.
Grandma Ruth didn’t make idle threats, and Tim liked to sleep, which meant I now had
an extra pair of eyes to help me start looking for clues on the streets of Oiltop.

As we drove, I asked Tim to look out for cars and trucks on Main and Central. Whoever
had killed George might have done so on his or her way to work. It was a couple of
hours earlier than George’s time of death, but it was a place to start. We saw exactly
one cop car, one pickup with a handyman graphic on the side, and an oil truck heading
toward the Quickmart. Small towns don’t have a lot of traffic at 4
A.M.

There wasn’t a single vehicle in the parking lot when I arrived behind the bakery.
But then there rarely was. Next to me was a bookstore, an antique store, and a fabric
store that boasted all the quilt-making supplies you could ever need.

I parked and Tim jumped out of the van. He wore beat-up jeans and a heavy-duty denim
shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He didn’t wear a jacket because forty degrees was
nothing to the guy.

I zipped up my jacket against the chill, got out, and unlocked the back of the van.
“Thanks for riding in with me,” I said as he reached in and pulled out his bike. It
was then I noticed the ink on his forearm.

I grabbed his arm and pulled up his sleeve. “Is that a tattoo?”

“Yeah, so?” His eyes twinkled in the lamplight.

“When did you get that?”

“Right after mom died,” he said. “It’s a daisy.”

“Her favorite flower.”

“Yeah,” he said and pulled away from me.

I looked at him for the first time in months. “Thanks for helping me.”

“No problem.” Tim shrugged and swiped a lock of his mop-like hair out of his eyes.
The hair, combined with the lean muscle from his wide shoulders to the tips of his
steel-toed boots, never failed to make women take notice. If he hadn’t spent his twenties
and thirties “looking for himself,” he might have been married by now with at least
one kid. He was a few inches taller than me, which made him about six foot. “I forgot
to ask, did you hire Brad Ridgeway?”

“I did.” I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep them warm. “He’s working to get my
computer back and some other stuff Officer Emry confiscated.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Emry needs a good, swift kick in the pants.”

I had to agree with him there.

“Give me your key.” Tim held out his hand.

“What? Why?” I tightened my fist around the keys in my pocket. No way was I giving
them up to my brother.

“I promised Grandma I’d open up the place and check it out before I left you.”

“I’m good, really. I’m a big girl.” I slammed the van door and pushed past him.

“Yeah, a big girl who had a glass door between her and a murderer not three days ago,”
he said, walking with me to the back door. Tim hit the kickstand and rested his bike
along the side of the building. “Hand it over.”

“Fine.” I gave him the key and watched him unlock the door and flick on the light.
“I don’t know what you think you can do that I can’t.”

Tim grinned and raised his arm, forming a bicep. “I can squash the measly killer.”

“Riiiight. Maybe when you were twenty, old man, but not as much when you’re forty-two.”
I grabbed my keys out of his hand and strode through the bakery, turning on all the
lights in the place. My poor office looked lonely without a computer. They’d left
the various cords dangling. The kitchen was sparkling clean, as was the front. Both
were empty of any living being.

“It’s clear.” I patted my brother on the shoulder. “You’re good to go. Thanks.” I
buzzed a kiss on his five o’clock shadowed cheek and pushed him toward the door. “Good
night and remember, take note of anyone you see driving around town on your way home.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bunk here?” He studied me over his shoulder.

I tried to disguise the horror I felt at the idea. “No, no. I’m good. I promise I’ll
even lock the doors behind you.” I pushed him the last foot out the door and half
closed it so he wouldn’t get any ideas. “Text me when you get home so I know you’re
safe.” I closed the door and threw back the bolt. Finally, I had the place all to
myself. This was the part I loved the most.

I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat hook. Then I grabbed a big apron, slung
it over my head, and hit the button on the mp3 player letting Nickelback scream into
the air.

I took out dough to proof then put out a
HELP WANTED
sign. Hiring real help would be very hard on my budget, but there was no way I could
investigate a murder if I was stuck in the store all day.

While I baked up the goodies for the display case, I made a mental list of stores
in the area I needed to visit. I figured I could do a block at a time on my lunch
breaks. At that rate, it would take about two weeks to investigate the entire downtown.

I blew out a breath and attacked the dough. Well, it couldn’t be any slower than the
police department. Sad but true. I remember reading somewhere you needed to catch
a killer in the first forty-eight hours or the evidence would grow cold. I glanced
at the clock. They had two hours left and right now the only suspect they had was
me.