A Crouton Murder (3 page)

“They’ve made great strides in that department. BettyJo has tried to be understanding and her father has done likewise. It’s difficult when parents try to run your life, and you don’t fit into the niche they’ve chosen for you.” I walked away, checked the dough, and returned to my seat.

“That’s true. So, you’re telling me they don’t have issues with one another, then?”

I hesitated while I thought of how to answer him.

“I wouldn’t say they agree on everything, but Franklin has been better about seeing BettyJo’s side of things than he’s ever been before. He can be quite autocratic,” I said thoughtfully, as the buzzer sounded. “Could you come over here while I work?”

He stood aside as I dumped dough onto the floured table and kneaded it. I placed it in a huge bowl and covered the mound with a floured cloth before I cleaned the mixer and began the next round of bread ingredients. Porter watched in silence.

Finally, the mixer whirred and I wiped my hands on my apron. A snicker brought my eyes to his and I asked, “What’s so funny?”

“You have flour on your cheek.” Porter reached out, wiped the flour smudge away, and then dusted his fingers off as he nervously glanced away.

Yikes, had his actions become instantly personal? I hadn’t thought so, but Porter might have. Was BettyJo right? Could he be interested in me? If so, life was about to become more complicated, and I didn’t like it one bit.

“Thanks. Any other questions?”

A slight smile teetered at the corners of his lips before he said, “A few.”

I nodded, went back to the clean table, and sat down, waiting for him to hit me with the bad stuff. He’d used his first questions as a lead-in for the hard questions he was bound to ask. Unfortunately, I’d been down this road before.

“How well do you know the others who attended BettyJo’s dinner?” he asked.

I explained George and Helena as shop owners and business associates. When I spoke of Ezra and Corinda, I wasn’t evasive but said we weren’t friends, and that I knew little about them. They were Franklin’s friends.

His nod could have meant a number of things. He finished jotting in his booklet and then asked, “Who would have reason to poison Mr. Seever?”

With a shrug, I said, “What makes you think he was the intended victim?” Why I’d said that aloud was anybody’s guess. I clamped my lips tight and studied my fingernails.

His silence went on and on until I looked up to find his narrow-eyed gaze glued to my face.

“Who do you think the victim was supposed to be? You? BettyJo? Who, Melina, and don’t sidestep the question.”

“I-I have no idea. The words just popped out of my mouth, honest.” I tipped my head to the side and thought about the scene at BettyJo’s before I came to get the focaccia bread.

His patient voice broke into my thoughts. “Tell me what went on before and after Mr. Seever became ill.”

“We had drinks in the front room of BettyJo’s shop. There were hors d’oeuvres on her dining table and some in the front room. We all wandered about. As everyone took a seat at the table, BettyJo left to bring the main course down from her apartment. The salad bowl was there on the table the entire time, along with a bowl of croutons. I suddenly remembered that I’d left the bread here and said I’d be right back. When I returned, Franklin was choking. BettyJo had set the entrée on the table and was ministering to her father. I can’t say what the others were doing since I was busy calling for a rescue.”

A spark of interest gleamed in his eyes as he asked, “Did you make the salad?”

“No,” I said with a headshake. “BettyJo made it. I made the croutons earlier in the day and left them on BettyJo’s table.”

“Tell me where everyone was situated,” Porter urged.

“George and Helena arrived, by way of the back door, a few minutes after Ezra and Corinda did. As you know, the shop is laid out similar to this one with front and back rooms. BettyJo does her readings in the back room. She and I had set up a table in that room for dining since it’s the larger of the two.” I stopped and thought hard.

“Go on.”

“Ezra and Corinda were out front with Franklin and then everyone moved around, chatting to one another. I can’t place them for you, sorry, Porter.”

His smile lightened my consternation at being unable to be more helpful. “Don’t worry. You’ve given me more to work with than you think. If anything else comes to mind, call me.” He handed me a business card after he’d jotted down a phone number on the back of it. “This is my cell number. Don’t give it out, but call me if you need to.”

“I will, thanks. BettyJo is waiting for you,” I said and walked him out the back door. I inhaled a few deep breaths of cool night air and returned to finish making bread.

