A Crouton Murder Read online

  While she waited on each person in turn, I strode out the rear door and gripped the handrail while I sucked in huge breaths of air and tried to relax. Stymied as to why my grandmother had taken it into her head to insist we make the move, I rolled my eyes heavenward, sought solace from the universe, and made the decision to put my foot down and insist she not mention relocating ever again. That meant I’d have to do the same with Aidan, which would likely be a tad more difficult since I found him such a magnet where my heartstrings were concerned.

  The morning rush ended with Seanmhair asking for a sandwich and my making it for her. She ate while I assumed the job of bread selling. The day’s stock had dwindled. I rearranged loaves of breads and bundles of rolls left on the shelves and in the glass case. Seanmhair came through the doors with a suggestion that I take time for lunch. I smiled, agreed, and left her to cope with the new influx of bread buyers before she could start talking of Mr. Graham and Scotland again.

  A sandwich sat waiting for me on the stainless steel table in the corner. Pleased at Seanmhair’s thoughtfulness, I happily munched and sipped the steaming tea that sat next to the plate. I’d eaten half of the chicken salad sandwich when a light tap on the door brought my attention away from the delightful food. When I answered the summons, I found Detective Anderson waiting outside.

  “May I come in?” he asked in a serious tone.

  My stomach somersaulted and my chicken threatened to return as I ushered the detective into the room. I swallowed hard and pasted a smile on my face as he turned toward me.

  “What’s up?” I asked, and motioned to a stool across from my lunch.

  He eyed the sandwich, then glanced up and held my gaze with his own gray one.

  “Don’t let me interrupt your lunch. I can come back later, Melina,” Porter assured me.

  “I was finished. Would you like the rest?” I asked, and pushed the plate forward with a smile when I caught the gleam in his eyes. Anything to put off what would likely be more questions to which I had no answers. Crap.

  “Would you like tea or coffee?”

  “No, thanks.”

  He finished eating and then said, “Normally, I wouldn’t tell you this, but I’ve checked into the background of the guests. I’ve come across some interesting information that I can’t share. You aren’t on the suspect list any longer, but keep that news to yourself,” he murmured softly and glanced around as though the walls had suddenly grown ears.

  “Seanmhair is out front, and can’t hear what we’re talking about, so don’t worry. I’ll do as you ask.”

  I’d no sooner finished speaking, when Seanmhair strutted through the doors and announced Vinnie Esposito had arrived. Seanmhair must have been impressed with the tall, leggy, dark-haired beauty who sauntered into the room behind her, because she gave her a wide berth followed by a huge grin. She hurried back to the shop.

  “Hey, Porter, what are you doing here?” Vinnie’s eyes flicked back and forth between me and the detective. It was easy to see, by the smile that tickled the corners of her lips, that she thought Porter had an ulterior motive for hanging about.

  “I might ask you the same question, Vin,” Porter answered as he leaned on one foot and then the other as though he was uncomfortable.

  With a laugh, Vinnie said, “I was invited, but I can sure as hell say that you probably weren’t.”

  “Right, I’ll leave you two alone.” Porter glanced at me and said, “Remember what I said.”

  “Sure thing,” I murmured.

  He left the same way he’d entered. I turned to Vinnie after he closed the door on his way out.

  “He’s a great guy. Was he here on business or is it personal?” Vinnie asked with a grin.

  “Business,” I said with finality. “He’s investigating a mishap that took place next door,” I said. “Speaking of next door, I wanted to ask if you’d show my neighbor, BettyJo Seever, some self-defense moves. She thinks she may have a stalker. I assured her you’d know what to do and might be willing to give her some pointers.”

  Vinnie listened, and then gave me a nod. “I had a stalker once. He was a miserable twit. We got into hand-to-hand combat. I nearly lost the battle, but by gosh, I refused to go down without a fight. Your friend should do the same.” Vinnie glanced at her watch. “Is she available now?”

  “Let’s find out.” I poked my head out the swinging door and told Seanmhair that I’d be back. She gave me a nod while she made change for a customer from the cash register.

