A Crusty Murder Read online

  Casually, I asked, “Have you postponed tonight’s tarot clients?”

  “Not a chance,” BettyJo said with an air of finality. “I removed that awful yellow tape the cops plastered everywhere, ripped the rug up, and tossed it all in the dumpster out back. I even scrubbed the room like the devil was whipping me. The police can kiss my sunny side. I’ve got clients lined up for readings every half hour for three hours straight,” BettyJo glanced at her watch and continued, “starting in about an hour. I can’t afford to lose business because the landlady got herself killed.”

  Proud of her no-nonsense attitude, I said, “Okay then, I’ll leave you to it.” With a smile, I left BettyJo to don her magical, mysterious garb that reminded me of a gypsy fortune teller from the old days.

  I had returned home when I heard a greeting called out. I scanned the yard to where George Carly stood waving at me.

  “You got a minute, Melina?” he yelled.

  I nodded and met him midway through the lot.

  “Had company today, huh?” George asked with a frown.

  I nodded. “Yes, the media hung around outside the bakery for hours. They didn’t come inside, but then Seanmhair would have made short work of them. Did they bother you?”

  George rubbed his lightly whiskered jaw and said, “They visited every shop on the block. When I asked them to leave, they almost refused until I said I’d call the police and have them charged with harassment.”

  “Seanmhair thinks I should have given them an interview. I wasn’t aware they’d been to speak with everyone. What do you think I should do?” I was interested to hear his thoughts.

  George was an Ivy League baby boomer who’d had a successful career in finance. On his fifty-fifth birthday, he’d retired and opened an antique shop a couple doors down from the bakery. I respected his business savvy, his passion for antiques, and generally liked him all the way round.

  His expression intense, George said, “We could get our group of fellow renters together and have a discussion. What do you say?”

  I agreed. “Why don’t you arrange a meeting and we’ll speak with the other tenants? I haven’t heard who will be taking over the landlady’s position. Have you?”

  George shook his head and said he’d be in touch. He sauntered off toward his shop. I watched as he stopped to pet a stray cat that hung around, mainly because he fed it. I smiled at his tender handling of the multi-colored animal. George swore like a trooper, could be short tempered, but underneath his bluster, there was a warm-hearted soul.

  Back in the bakery kitchen, I wrestled a huge mound of dough onto the stainless steel table. I sliced off chunks and gathered each one into a bowl. My class would begin any time now and I wondered if the students would appear or if the news of Mrs. Peterson’s demise had put them off. My answer came when the bell over the door jingled and laughter filtered through the shop.

  Hurriedly, I swung the kitchen door open and met several smiling students. Grateful for their commitment, I ushered them toward the coat rack. After they’d discarded their jackets and accessories, I handed out white aprons and asked them to scrub their hands in the corner sink. Willing to follow directions, they sped off to get ready amid jokes and more laughter.

  The bell jangled again, announcing more pupils. Once more, I rushed to greet them and found Aidan among them. His wit and charm had captured the group’s attention. They were hardly aware I’d entered the room. I stood with my hands clasped waiting for them to notice me.

  “If you’ll come this way, we’ll get started,” I said with a smile.

  Aidan grinned, his blue eyes sparkled, and he murmured, “Do you have room for one more, lass?”

  What the hell, the more the merrier. I couldn’t refuse such a handsome man, and didn’t want to. I nodded, pointed him toward the kitchen, and followed along behind, repeating apron distribution and hand washing instructions.

  The evening flew as pupils watched my demonstrations for mixing, and then for kneading. After I finished one demo, the students would repeat what I’d taught them. For this class, we were making Monkey Bread, a pull-apart loaf that resembled rolls. The dough would be rolled into hand-sized balls, then dipped in butter and tucked tightly into a tube pan for baking.

  Chatter abounded as classmates worked. The bread baked and every student taste-tested their results. I’d put out the butter, a bowl of jam, and the jar of honey. Tea and coffee made the rounds.

  During a brief silence, Phil Curry, a considerate and loyal student, asked, “Were you hounded by the media today, Melina? I saw the story on the news tonight. They’re such snakes.”