Time flew past without my realizing it until BettyJo popped through the door as though she’d run a mile without stopping. Her breathlessness, gave me a start. I stopped tucking and smoothing dough into rolls and asked, “What’s going on?”

I glanced over her shoulder, but while the door was still open, no one was outside that I could see. I dusted my floured hands, wiped remaining residue on a towel tucked into the string of my apron, and waited.

“I was just over at George’s place,” BettyJo said as she shut the door. “Anderson is there interviewing him. George looked mad. I didn’t go in but watched through a window. He gestured with his arms and nearly knocked over one of those expensive vases he goes on about all the time. I gotta say Anderson is a pretty cool guy. He was calmer than calm, and nodded every now and then while he scribbled in that notebook of his.” BettyJo stopped, took a deep breath, and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know what he’s written in there?”

I nodded, snickered at her wide-eyed expression, and motioned for her to take a seat while I finished making dough balls for brioche.

“What did he ask you?” I wanted to know if she’d said the same things I had.

“He was interested in everyone’s whereabouts in your shop. As if I could remember that with my father on the floor gasping for air. Cripes, I couldn’t remember my own name right about then.”

“He asked me the same thing. Porter also wants to speak with all the others before long. He’s hot on the trail of this who-done-it, if you ask me. Bailey was quick to point out I was the most promising of all of us and should be labeled suspect number one. I’ll be sure to thank him for that next time I see him,” I remarked with a sniff.

“He was probably looking at you as a suspect to make himself look better in his captain’s eyes. Porter pointed out he doesn’t have anyone specific in mind as the culprit, not yet anyway. Like I said, he’s one cool customer.” BettyJo leaned back on the stool and watched while I put the last touches on the brioche.

“Those look good now, never mind when they’re baked,” BettyJo snickered. “You never did tell me about Aidan and your visit. Did you two have a pajama party?”

“Would that mean did we sleep together? No, we didn’t. I would have, but he was the epitome of gentlemanly behavior. Mores the pity, but he might have figured that if one of us was unhappy with the other after . . . you know, it would have been awkward.”

“That’s true, but would you be disappointed with a body like his?” BettyJo asked with a wide grin.

“My thoughts exactly. Maybe I didn’t give him enough of a signal. Sometimes men are obtuse when it comes to reading women.” I tapped the brioche and said, “Aidan can be my brioche anytime he wants, ’cause I’d happily have him for a snack.”

With a chuckle, BettyJo asked, “Seanmhair wasn’t upset at returning home, was she?”

I pressed the last ball of dough into the top of a roll and popped several pans of them into the oven. The timer was set and I turned to BettyJo. “She probably would have stayed longer if we could have, but I was anxious to get home and open up again. People have short memories and find new places to shop when their regular stores are closed.”

“True,” BettyJo murmured and then asked if I had any wine hanging about.

“Sure, in the fridge. I’ll get some glasses.” I headed into the alcove where my desk, a microwave, and some cabinets were crammed together. I found the two wine glasses tucked into the back of a shelf and returned to find BettyJo on her cell phone. I listened to the one-sided conversation with interest.

“Definitely not,” BettyJo insisted. A few seconds later I watched as her eyes grew angry and she pressed her lips together tightly.

“It won’t be a problem. I’ll take care of it in the morning. Thanks for calling,” BettyJo replied and then hung up.

She swung toward me, grabbed the glasses from my hand, and poured the wine. “Can you believe this? The hospital said my father’s medical insurance won’t pay for the room he’s in. He’s being moved to a semi-private. Imagine? He’ll have a cow. He’s the friggin’ CEO of the bank.”

I glanced at the clock, saw how late it had gotten, and sipped wine from the glass she’d shoved into my hand.

“It’s a bit late to be moving a patient from one room to another, don’t you think? And, why would his medical insurance be insufficient for a private room? Your father earns seven figures a year, doesn’t he? His insurance would surely be of premium quality,” I observed.

With a nod, a huge swallow, followed by a heavy sigh, BettyJo sank onto the stool she’d been using. The oven buzzer sounded and I removed the lightly browned brioches and set them to cool on racks.