  Outside, I gave Vinnie a brief rundown of what to expect from BettyJo. She chuckled and said, “She’ll be fine if she doesn’t lose her cool should her stalker do more than follow her around. Does she have any idea why he’s stalking her?”

  I shrugged and said, “If she does, she hasn’t mentioned it to me.” I opened the rear door of BettyJo’s shop and listened for a second. I didn’t hear her speaking, and figured she wasn’t in the middle of a reading.

  “Are you here or upstairs?” I called.

  She thundered down the stairs and came into view within seconds. When she saw Vinnie, she stopped dead and looked at me with a question in her eyes.

  “Would you be Vinnie Esposito?” BettyJo asked as her eyes traveled upward.

  Vinnie stands just under six feet tall, which is intimidating in itself. To say BettyJo was, would be an understatement. She’d visibly paled as she gaped at the tall, beautiful, and well-stacked woman. Not only did Vinnie have height, she was physically fit and toned, which wasn’t lost on either BettyJo or me. Since we both stand around five-foot-five inches, Vinnie’s height and confidence were a tad overwhelming. Remembering her story about Vinnie’s hand-to-hand combat with her stalker, I felt certain she could handle herself in any situation. I knew for sure that BettyJo and I would run like hell instead of stand our ground.

  Vinnie stretched out a hand to shake BettyJo’s. Once they’d greeted one another, Vinnie asked, “Who’s the stalker and why is he following you? Any idea?”

  “None. I don’t know how long he’s been doing so. I noticed him about a week ago. He’s never said a word to me. He’s just there wherever I go. It’s quite unnerving.”

  “He showed up, just like that?” Vinnie snapped her fingers.

  BettyJo nodded.

  “I can show you a few simple things to do that will bring anyone to their knees without getting into a fist fight with them. First, never yell for help. Nobody will come forward. Instead, face the person who is about to accost you. Put your hand up in a stop motion and yell ‘stop’. If that doesn’t deter him, get away from him as fast as you can.”

  “I’m not sure how that would work better than calling for help.”

  Vinnie smirked. “Believe me, it works. Been there, done that, way too many times.”

  I leaned against the door jamb, listening to her instructions.

  “Next, if you’re grabbed around the neck or shoulders, reach up with your hand and pry his thumb or baby fingers back until he releases you. He will, for sure. It’s very painful to have those members bent backwards until they nearly break. Once he eases his hold, run your shoe down the front of his shin bone. He should let go long enough for you to escape. Run like hell, understand?”

  “C-can you show me?” BettyJo asked with a worried expression.

  “Sure, Melina will grab you around your neck. Do what I told you to do and see what happens.” Vinnie stepped back, watching as I wrapped my arm around BettyJo’s neck and tightened my grip.

  I felt my fingers peel back. Excruciating pain ran through my hand and up my arm. Instantly, I released my hold on her and massaged my hand.

  “That hurt,” I remarked.

  Vinnie stood me in front of BettyJo and told her to grab me in the same hold. When she did, I bent her fingers back and slid the ridge of my shoe down her shin. BettyJo yowled and jumped back, her hold on me gone.

  “You didn’t have to break them,” BettyJo complained as she rubbed her hand and then her shin. Cripes, th
at really hurt, but it works. Sorry, Melina.”

  “I’ll try to remember these actions if I run into trouble,” BettyJo said to Vinnie. “Thanks, I appreciate your taking the time to show me, us.” BettyJo giggled and turned to the front of her reading room when the door opened and three women came in.

  “We’ll go now. Come over before you leave for dinner with your father,” I said as Vinnie and I went out the back door.

  She nodded and turned to her clients.

  As we walked back to my bakery, Vinnie asked, “Do you think she’ll be okay? She should make a report to the police department, Melina. Advise her to do so.”

  “I will, thanks. Did that work for you?”

  With a snort, she said, “Not at all, but at least it was on record, so when we did come to blows, there was a paper trail.”

  “What happened to the guy?”