  “I didn’t see the news, but a couple of newsmen hung about. My regular customers didn’t pay them any mind. One of the older ladies told them to buzz off. Seanmhair and I thought it was quite sweet of her to stand up for us.”

  “Don’t let anyone railroad you, Mel. We know you and BettyJo could never have hurt anyone,” Leslie Sounder added. We’d first met when she’d had her cards read by BettyJo. BettyJo had recommended my shop for breads and classes. Leslie had become a regular, as well.

  “Thanks, I’ll remember that.” I slid from the stool and asked the students to clean up the tables and package their rolls before they left. They responded with alacrity, and soon they’d donned their jackets to leave. All, except Aidan. My heart fluttered against my ribcage, my pulse quickened. I waited for the last person to head out.

  “Did you enjoy the class?” I asked Aidan with a smile.

  “Indeed, I did.” He settled on a stool and said, “How can I help you with this unfortunate circumstance you’re in, lass?”

  His unexpected offer left me more flustered. Why? I didn’t know. I perched on a stool across from him and said, “There’s nothing to be done as of yet. BettyJo and I know we may very well have to delve into who took Mrs. Peterson’s life, just so we aren’t blamed for it. Thanks for your offer.”

  “Sure, though I don’t think a braw lass such as yourself should get mixed up in an investigation. You might find it unhealthy. Be canny, lass, please.”

  In an effort to figure out what braw and canny meant, I sat quietly for a few seconds until he laughed.

  “Do you not understand me, then?” Aidan asked.

  “Canny and braw? Those words aren’t in my mental dictionary, sorry.” I chuckled when he explained braw as fine and canny as careful. I made a mental note to search the Internet and download a Scottish dictionary.

  “Rest assured, we shall be canny. I wouldn’t want either of us to end up the same way Mrs. Peterson did,” I told him.

  He shrugged into his jacket and paid for the class. Aidan tucked his packet of Monkey Bread under his arm and said, “I won’t see you next time. I have business to transact on Friday, and then I’m off to Glasgow for a wee bit.”

  My heart plummeted at the thought of his leaving, but I pasted a smile on my face and agreed to see him on his return.

  I wandered through the shop closing up, straightening what didn’t need to be, shutting lights down, and feeling lonely after Aidan had left. Somehow, he managed to fill a room all by himself. I shook my head and muttered that I must be losing my mind if I let a man I’d known for less than a week take over my every thought.

  Chapter 5

  Sunshine, warm breezes, and smiling customers filled my day as Seanmhair and I sold the last loaf of French bread before closing. Aidan had rarely entered my mind throughout the hours I’d worked. It wasn’t until Seanmhair mentioned a cup of tea and a brioche that his sparkling eyes and perfect smile entered my head.

  I sighed, nodded to Seanmhair about the offer of tea, and hung the closed sign on the window hook.

  Three brioches remained from the dozens I’d baked in the early morning hours. Four loaves of Irish soda bread, and a dozen or so muffins were left. I readied them for delivery to the homeless shelter and joined Seanmhair in the kitchen.

  “Are you playing cards today?” I asked her.

  “Not today. Mary�
�s been hospitalized. I’ll visit her and then have an early night. Some of the residents on my floor at the complex want to play poker later.” Seanmhair chortled at the prospect. “I might get lucky.”

  Grinning in response to her remark, I said, “No cheating, and please, don’t clean everyone out of their meager funds.”

  “Nah, no worries,” she responded. She pointed to the packaged goods. “I’ll take those to the shelter on my way to the hospital if you’d like.”

  “No thanks, I need some fresh air. You go along and don’t give it another thought,” I answered.

  Seanmhair shrugged lightly, finished her brioche, and tottered toward the sink with her tea cup. “I’ll be off. By the way, I cruised by Sharpner’s the other day and saw that nice Mr. Sinclair leaving by the side door. What do you suppose that’s about?”

