Gluten for Punishment (14 page)

“I promise it won’t take more than an hour and it’s mostly business.”

“Fine.” I didn’t want to be a poor sport after he’d been so kind as to send an employee
my way. “Tomorrow it is.”

“Good, I’ll come by the store around 12:30. We’ll walk down to the deli.”

“Oh.” I felt my chest fall. “I can’t eat bread. I have celiac disease.”

“Right, well, then we’ll walk down to the deli and convince them to let you supply
them with gluten-free bread.”

“Huh, now why hadn’t I thought of that?”

“You would have, but you’ve been a bit busy lately.”

I laughed. “Busy isn’t the half of it. Taking gluten-free sub rolls to the deli sounds
great, but then it really would be a business lunch.”

“Great.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “We’ll do the thank-you lunch another
day.”

“Oh, you are sneaky.”

“Only when it comes to getting something I want.”

Smooth. He was smooth, but I wasn’t falling for that line. “Thanks for the reference,
Sam.”

“See you later, Toni.”

I hung up thinking I was a crazy woman, but what the heck. If Meghan worked out, I
would owe the guy big. Besides, his deli idea was a good one. I could take a few twelve-inch
sub rolls for them to try. If everything worked out I could have a new customer and
Tasha would have another place she could take Kip for lunch. What could be wrong with
that?

CHAPTER
17

"G
eorge Meister died of blunt-force trauma and drowning.” Grandma Ruth had driven her
scooter down to the bakery in the dark to let me know.

“Blunt-force trauma, as in someone hit him in the head with something heavy and he
fell into the trough and drowned?”

“Precisely.” Grandma smelled of cigarette smoke. There was a burn mark on her coat
sleeve. She wore a corduroy coat, a shearling-lined plaid trapper hat, and overalls.

“Did they say what they thought he was hit with?”

This had been the longest day ever. It was 9:15
P.M.
and I was closing up. All the prep work for the morning was complete. Most everything
was done for the memorial. I locked the door behind Grandma’s scooter and turned the
sign to
CLOSED
. Then I went to the register and pulled out the bank deposit bag for my second trip
to the bank’s drop slot. I needed to go twice in one day if I was going to get back
on track.

“They aren’t sure. His skull was smashed in, but there wasn’t a definitive wound mark.”

I juggled the bag and pursed my lips. “You mean they can’t tell if it was a pipe or
a shovel or something?”

“Can’t tell, but whatever it was, was heavy enough to kill. It’s why they are calling
it murder and not accidental drowning.” Grandma followed me through the kitchen, her
scooter wheels soft on the tile floor.

“I didn’t see anything left behind.” I held the back door for Grandma and turned on
the security system, hit the lights, and locked the door.

“Maybe they took it with them.”

“Maybe.” I hit the Unlock button on my car key and the van’s door locks popped open.
I went to the back, opened the door, stuffed the bank bag under my arm, and lowered
the ramp. “Maybe they threw the weapon in the gutter.”

“Oh, yes!” Grandma was so excited she almost drove off the ramp. Thankfully, she turned
her scooter at the last minute and got safely into the back of the van. “Bill and
I could check the sewers tomorrow.”

“Grandma, you and Bill should not be looking in the gutters.” I made a face.

“No worries,” she said as I climbed into the driver’s seat. She had settled herself
into the passenger seat and opened the window to light up. “I know someone in the
city sewer department. He’ll help us.”

“No smoking in the van,” I reminded her. “I transport food in here.”

Grandma rolled her eyes and closed the window. “Fine.”

“How will the sewer guy help you?” I asked as I backed out.

“He can stop traffic and put out those orange caution signs.”

I blew out a deep breath. There was no point in arguing with Grandma Ruth. She could
always out-argue.

“What do you think you’ll find in the gutter?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Grandma rubbed her chin. “It was probably a weapon of convenience.
I mean, there’s very little chance a killer premeditated smacking George in the head
and letting him drown in the trough. It’s too complicated.”

“Any idea what would be a weapon of convenience?” I turned onto Main.

Grandma shrugged. “I don’t know, perhaps a rock or a brick?”

“And if you find a rock or a brick down in the sewer, how will you know it’s a murder
weapon?” I raised an eyebrow at her. She didn’t seem the least bit fazed by my reasoning.

“We’ll have it tested, of course. You know, they can test for blood very easily these
days. I see it on TV all the time.”