  “He’s in residence at Rhode Island’s local funny farm. The guy really doesn’t have all his marbles, you know?” She shrugged. “Why don’t you mention this stalker to Porter the next time he comes by? See what he has to say about it, and take it from there. BettyJo seems like a nice person who doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. If I realize that from meeting her once, chances are her stalker knows it and will use that to his advantage if and when the time comes for him to make a move on her.”

  Her words scared the bejeepers out of me. I simply nodded at her suggestion and thanked her for stopping by.

  She grinned at Seanmhair as we headed for the front door. My grandmother smiled sweetly, told her to come back soon, and gave her a loaf of ciabatta bread, a porous Italian wheat loaf. Vinnie laughed out loud, told me I was lucky to have such a charming gran, and said she’d check back another day.

  At the door, she glanced back and remarked, “Don’t hesitate to call me if you need help with anything. I mean it, Melina. Anything, understand?”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep the offer in mind.”

  I stared as she walked up the street, got into a light blue car, and took off into traffic like hell’s fury. I whistled at her nerve and turned toward Seanmhair.

  “I take it you liked the look of her?”

  With a snicker, Seanmhair answered, “She’s a ball of fire, that one. You can tell by the way she carries herself. I noticed Detective Anderson didn’t stay long once she asked what he was about. Do they know one another?”

  “I think they have a friendly relationship. Vinnie didn’t say.”

  “Who would name their daughter Vinnie?” Seanmhair wanted to know.

  “Her real name is Lavinia, but everyone calls her Vinnie. I’ve heard of her experiences and guess she’s quite fearless.”

  “A kind of Wonder Woman, then?” Seanmhair asked with a gentle laugh.

  “I guess,” I agreed.

  I’d reached the swinging doors when Seanmhair asked, “What did the detective want?”

  Aware of my promise to keep his news to myself, I said, “After he ate half of my sandwich, Vinnie arrived and we didn’t have a chance to talk. He might be back later, though. When I know more, you will, too.”

  “Good, I worry about you and BettyJo. This wouldn’t happen if we lived in Scotland, Melina.”

  “Sean, don’t start with the Scotland thing, please. I have enough on my plate without you going on about moving away. If you want to go, please feel free to do so. I can’t and won’t move my business out of the US.” At the crestfallen look on her face, I took a deep breath, and said softly, “I hope you understand.”

  She nodded and turned away. Guilt settled over me cloak-like for having spoken to her so abruptly. I marched into the kitchen and cleaned like a mad woman until I’d worked off both my aggravation and guilt.

  Chapter 6

  Fresh baked Challah bread scented the air. A braided, sweetened egg bread, that’s part of the Jewish Sabbath was always a hit with my clientele, whether they were Jewish or not. I’d made a dozen loaves and left them to cool while fougasse bread, a raised flatbread from southern France and similar in nature to focaccia bread, baked.

  In my mind, bread making is serious business. It’s a mainstay for most Americans. Whether in roll form or loaf, nearly every family bought bread on a regular basis. The recipe book, handed down from my Scottish grandmother, many times removed, offered lovely bread recipes covering a number of nationalities. The last ingredient she’d listed for a simple flatbread went into the mixer. I set the timer and hit the start button.

  Similar to lavash, a Persian staple and chapatti from India, customers enjoyed this particular flatbread. Once I’d placed a sign in the bakery window, offering a flatbread special for the same day each week, Seanmhair and I had been inundated with customers. Who knew the bread would be so popular? Not me, that’s for sure.

  The mixer whirred, I boiled water for tea, and BettyJo came through the door. She’d changed, from her gypsy fortune telling attire, into a raisin purple angle-hemmed top with a pair of Ponte pants, darker in color. She sparkled with vitality and I assumed the day had gone well.

  “Off for dinner with your father?” I asked.

  She grinned. “He just called to make sure I was coming. I hope the food is good, ’cause I’m ravenous. All I had time for today was a couple crackers. Clients kept me busy. I’ll stop by on my way back to tell you how I fared with information on Ezra and Corinda.”

  “Great, I’ll be here, up to my elbows in bread dough.”

  “Vinnie’s quite confident, isn’t she? And tall, too,” BettyJo commented.

