A Crusty Murder Page 5

  George glanced at me and nodded. I picked up where he left off. “George, BettyJo, and I have been discussing the death of Mrs. Peterson. If anyone here has information to share about our landlady and who might want to harm her, this is your moment to talk about it. Even the smallest and least important detail can be helpful in the search for her murderer.”

  Carl Mack poked his business partner, Bill Mutton, in the ribs. The two men operated Mack & Mutt’s Pizzeria in the end unit of our building. Carl’s blue eyes sparkled with humor as he said, “That list would be longer than Santa’s gift list, Melina. How are we to know who would or wouldn’t do such a thing?”

  A murmur of agreement rustled around the room. Carl had a point, but in our businesses, we often hear more than we realize. I nodded at Carl and answered, “You have a point, but like it or not, you are in a position to hear more than the rest of us when it comes to gossip.” I pointed to the two men and said, “A business like yours, where people gather to eat, is generally ripe with conversational tidbits. You may not even know what you’ve heard is important. If you remember something, let me know. That’s all I ask. BettyJo and I are on the list of suspects at the moment. It’s an extremely uncomfortable place to be and we need your help.”

  Stretching her long fingers out, Sondra Greenfield examined her dark red, painted, claw-like fingernails in a bored manner. Sondra’s high-end apparel store lay next door to BettyJo’s shop. Once she’d studied her manicure to her satisfaction, she glanced around the room.

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but that Peterson woman was a nasty bitch who got what was coming to her. I’d like to know, though, just how your bread got into her mouth, Melina,” Sondra asked.

  I heard a slight gasp and then Sondra said, “Sorry, Seanmhair. I didn’t mean to use rude language in your presence.”

  Seanmhair nodded, winked at me, and leaned back on the sofa. Nobody knew, to my knowledge, anyway, that my grandmother had been to a strip joint with her man friend who’d had a lap dance. If they’d known, there’d have been no apology.

  “To clarify that assumption for all of you, the bread wasn’t mine,” I remarked. “I have no idea where it came from, but it was certainly meant to incriminate me. Why Mrs. Peterson was left in this shop is another mystery.”

  “So you’re planning to solve the crime instead of allowing the police department to earn their wages?” asked Kristina Papien, of the Pots & Plants Flower Shop situated next door to Mack & Mutt’s. Her unruly dark hair sprang out from her head and bobbed all over the place. It appeared as though she’d recently touched live electrical wires with a devastating effect. Oval shaped, artistic rimmed glasses perched on her small nose. Those piercing almond-shaped eyes missed nothing. Her athletic build, muscular runner’s legs, along with her height left me wishing I worked out more.

  In a flash, I thought of what Detective Graham’s reaction would be to her words. I scowled. “I’m not about to interfere with their job. My intention is to ensure my name and BettyJo’s are clear. We don’t propose to spend one moment in jail for a crime neither of us committed.”

  “I didn’t mean to be annoying. I only want public servants to earn their wages. We have to earn ours as business owners, so they should do so, as well,” Kristina asserted.

  She’d been on a political rant since the first time she’d seen the news people following state workers around with their cameras, trying to catch someone in a wrongful situation. We all avoided that topic when Kristina was around.

  Charlie Franklin stretched his long legs out in front of him. If he were more relaxed, he’d be asleep. He gave Kristina a smile and offered his opinion.

  “Kristina, we’re aware of how you feel about public servants. It’s important that the police solve this crime, but truly, you must see that Melina and BettyJo are in a spot. We need to help them as much as possible.” He turned to the group, glanced at each person, smiled at Seanmhair, and then said to me, “We’ll do what we can. Mrs. Peterson was a wicked business woman who acted as though she was above us, but nobody should be murdered, especially like she was. If I think of anything, I’ll be sure to let you know, Melina.”

  “I agree with Charlie. We’ll do whatever we can for you both,” Helena Bentwood, cupcake maker extraordinaire, addressed BettyJo and me.