  Sharpner’s was a company owned by its workers. They’d become a power to be reckoned with in Rhode Island’s liquor distribution business. I was curious as to why Seanmhair had been in that neighborhood.

  I opened my mouth to ask, when Seanmhair mentioned she’d had to take a detour to get home from her card game.

  “You don’t play cards anywhere near Sharpner’s,” I noted.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “I dropped Henry off at his favorite bar.” Seanmhair turned away to button her coat.

  “That bar wouldn’t happen to be the strip club on Allens Avenue, would it?” I asked in a dry tone.

  Seanmhair turned slowly, her face a vision of innocence. My Spidey senses took over. I realized Henry had asked her to join him. Good God, my grandmother had gone to a strip club!

  “You did not go into that strip club, tell me you didn’t, Seanmhair,” I demanded.

  “Don’t get your knickers in a bunch. It was just for one drink.” Seanmhair chuckled and whispered, “Henry had a lap dance while he was there.”

  Why she whispered was anybody’s guess, but Seanmhair had just shown me that she wasn’t to be trusted when she was out with Henry.

  “A lap dance? How do know about such things? I guess I’ll have to have a chat with Henry. I won’t have you found in a place that’s constantly raided by the police. Heaven help me, what were you thinking?” I had to know. I brushed my fly-away hair off my forehead, blew out a sigh, and plunked onto the nearest stool.

  “I’ve been around a good many years, my dear. I know a thing or two, or three, about life and what happens in the best and worst places in town. I wasn’t afraid to go into the bar, but the bouncer guy sure was surprised to see me.” Leaving me speechless, Seanmhair laughed and headed out the door.

  Henry, it seemed, was a bad influence on my grandmother. This would never do. In a snit, I paced the kitchen until there was a knock at the back door. I glanced up. George peered in through the window.

  “Hi, George,” I greeted him as I swung the door open.

  George beckoned me and said, “Can you come to my store for a minute? I can’t leave it unattended for long and want to discuss the meeting we’ve planned.”

  “Sure, I’ll get my jacket and be right over.” I slipped my jacket on against the cool March air, left the kitchen door unlocked, and scooted along the narrow porch to George’s antique shop.

  I viewed the lovely, warm-toned hues of antique chairs, library tables, and corner cabinets. I favored a secretary desk that I knew I could never afford and had no space for in my apartment.

  “Have you spoken to the other tenants?” I asked George while I ran my hand across the smooth wood surface of the secretary.

  The front door opened and two customers entered the shop. I drifted away before George answered the question. I browsed first edition books stacked on a table while George addressed the needs of his customers. Once they were satisfied, they left, and George strolled toward me.

  “In answer, yes,” he said, “we’re set to meet tomorrow around five in the afternoon, if that’s a good time for you?”

  “Great. Where will we meet?”

  “I wondered if BettyJo would mind since she has more space than we all do. Her space is wide open by comparison to mine and truth be told, I don’t really want anyone sitting on my antiques. She won’t mind, will she?” George asked.

  I thought for a moment and then said, “If she agrees, fine, if not, we can have it in my kitchen. There aren’t that many of us, anyway.”

  “Let me know, will you, and I’ll contact the others. I heard from Charlie that Edith’s, uh, Mrs. Peterson’s daughter will be taking over her mother’s duties as landlady.”

  I stared at George for a second and looked away, thinking he’d made a little blunder. Nobody called Mrs. Peterson anything but, well, Mrs. Peterson. She didn’t take kindly to those she considered beneath her addressing her by her first name. I found George’s keen gaze on me when I turned my attention to him.

  “It’ll be a refreshing change to have Cindy as our new landlady. She’s a sweetheart from all I’ve heard about her.” I readied to leave and said, “I’ll be in touch after I’ve spoken to BettyJo. She might have clients lined up for that evening.” I left George at the door, a relieved expression on his face. Was his relief due to my not picking up on his name usage? I wasn’t sure.

  I meandered along the deck, gazed about the parking area, and noticed BettyJo’s car next to mine. It hadn’t been there earlier, which meant she’d arrived during my visit with George. Instead of going into my place, I continued on to BettyJo’s door.