  “Yes, and yes. I hadn’t realized she had a stalker. You be careful and stay alert while you’re out,” I warned her as she went out the door.

  I watched BettyJo cross the parking lot and drive off. After she’d gone, I started a new batch of dough.

  I’d finished kneading and set the mixture to rest when I heard a knock at the door. My first thought was to ignore the intrusion, but several insistent raps later, I figured I’d better open up.

  Carl Mack caught me completely by surprise. I hadn’t expected the caller to be him. Instead, Porter Anderson had popped into my head. Relieved it wasn’t Porter, I swept the door wide and invited Carl in.

  I glanced at the clock and said, “I’m surprised you aren’t up to your neck in pizza right about now. This is your busy time of night, right?”

  “Yeah, it is. I could have called, but the place is busier than ever, so I just came over. I wondered if you’d take over our roll and dough orders . . . uh, starting tomorrow?” Carl asked with a half-assed grin.

  A little more advanced notice would have been nice, but I didn’t want to refuse business so I agreed. “Your main guy can’t meet your demands?

  “He’s closed up shop, or rather the cops and FBI did. It seems he was running illegal gambling in the side room of his bakery. The cops got wind of it, sent someone in undercover and between the two agencies, they shut him down. I just heard about it. I can’t make the dough and rolls myself, that’s why I’m here.”

  “Not to worry. Give me a list of what you need and I’ll have them ready for pick-up in the morning. Is that all right?”

  I chuckled when he produced a list from his back pocket. He’d known I’d help if I could. All of us in the row of shops did that for one another. It kept harmony amongst us. I took his list, gave it a good look, and said, “Right, they’ll be ready in the morning. We open at seven a.m., so any time after that is fine. Seanmhair will be happy to see you.”

  He lingered and I waited. Not for long, though.

  “I hear BettyJo has a stalker, huh?”

  “Really?” I lifted a brow and stared at him.

  Carl shuffled his feet a bit and glanced around the kitchen. He finally looked at me and said, “Helena mentioned it. Apparently, BettyJo stopped by her shop earlier this evening to buy cupcakes. They got to talking and when BettyJo went to leave, she said there was a guy skulking about, watching her. BettyJo was slightly unnerved. At least, that’s what Helena said. Who do you think it is?�
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  “I haven’t a clue and neither does BettyJo. She didn’t say anything about stopping by Helena’s,” I said curiously.

  “I guess it was last minute, because she went into the shop by the front entrance, not the back door like we always do.”

  I stared at him for a minute and then said his order would be ready and waiting for him. I admit, it was my way of dismissing his intention to gossip, which I refused to do. If BettyJo wanted to share her business, that was up to her, not me.

  With a nod, Carl left. I locked the door behind him and returned to work. About an hour later, BettyJo arrived and knocked furiously until I let her in.

  “Geez, I thought you were going to keep me out there all night,” BettyJo griped and stopped talking at the look on my face. At least that’s what I thought prompted her silence.

  A hand on my hip, I said, “Look, BettyJo, if you want to tell the world you have a stalker, why not take an ad out in the Providence Journal?”

  “What are you talking about? I haven’t told the world,” she mimicked.

  “Uh, I beg to differ. Carl Mack came in a while ago and told me you shared your stalker news with Helena, who told him and I daren’t guess how many people he’s told. Duh! What were you thinking?”

  Her hands up in a stop motion, BettyJo exclaimed, “I was thinking it might stop this bastard, once and for all. If he knows I’m aware of him, then maybe he’ll find someone else to stalk. It’s driving me crazy. I feel like I’m gonna jump out of my skin any minute.”

  I sighed, asked if she wanted a glass of wine, and headed to get the bottle and two glasses when she said yes.

  Over wine, we talked about Carl’s news. All the while, I waited for BettyJo to share what she’d learned from her father. When she didn’t speak up and I couldn’t stand the suspense another second, I asked, “Are you planning to tell me about dinner with your dad or what?”

  She swallowed her mouthful of wine and gave me a wide smile. “I made a point of mentioning Corinda to him. He got all weird looking.”