  “Oh, and I brought cupcakes if anyone wants one.” Helena slipped the box from under her folding chair and opened it before she passed it to Seanmhair. The box made the rounds. Each of us took a cake and made sounds of pure enjoyment as we ate the lovely creations from The Crafty Cupcake. Helena’s shop was wedged between George Carly’s antique store and Charlie Franklin’s Fine Art Collectibles. While her shop was only two doors away from mine, I tried to stay away from the delightful cakes Helena sold. I had enough fluff and didn’t need to add to it.

  BettyJo had remained quiet during the conversation and questions posed by our mutual shop owners. What ran through her head was anyone’s guess. From the relieved expression on her face, it was a sure bet she’d found the meeting more beneficial than I had.

  One by one, each renter left with a promise to contact when, and if, they came up with anything they considered useful to our snooping. Seanmhair waited for George Carly, the last to leave, to close the door behind him. When he was gone, Seanmhair said, “That was fairly interesting, but not as revealing as I’d hoped.”

  “You didn’t think the killer would step forth, did you?” I asked.

  With a shake of her head, Seanmhair answered, “Not likely, but then, I did get the feeling Sondra knew more than she wanted to share. You’ll be smart to watch that one.” Seanmhair thanked BettyJo for her hospitality and then shrugged into her coat.

  I said I’d walk her to her car and promised BettyJo that I’d return shortly. BettyJo nodded and watched us from the back door window as we made our way to Seanmhair’s car. I waited until my grandmother drove away and then went back to BettyJo’s shop, Tingly Tarots. I wasn’t feeling very tingly, but I did smile at the name BettyJo had given her business.

  Two glasses of wine sat on the table. I slouched into a chair and studied the rich, burgundy liquid.

  “Did you put a potion in here, by any chance?” I asked with a grin.

  “No, but I can if you want one. How about a love potion for you and Mr. Sinclair?” BettyJo offered with a humorous snort.

  I brushed her offer aside and said, “No, no, I’m fine. What did you think of the meeting? Nobody was very forthcoming. Why were you as quiet as a mouse?”

  “I wanted to see who’d speak up, what we’d learn, and I wanted a chance to watch their faces and listen to the nuances of their voices. Seanmhair seemed to be doing the same thing. It all helps when reading people,” BettyJo said. “I focused on each person as they spoke. Two have secrets, one knows why Mrs. Peterson died, and we have to get to the bottom of it all. I’m sure Detective Graham won’t detect enough to find the culprit. Frankly, I don’t think he knows what he’s doing.”

  “Who has secrets?” I asked.

  BettyJo gulped her wine, leaned both elbows on the table, and said, “Sondra knows more than she’s saying. She and Mrs. Peterson might have come from the same mold, you know.” She grunted her disgust and then murmured, “Kristina Papien and Bill Mutton have secrets. You don’t think they’re involved in this, do you?”

  I opened my mouth when a knock came on the door. We jumped at the same time, looked at one another, and giggled over our nervousness. BettyJo sauntered to the front door.

  I heard BettyJo say, “Come in, we were just having a glass of wine. Join us, Mr. Sinclair, please.”

  My heart simultaneously raced and plummeted. First off, I was excited at seeing him, this man of my dreams. My second issue was the fact that he’d hovered in the shadowed parking area. That had sent my nerves jangling like old tin pots crashing together.

  A smile plastered on my face, I greeted Aidan when he walked into the card reading area. He returned the greeting and sat o
n a nearby chair.

  “How did your meeting go, lass?” Aidan asked me.

  “We didn’t learn anything of value. The group has agreed to help in any way possible, but frankly, I’m not hopeful.”

  BettyJo gave me a wide-eyed look, but kept her comments to herself. She poured a glass of wine for Aidan and handed it to him. He sniffed the bouquet and swirled the wine in the glass. I wondered if he thought it was a collector’s wine instead of a recent vintage. I hid my smile and waited.

  “Good wine. Nice bouquet,” Aidan said teasingly.

  “I only buy the best, Mr. Sinclair.” BettyJo laughed and asked if I wanted more. I shook my head and covered the glass with my hand when she attempted to refill it.

  “Too bad you couldn’t get the information you so badly sought, lass. I did hope you’d have success, even though it could be dangerous for you both,” Aidan remarked.

  I asked, “You didn’t happen to notice anything out of the ordinary the night I found Mrs. Peterson, did you, Aidan?”