I pulled into the bank parking lot and parked. “I’ll be right back.”

I grabbed the bank bag and jumped out. It was a short walk to the deposit drawer.
The bag was not as heavy as this morning, but it was close. I tossed it in my hand
and a thought occurred to me. What if the killer had used a full bank bag?

I swung the bag in the air simulating hitting someone upside the head. It didn’t seem
to be enough force to kill someone . . .

“What are you doing?” Grandma leaned against the van, cigarette in hand. She had gotten
out to sneak a quick drag.

“I was wondering if a bank bag could have been the murder weapon.” I frowned and pretended
to hit someone with a downward stroke. That felt like it held more force. Was it enough
to kill a guy? I didn’t have one of those cool CSI dummies to check it on.

“Oh, you mean like in
The Postman Always Rings Twice
?” Grandma took a drag and squinted through the smoke.

“I’m sorry?” My attention was on Grandma Ruth.

Grandma shook her head. “You need to read more. I keep saying you could be in Mensa
like me if you read more. I swear you could pass the test.”

“Thanks for the compliment, Grandma.” I’d heard this line most of my life. I’d never
considered myself a brainiac, but it was nice Grandma thought I was. She usually called
it how she saw it. At least in her mind I had a high IQ. My cousin Emma on the other
hand, well Grandma Ruth had told her to make a good marriage while she was young because
looks were all she had.

I would have been horrified. Emma took it all in stride and was happily married to
a doctor and had two kids. Meanwhile I was up to my eyeballs in debt while under suspicion
for murder. I think it might be a toss-up as to who had the higher IQ.

“But you have no idea what the murder weapon in the
Postman
was because you never read the book.”

I winced. “I think I saw the movie once . . . a long time ago . . .”

Grandma wagged a finger at me. “Read, kiddo. It’s how you learn.”

I waited but she merely stood there taking more puffs off her smoke. “Fine.” I tried
not to roll my eyes. “I’ll check the book out tomorrow. Now, what was the murder weapon?”

“Ingenious, really. They put rocks in a sock, struck the guy over the head, and left
him to drown in the bathtub.”

“Rocks in a sock?”

“Yes. Afterward they dumped the rocks and washed the sock. Evidence was all gone.”

I studied the soft money bag. “Sort of like this, only filled with coins. Smash George
upside the head, then deposit the bag and voilà. No murder weapon.”

“It could work.” Grandma squinted through the smoke. “How many bags do you have?”

“I get a new set of six every Saturday. A delivery guy brings them by. I use a new
bag a day, fill it up, put in a deposit slip, and stick it in the night depository
chute.”

“Do they clean the bags?”

“I have no idea.” I pursed my lips and studied the bag, narrowing my eyes. “I guess
if the murder weapon was a bag, it would still be inside the bank. New bags aren’t
delivered for another two days.”

“Do you have a flashlight?” Grandma asked.

“Sure, in the glove box,” I said. “Why?”

“Hold on.” Grandma twirled the fire and ash off the end of her smoke and shoved the
butt into her pocket. Then she grabbed the flashlight out of the glove box and carefully
hobbled her way over to me. “Let’s see if there’s any blood on the depository chute.”

“Great idea.” I turned and opened the shiny metal door. Grandma shone the light inside.
We checked for bloody drag marks and were disappointed to find nothing but clean,
shiny metal.

“So much for that,” Grandma Ruth said. “Make the deposit. Let’s go home.”

I gave the bank bag one more look over, tossed it into the chute, and dumped it. Then
I sighed and got back into the van.

“It was a good idea,” Grandma said.

“Suppose we can speculate all we want.” I shrugged. “But what we really need is evidence.
Unless you found out more about Todd Woles. . . .”

“Oh, right, Todd did have a restraining order against George. Meister couldn’t come
inside the men’s store or within fifty feet of Todd’s home. You might want to ask
Todd about that.”

“I will.” I put the van into gear and rolled through the bank parking lot. “But does
a nearly two-year-old restraining order give Todd motive? I mean, George was vandalizing
my shop, not his.”

“Guess we’ll have to find out more tomorrow. Take me home. I need my rest if Bill
and I are going to search the gutters and sewers.”

I turned back onto Central and took Grandma home.

• • •

T
asha called me later. “Hey, stranger, what are you doing?”

