Til a Death Do Us Part: A Bakery Detectives Cozy Mystery (7 page)

"We should get coffee tomorrow morning. To celebrate," Jackson said, and I nodded.

He was practically grinning. I knew the reason for his relief now. If Dylan was guilty, that mean Emma was innocent.

Or, at least, according to him it did, and forensics, which apparently never lie.

But I still wasn't so sure.

* * *

T
he bright yellow
decor of Bakermatic was particularly jarring on my eyes that morning.

Simona offered us table service, skipping over with her long black ponytail swinging behind her, even though usually customers had to wait for their number to be called before they collected their food themselves.

"Cheesecake for you," she said to Jackson. "And a gluten-free blueberry muffin for you," she said cheerfully before she placed two lattes in front of us as well.

"So," she said, straightening up. "Did you ever find out what happened to Rich?" She was trying to keep her voice cheery but I could see some tension in her face as she waited for Jackson's answer.

"Not yet," he said quickly, taking a sip of his coffee. "But don't worry, I'm sure nothing has happened to him."

Simona brushed her hands against her apron. "I just feel bad about everything now. I wish I'd reported him going missing at the time."

"Everything is fine," Jackson said in a tone that was a little too short. Simona made a face and took a step backwards. "Okay," she said, putting a smile back on her face. "Well, enjoy your coffee and cakes."

Jackson took another sip of his coffee and then a bite of his cheesecake before he seemed to return to normal. He smiled. "Things seem a little brighter today, don't they?"

"I suppose so."

"Dylan is behind bars and now, well..."

I wondered what he had been going to say. Now Emma could come home? Then where was she?

"Jackson I'm just not sure that things are exactly as they seem." I hadn't even touched my muffin, which I assumed was already stale considering that Bakermatic gets all their products pre-made and delivered.

All the joy seemed to be sapped from his face in an instant. He dropped his fork, a piece of cheesecake still hanging off the end of it. "What are you talking about?" There was a note of warning in his voice, letting me know that I ought to tread lightly.

I gulped. "There could be other reasons that Dylan's prints were at the scene."

"What other reason does he have for being in the ladies’ bathroom?" Jackson asked, raising his voice, though I could see from the strain on his face that he was trying to show some constraint.

"I don't know, Jackson. But there ARE other explanations." I threw my hands up. "He was seated next to me the entire time. I didn't see him go anywhere."

"That doesn't mean he didn't do it," Jackson pointed out.

He was right about that. I sat back and tried to ignore Jackson's glowering eyes as I thought back to the ceremony. I'd been so focused on Jackson in front of the chapel that I couldn't say for sure that Dylan had been there the entire time Aunt Cassie had been in the bathroom.

"I'm like eighty percent sure he was there the entire time."

"Great. Say that to a judge," Jackson said, his voice an even mixture of anger and sarcasm.

I just stared straight back at him. "I will if I have to." I swallowed, thinking back. "We were all shoved together, packed in like sardines, and I was hanging off the edge of the seat. Aunt Cassie had to ask me to move so she could get past me when she excused herself to go to the bathroom." I shook my head. "Dylan never squeezed past me. I'm sure of that."

Jackson shrugged. "He might have gone down the other end. Were you watching him the entire time?"

"Of course not." I dropped my head. "I was watching you," I said quietly.

I dared to lift my head after a few seconds to check Jackson's reaction. I'd assumed his face would still be cased with anger. But it had softened a little. "Why were you doing that?" he asked softly.

"You didn't seem happy," I said. "The whole day, even before the ceremony, but especially while you were standing there. You looked like you'd rather have been anywhere else."

Jackson shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well. You don't know what was going through my head, Rachael."

"I know I don't. I was worried about you, that's all."

"Worried?" he asked. "Or hopeful? Were you sitting there, hoping that Emma wasn't going to show up?"

"Jackson, it wasn't like that."

He held a finger up to make me be quiet. "Look," he said softly. "I appreciate all the help you have given me so far on this case..."

My stomach began to sink.

"And I also appreciate that maybe you can see things I can't. I know you want to be thorough, and that you think you saw Dylan stay put in the chapel that day." He gave me a stern, serious look. "But the evidence doesn't lie, Rachael. Dylan's prints were at the scene. And he was the only one with a motive strong enough to kill Aunt Cassie."

"So what are you saying, Jackson?" I asked, pushing my plate away. I no longer had an appetite.

He stood up and started to do up the buttons of his suit jacket. He hadn't even finished his cheesecake. "I'm saying, I think this case is done. Thanks for your help, Rachael. But we—I—no longer need you."

T
he sweet smell
of my own bakery greeted me like warm arms welcoming me in from the cold.

It was good to be back.