  His brows drew together. He considered the question, then shook his head. “No, sorry, I didn’t see anything. I was late for class, anyway, my business meeting lasted longer that I’d anticipated, and there wouldn’t have been the chance.”

  My cell phone rang. With a nod at Aidan’s reply to my query, I answered the call.

  “Do you want to talk about what I saw tonight while I have you on the phone?” Seanmhair asked. “I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Everything all right?”

  “If you give me a second, I’ll answer your questions,” I said and chuckled at her rapid-fire questions. “BettyJo and I are having a chat, and Aidan just stopped by. Why don’t we talk in the morning?”

  “Sure, if you want to wait that long. I noticed a couple things of interest, so if you’re not too much longer, call me back and we’ll talk. My old bones are tired, but there are things you need to know.”

  “Right, well, I’ll be in touch, then,” I answered.

  BettyJo and Aidan turned as I ended the call. I smiled, but didn’t offer an explanation concerning the caller. Instead, I stared at Aidan. A few things about him had started to bother me. Now was as good a time as any to find out more about him.

  “The other day, Seanmhair said she saw you leaving Sharpner’s. Will you be doing business with them?” I wanted to know.

  His eyes steady, Aidan never flicked an eyelash or blinked. Instead, he covered his yawn and then smiled.

  Answering my question with one of his own, he asked, “What was your gran doing down there? It’s not the best neighborhood.”

  “She’d had to take a detour in order to get home,” I remarked. “When she stopped at the traffic light, she saw you.”

  “Ah.” Aidan grinned, that gorgeous way he had. He fairly oozed charm and sexuality. I heard BettyJo’s sharp intake of breath. He’d won her over with a single smile. Crap. “I’m in the alcohol business, lass, and in search of American distributors. This is the first city on my list of possible places where I’d like to see my beer sold.”

  “That mystery is solved, then. I’ll be sure to let Seanmhair know.” Relieved at the fact there was nothing nefarious to be found at his being on Allens Avenue, I added, “As far as Seanmhair’s safety goes, I’ve insisted she not dawdle in that area of the city.”

  Aidan’s laughter was lovely. It soothed my wandering thoughts. “Is there anything else you’d like to know about me, lass?”

  I shook my head. This man was smooth, educated, canny, and oh, so handsomely sexy. Him without clothes, um . . . I shook my head and thrust away the thought. My instincts warned me not to trust so readily, not Aidan, nor anyone else, until the murderer was apprehended.

  I rose and thanked BettyJo once again for sharing her shop before her clients arrived. When I wondered aloud if she needed help straightening the room, Aidan quickly offered his services.

  “I’ll help BettyJo. You need not worry. Go along and take care of your matters. I know you must return that mysterious call,” Aidan assured me with a hint of suspicion in his eyes.

  BettyJo grinned and said, “I cancelled my customers for tonight, just in case the meeting ran longer than we expected. I guess it’s a good thing I did.”

  With a smile in BettyJo’s direction, I left them and returned to the bakery. I made my way to the apartment above the bakery and tossed my jacket aside, kicked off my shoes, and took a deep breath. When I’d released the air in my lungs, I felt infinitely more relaxed than I had all day.

  I sank down onto the sofa and called Seanmhair. Her phone rang twice before she answered.

  “I was wondering if you’d call,” Seanmhair said softly, her exhaustion apparent. “Are you home now?”

  “I am,” I said. “I didn’t want it known you were on the phone. If I’d been alone with BettyJo, I wouldn’t have minded. With Aidan in close proximity, I figured I’d keep your call to myself. So spill it, what’s so important that I need to know?”

  “Before you arrived at BettyJo’s tonight, two of the renters came in. They didn’t see me. I was in the front room of the shop,” Seanmhair said in a conspiratorial manner. “They talked about the murder and how Mrs. Peterson coerced them into increased rental fees.”

  “Did you recognize them or their voices once we all assembled and started speaking?” I wondered if Seanmhair had tucked her body behind the room dividers in order to listen.

  “It was that cupcake woman and snotty Sondra,” Seanmhair remarked.