“I’m making peanut butter cookies. I had an order for three dozen.” I put the phone
on speaker and went back to measuring ingredients.

“I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. I thought maybe you’d run away with
Brad.”

I laughed at Tasha’s wild imagination. “Honey, the man hasn’t looked at me twice,
except maybe to calculate his bill.”

“I’m disappointed in you, Toni,” Tasha muttered. “I’d have thought you were smart
enough to have jumped on the guy. I mean, you’re single with a reason to call. Forget
your rules and ask him to dinner.”

“And be billed two hundred dollars an hour? No, thank you.”

Since I wasn’t up to more dating advice, I changed the subject. “Are you and Craig
still coming to the memorial service? I mean, I know you’re having your dinner party
after. Do you have time to traipse over to the bakery?”

“Of course! I want to come see if I can identify the killer.”

“How can you identify a killer when you weren’t anywhere near the murder scene?” I
turned on the mixer and let it cream the butter, peanut butter, and sugars.

“I know, silly, right? You probably think it’s best if we skip out on the freezing-cold
fun. I mean, it’s not like I knew George at all.” She sounded like she really wanted
an excuse to attend. “Unless you need me to help you serve . . .”

Bingo. “I’ll be fine, either way,” I said. “I’m prepared and I think I’m going to
hire a girl tomorrow. She can help me serve.”

“Really? Who?” Tasha did sound disappointed.

“Meghan Moore, she’s eighteen and wants to be a pastry chef. She seemed pretty sincere
about working whenever and doing whatever I asked. It doesn’t mean you can’t come.”
I threw Tasha a bone. “You know I can always use your support.”

“I’ll talk to Craig and see.”

“Sounds good.” I added the dry ingredients to the mixer after carefully weighing them.
In baking—gluten or no gluten—it was all about proper proportion.

“I’m not sure I know the Moores,” Tasha said.

“I know I don’t.” I had the mixer on low for thirty seconds then moved it up to medium.
“The parents kicked Meghan out the day after she turned eighteen.”

“What?”

“I know, crazy, right? But apparently they figured they did their job raising the
kids and at age eighteen, it’s time to grow up. They literally give each of them a
suitcase and a twenty-dollar bill for their birthday and put their stuff on the lawn
the next day.”

“That’s crap.”

“I completely agree. But I heard the family’s been doing this for over one hundred
years.”

“That doesn’t make it any less barbaric.”

“No kidding. Anyway, she had great references so I’m going to give her a shot. Besides,
I’m desperate for help. If she works out, I can do a lot more work and stuff—like
errands.”

“And come over and visit your best friend?”

“Hey, how’s the inn?” I asked to distract her. “How’s Kip?”

“Kip’s good. He’s talking about going trick-or-treating this year.”

“Really? I thought he didn’t like scary stuff.”

“His tutor suggested it and that he would earn a reward if he went, therefore he said
yes.”

I couldn’t tell if I detected terror or pride in her voice, perhaps both. “Does he
have a costume in mind?”

“He wants to go as a third grader.”

I laughed. “But he is a third grader.”

“I know. I tried explaining it to him, but he insists since he is a third grader then
he should go as a third grader.”

“How are you going to pull that off?”

“The tutor has some ideas, but we’re both working on explaining the costume part of
Halloween.”

I finished mixing the dough and pulled the bowl off the big mixer and set it on the
counter. Then I rolled one-inch balls and placed them on the cookie sheets. “Thanks
for letting me use your computer the last couple of days. I’m calling Brad in the
morning and demanding mine back.”

“How’s the investigation going?” Tasha asked. I heard her eating on her side of the
phone. It was after ten
P.M.
She must have had a busy evening if she was eating after Kip went to bed.

“Grandma learned that George died of blunt-force trauma.” I picked up a fork and began
to make the traditional crisscross pattern on the cookies.

“Which means?”

“He was hit in the head by something and fell into the trough and drowned.” I picked
up the cookie sheets and placed them in the oven, then set the timer.

“Wow, what kind of object?”

“They don’t know. Grandma Ruth said she was going to look in the sewer tomorrow to
see if maybe something was thrown down there. Anything that doesn’t have my fingerprints
on it would be good.”

“You mean like a pipe or a bat?”

“Or a brick or a big rock.” I sipped on the glass of red wine I had poured myself.
“Who knows? For a while I thought maybe it was a bank deposit bag full of money. You
know how heavy they get.”