I put my apron on and greeted Bronson, who was holding the fort in the front. He quickly put down the fantasy book he'd been reading and hid it under the counter. "It's okay," I reassured him. I glanced around. The place was clean and the shelves stocked and there were no customers waiting to be served. "You can read while it's quiet. Where's Pippa?"

"Out back," he said with an eyebrow raise as he picked up his book again.

I could hear her crying even before I entered the kitchen. I braced myself and pushed it open.

"Looks like I'm not the only one having a rough morning."

She lifted up her head from the counter she'd had it buried in. "Rachael, I didn't think you'd be back yet." She stood up. "I've only been out her crying for a few minutes. Well, okay, ten minutes."

"It's okay, really. It's not like we’re busy." That was another problem. But one I was going to have to deal with later.

She wiped her eyes. "What was so bad about your morning?"

I jumped up on the counter even though it was a breach of health and safety, and I would have scolded anyone else for doing the same. I explained the way Jackson had reacted when I tried to push the point about Emma being guilty.

She made a face. "Sheesh. I can't really blame him for not wanting to hear that."

"Well, he needs to hear it," I snapped. "Sorry. It just kind of hurt when he threw me off the case."

"Is there still even a case to be on?" Pippa picked up a bowl of leftover batter and covered it in plastic wrap before placing it in the fridge.

I nodded. "Yes, there is. That's the problem." I let out a long sigh and swung my legs. "He already thinks it's case closed. But I need to trust my gut. This is why it’s so frustrating." I looked at her. "Dylan might be the black sheep of that family, and he might have rubbed a few people the wrong way, but he doesn't deserve to go to prison for a murder he didn't commit."

"So what are you going to do then?" Pippa picked up a roll of leftover cookie dough and started chewing from the end of it.

I looked at her. "I'm gonna keep investigating." I pouted a little. "And seeing as I no longer have Jackson, I'm gonna need some help from my old partner."

Pippa dropped the roll of cookie dough and shook her head. "No. I've got enough on my plate right now. I don't need to get involved in other people's relationship dramas."

"You've gotta help me, Pippa," I said, pleading with her. "Come on. It'll be a distraction from all this Marcello stuff, won't it?"

She let out a heavy sigh and nodded. "It will be. I really need the distraction, actually."

"Thank goodness. I was starting to get worried there for a moment that I'd lost you for good. I need your fresh eyes on this case."

Pippa leaned back against the counter. She frowned. "Are you sure you should still be poking around when Jackson's already told you you're off the case?"

I stood up and shook myself off. "No," I said. "But then again, when has that ever stopped us before?"

* * *

"
A
nd how exactly are you
going to look at the private photos of Jackson's friends?" Pippa said later that evening as we settled down in my room. "What, did you create a fake account or something and friend them all?"

"No, that would be crazy," I said, then paused. "Or actually, really clever. Anyway, I didn't need to. Jackson's details are still logged in."

"Rachael!"

"What? It's literally a matter of life and death. I would rather Jackson have done this himself, but he wouldn't listen to me, would he?"

"Okay then."

I cracked my knuckles and took a deep breath.

"I actually promised myself I wouldn't do this," I said, sitting down in front of the laptop. "But this is for a serious, life or death reason."

"Uh-huh," Pippa said, shooting me a skeptical look as she sat down beside me. "That's why you haven't cleared his log-in details since he was last on it, what...four days ago now?"

"I've been busy."

Considering the way the wedding had ended, I was surprised that a lot of the albums were still up. I groaned, though, when I realized that the previous album we'd scoured, the one uploaded by Jackson's cousin, had been deleted.

"Darn it, that one was a real gold mine," I said, a bit dejected as I scanned through the rest of his friends' list, trying to find another full album of happy snaps from the happy day. I clicked on Jackson's own profile to see what photos he had been tagged in.

"Hey, this looks like a good one," I said, stopping at one that had been uploaded by someone who looked like they were a college friend of Jackson's. "Yes!" I said, when I saw that the album had over two hundred photos uploaded to it. "Let's get going."

Pippa stopped and laughed, pointing at the screen as my face flashed onto it. "Boy, you really were sitting there at the back of the chapel hoping that Emma wasn't ever turning up, weren't you?"

I was about to flick past it quickly, but I thought to stop and double check something. "Look," I said. "Aunt Cassie is gone. This must have been while she was using the bathroom. And look, Pippa! Dylan is still sitting there."

She nodded a little but she shrugged. "It's just one photo," she pointed out.

I kept flicking through the albums. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but I'd know it when I saw it.

Then I stopped.

"Hey, it's Surfer Dude!" I said, pointing at the screen. "I don't remember seeing this photo of him last time," I said, pausing on it. It was a much clearer photo than the one we'd printed out and showed to Simona.