  I chortled at her reference to Sondra Greenfield. The cupcake woman, huh? I couldn’t imagine Helena Bentwood and snotty Sondra as confidants or friends of any sort. Intrigued by the thought of their conversation, I told Seanmhair not to indulge in name calling and begged her to go on.

  Ignoring my reprimand, she continued, “Snotty Sondra said she figured you and BettyJo had more reason to kill Mrs. Peterson, than the rest of them, because you two make a heap more money than everyone else.” Seanmhair clucked her tongue a few times in annoyance. Warming to her subject, she kept me enthralled with the gossip. “As if we make tons of profit. Hah. Anyway, the cupcake woman said she’d heard you and Mrs. Peterson were battling over a rent increase and that threats were made by both of you. She said she wasn’t surprised that Mrs. Peterson was dead, and that you’d likely killed her because she was a miserable biddy.”

  I gasped and uttered, “How did Sondra respond?”

  “Sondra merely sniffed and said she didn’t think it was you. She’d seen somebody hanging about the parking area earlier in the evening. They stayed in the shadows. She claimed it was too dark to see who it was. They didn’t say anymore because several others arrived.”

  I twirled a wisp of my hair while listening to Seanmhair. The images she’d conjured came to the forefront. I wondered who’d have waited in the dark and why. Surely it hadn’t been Aidan. My heart sank at the idea.

  Seanmhair asked, “Are you still there, Melina?”

  “Yes, yes, I’m thinking. I saw Aidan hovering there last night. Could it have been him that Sondra saw? Why would he lurk about so?”

  “I don’t know,” Seanmhair said on a yawn.

  “Get some rest, and don’t come in early tomorrow. Sleep in, if you can,” I said.

  “G’night,” Seanmhair mumbled and then she hung up.

  If I hadn’t had enough on my mind, I was now bogged down for sure. Worried I’d been lax in observing my fellow renters, I appreciated Seanmhair’s attempt to be my eyes and ears. I was certain she’d have more to say in the morning.

  I donned a huge white apron and headed downstairs to work the dough for the morning’s bread. Thoughts ran rampant as I produced five types of bread dough, several roll recipes, and basic muffin mixes. I’d add the final muffin ingredients before sliding them into the oven the next day.

  Chapter 8

  Business boomed, bread and rolls flew out the door. The variety of muffins dwindled just as quickly. At nine in the morning, Seanmhair scooted through t
he door. Thank God for small miracles. I’d been handling the kitchen and the customers nonstop since I’d opened the shop at seven.

  “Sorry I’m late. You did say to sleep in, though,” Seanmhair said as she hung her coat in the office.

  “You look refreshed,” I said with a grin and handed her the logo embroidered apron she wore while in the bakery. “Now, help me out, missy,” I said as the door chime sounded.

  “You betcha.” Seanmhair pushed through the connecting door and greeted the customers with her usual mantra of, “Mornin’, how can I help you?”

  By three o’clock, my energy had wound down to a definite crawl. My head ached, I couldn’t think straight, and above all, my hopes of a relationship with Aidan had fallen on rocky slopes. Crap.

  As I closed down the shop and listened to Seanmhair talking about her upcoming card game, BettyJo rushed into the kitchen.

  “Oh, my God, there’s been another death. Come quickly,” she said in an agitated tone.

  The bakery’s front door was locked and the closed sign hung in the window. A few loaves of bread and several muffins were wrapped and ready for drop-off. I’d just pushed the connecting door open and stood stock still at BettyJo’s words. What the hell?

  “You’ve got to be joking,” I snapped.

  “No joke, honest,” BettyJo assured me as she jittered in place. “Sondra is deader than a doornail. I went to her shop to check out her sale and there she was, a silk scarf wrapped around her neck, a muffin sticking out of her mouth, and her eyes bulging like a bullfrog. Made me nauseous. I called the cops and came right over here.” She beckoned me with her hand.

  Numb with shock and fear, I flung my apron on the table and hurried after her as the sound of sirens drew closer and then stopped abruptly.

  Detective Graham, a rescue truck, the crime scene collection crew, and a couple of cops arrived just as BettyJo and I did. Graham peered at me, shook his head a bit, and addressed BettyJo.