  I rapped twice, tried the door handle, and waited for her to let me in. BettyJo swept the lace curtain aside, peered at me, and then invited me inside.

  “I was on my way home when I saw your car. Are you all right?” I asked her.

  “Fine, fine. I lost my job today, and you know what? I don’t give a damn. I hated working at the bank. I disliked my boss, and her boss, too. They’re nothing but a bunch of asses.” Her grin widened as she ushered me into the reading room. “Sit, sit.” BettyJo motioned to a chair at the table.

  Had she lost her mind? I’d be scared to death if I’d lost my livelihood. But, then, she wanted to make card reading her livelihood, didn’t she? Could she pull it off? Only God knew, because I certainly didn’t.

  “You really lost your job? Well, this is your chance to sink or swim, isn’t it?” I asked.

  BettyJo laughed, rubbed her hands together, and said, “Imagine my boss’s surprise when I left the bank without a plea for my job. She said I’d been terminated and Friday would be my last day, but I said today was my last day. As a matter of fact, that minute was my last minute on the job. She stared at me as if I’d just landed on Earth from Mars. What the hell, did she think I’d beg for more of her abuse? Instead, I came home, called the unemployment office, and lodged a complaint against her. Then I called the Better Business Bureau and lodged a complaint against the bank for unfair treatment of employees. The Civil Liberties Union might be my next stop and then from there, who knows. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t give a shit about losing that job, but I refused to allow those people to treat others like they treated me.”

  I laughed out loud as she slapped the table with the flat of her hand. Instead of continuing her mousy behavior and keeping her head down to avoid confrontation, this girl had taken my advice and stood up for herself. She did me proud.

  “What’s so funny?’ BettyJo asked.

  “When I said to stand up to your father, you just took that piece of advice and ran with it. I’m so glad you did.” I chuckled. “Have you heard from your father?”

  “He’s coming by later. I guess somebody told him I’d been fired and he called me about it. I was in traffic and didn’t want to argue while I was driving. He insisted on coming by around five this afternoon.” BettyJo swept her hair from her brow and puffed air through her pursed lips. “I’m sure he’ll rant and rave like a fool, but no matter what, I’m not going back to banking.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it. George Carly wanted to know if we could all meet here on Friday eve
ning to talk about our circumstances where Mrs. Peterson was concerned. He also said he’d heard that Mrs. Peterson’s daughter would handle the rents for now.”

  BettyJo nodded. “Sure, we can meet here. What time did he say?”

  “Five o’clock. Does that fit into your schedule?”

  With a nod, BettyJo said, “Perfectly. I have a few customers scheduled around seven and later, so five would be great. It shouldn’t take us long, right?”

  I rose from the chair and slid it toward the table. “Right. I’ll let George know, then.”

  BettyJo walked me to the door and asked, “What’s going on with you and the Scot?”

  I glanced at her and then away. “Nothing, why would there be anything going on between us?”

  “He’s been to class twice this week. That says he’s interested in you, don’t you think?” BettyJo smiled, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes gave away the fact she was teasing.

  “Get real. He’s probably got a bonny lass tucked away in the highlands of Scotland,” I remarked with a wry smile.

  BettyJo gave a hoot of laughter. “You need to work on your reaction when you encounter him. Anyone could see how taken you are with the man.”

  I stiffened and said, “That’s not true. He’s just so handsome, he makes me nervous.”

  “You should be. Have you ever wondered why he came to class in the first place? Does he look like a man who’d make his own bread?” BettyJo wondered aloud.

  I leaned against the doorjamb and thought about her words. “He said my shop had been recommended to him and a class in bread making was better than hanging out in the pubs.”

  Shaking her head, BettyJo said, “Sometimes you are too gullible for words. You’re so smart in other things, but you tend to take everyone you meet at face value.”

  I huffed and puffed like an old dragon. “I admit it. I don’t like to think the worst of people. It doesn’t make me stupid or foolish. Generally speaking, most people are inherently decent. By the way, have you heard from Detective Graham?”