We discussed her father’s hospital stay, chuckled over the fact he would likely have a conniption fit over the room change, and then discussed whose head would roll when he was well enough to return to work. He’d likely be upset over not having the very best medical benefits money could buy for a person in his position.

“Can I have a couple rolls to take home? I’m hungry again,” BettyJo said as she sniffed the rolls.

I pulled a bowl of butter from the fridge, set it in front of her, and dropped a few rolls on a plate that I handed to her. “Enjoy,” I said with a smile and watched her slather butter into the center of a roll and munch it thoughtfully.

Around a mouthful, she asked, “It’s curious isn’t it, that my father wouldn’t have the best of the best?”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same exact thing.”

Before I knew it, BettyJo had bundled her rolls into a napkin and said she’d see me in the morning. She left me to consider what bothered her about her father’s care, who would want to poison him, and if he was indeed the intended target. I yawned, tossed the towel onto the counter, and readied the next batch of dough for baking.

As customers are wont to do, they will make requests for bread you didn’t make. Today seemed to be filled with a solid round of those requests. After the fifth customer grumbled over the fact there was no flat bread to be had, I threw my hands in the air and shook my head while I rolled my eyes. Maybe I needed a crystal ball, though the one at BettyJo’s gave me the creeps.

“Melina, you can’t guess what will be the most popular with our customers. Don’t be upset,” Seanmhair advised with a crooked smile. “You could start a bakery in Scotland, you know.” She winked and scurried through the swinging doors into the storefront with a chuckle.

Sure, I could have done that, but why would I when I’m an American who’s happy living in America? I shook my head with a smile and went back to work. It was plain that Seanmhair would have liked to relocate to her family’s homeland. Whether she’d truly be happy there was another matter. My grandmother had a slew of friends. Some were card playing buddies, others a bad influence on her, but all together, they would miss her and she them.

Water splashed, soap suds scattered, and the dishwasher went berserk. I rushed toward the wildly flowing mess and shut the machine down. Seanmhair came through the double swinging doors and stopped short, a horrified look on her face.

I glanced at her and asked, “When you set this up, how much soap did you add?”

She shrugged a shoulder and muttered, “Apparently a bit more than I should have. Sorry, Melina.” She stepped toward the mop and bucket tucked into a corner.

I barred her actions and recommended that she return to our clientele. Seanmhair gave me a sweet-faced smile, turned on her heel, and quickly marched through the door without a word. It was all I could do not to smile at her waddling, gnome-like figure. I loved her dearly, but she did give me stressful moments. This was one of them.

The mop and pail got a workout as I soaked up the soapy water and squeezed the daylights out of the mop again and again. Finally finished, I washed pans by hand, ran an empty dishwasher cycle through the machine. If nothing else, the floor was squeaky clean.

I’d put the floor cleaning materials aside when I heard laughter from the sales room. Now what had Seanmhair gotten up to? She seemed happy to see someone, so the situation couldn’t have been of the bad variety. I peeked through the glass porthole in one side of the swinging door and gasped. Aidan Sinclair had arrived. My pulse hiked and my heart raced as excitement shot through me. His deep blue eyes, rich dark hair, strong features, and gorgeous smile left me weak-kneed.

I swung through the doors. “What are you doing here? I thought you had business in Scotland?” I asked the tall, devilishly handsome Scot standing at the counter bantering with my grandmother.

His eyes met mine as he whisked me off my feet in a huge bear hug, gave me a kiss to the cheek, and laughed. “Lass, I coodna stay away.”

He couldn’t stay away from me? I chortled when he set me down and asked, “Are you sure this visit to the States isn’t about business?”

“Both. Once you left, the house felt empty. I doon’t think I can manage without ye ’round.” Aidan studied me from head to toe, appreciation in his eyes as he tucked a stray wisp of my brown hair behind my ear.

Holy moly, this was more than he’d admitted when we’d been at his home. A tad surprised, I gaped at him. Was he truly captivated by me? A month or so ago, I wouldn’t have questioned his words, but while we’d been in Scotland, Aidan hadn’t acted besotted as he did now. I found it hard to accept the sincerity of his admission. Could it be that I was reluctant because he meant more to me than I was ready to admit to?