"Who is that guy?" Pippa asked and I quickly filled her in on everything we knew so far. Or rather, didn't know. "Jackson had never seen him before, and said he wasn't related to anyone there. A total stranger. No invite." I paused and looked at the screen again. "Do you recognize him?" I asked Pippa.

She was concentrating so hard that her tongue was poking out a little as she looked over my shoulder. "You know what, he does kinda seem a little familiar."

I turned to look at her. "Did you see him at Bakermatic?" I asked.

Pippa burst out laughing. "NO. Why would I go in there? Don't worry, Rachael, I'm not going to the competition for coffee."

"I'm not worried," I mused. "Just curious."

Pippa shrugged. "Hey," she said suddenly. "Someone has tagged him in this one!"

I turned back to the screen. She was right. Whereas he'd been anonymous in the other photos, this was one tagged clearly with "Rich Robinson."

"Whoa, is he any relation to you?" Pippa asked.

"No. But if I had a dollar for every time someone asked that..."

I clicked on the link to his profile. We couldn't access much, as he wasn't friends with Jackson, so there was only a limited profile for us to look at.

"Hey," Pippa said, pointing to the screen. "Look, it says you—and by you, I mean Jackson—have a mutual friend with him." Pippa raised her eyebrows. "Looks like he's not such a stranger after all."

I quickly clicked on the link to find out who their mutual friend was. "Emma!" I said, startled when "Emma Crawford" came up as the sole link between them.

"What the..." Pippa settled down beside me and leaned closer to the screen. "So Emma knew him."

* * *

I
t seemed
like something of a breakthrough, but Rich Robinson's profile was on tight lockdown. There was nothing except his name, date of birth (but no year), and a blurry landscape photo as his profile.

"Oh my goodness!" Pippa cried out. "I just realized where I know him from!"

"Really?" I spun my chair around to look at her.

She nodded. "He's been to the meetings of the Belldale Paranormal Society. I'm sure of it."

I cringed at the mention of the society. It had been a source of contention between us before.

Pippa grabbed the laptop off me and logged out of Jackson's account. "Hey!" I cried. "I hadn't saved those details!"

"GOOD," she said, giving me a look. "Besides, you won't need them any more." She had one hand hovering over the laptop as the other hand dialed her phone.

"Who are you calling?"

"Shh!" She waited a moment for the person on the other line to answer. "Tegan!" she said, and I groaned. Not Tegan. She was the leader of the paranormal society and the last person I wanted helping out.

I listened as Pippa explained—not everything—but enough to get Tegan caught up. "So, are you friends with him? Can you view his profile?" Pippa waited for the answer and then gave me the thumbs up.

She hung up and gave me a satisfied smile. Then she brushed her hands off and did a little happy-smug jiggle in her seat.

I rolled my eyes a little. "What did Tegan have to say then?" I asked. "Are you going to tell me, or just sit there dancing?"

Pippa poked her tongue out. "She's going to take a screen shot of all his photos and email it over to me. We just have to sit here and wait."

It seemed a little stalkerish but I guessed I was past the point of worrying about that horse, which had already bolted.

Pippa jumped when she got the notification on her phone and quickly used the laptop to open it.

"Holy..." she gasped as I rolled my chair over to her quickly. "You gotta look at this."

"What?" I asked, rolling even quicker, till I banged into her.

Pippa turned the screen around. There were a bunch of photos that Surfer Dude had been tagged in and it took me a moment to scan them all.

Then, right down at the bottom, there he was.

And there she was.

A photo of Surfer Dude with his arm slung around Emma's shoulder.

Then one of him kissing her on the cheek.

Pippa and I looked at each other. "They were having an affair."

Pippa raised her eyebrows. "They were certainly having something," she said. "Close enough to kiss and hug, but not close enough to invite to the wedding?"

I stared at her. "I have a pretty good idea why he wasn't invited to the wedding."

Pippa nodded and snapped the laptop shut.

"So," I said, leaning back in the office chair. "I guess we know why Emma didn't want to marry Jackson."

Pippa nodded. "And we know why both her and Surfer Dude have gone into hiding."

"Do you think they’re together?" I frowned.

"Of course! Don't you?"

I thought about it and nodded.

"How am I going to tell Jackson?" I murmured.

Pippa made a face. "I don't envy that task. I think he might have a habit of shooting the messenger."

"You're telling me."

* * *

P
ippa had told
me that I should to go over to see Jackson right away, but I needed to get my nerves together before I could do that. Three hours later, I was still umming and ahh-ing, pacing around my room.

"You're still here?" Pippa asked incredulously as she stuck her head into my room.

I jumped. "I just haven't gotten around to it yet."