Banana Muffins & Mayhem (19 page)

When the door swung open, she was greeted by a smiling grandma and not-so-happy granddaughter. "Perfect timing!" Geri said as she deposited the squirming baby into Amy's arms and slammed the door shut behind them. She bolted into the galley kitchen. "I hate to do this to you, but someone is hungry yet doesn't want me to set her down long enough to warm up a bottle."

Amy didn't think she could get any tenser after the conversation with Alex. She was wrong. Her neck and shoulder muscles burned as she tried to position the baby on her hip, the way Geri had been carrying her. Macy grabbed a handful of Amy's long hair and squealed. She barely managed to suppress her own yelp. Her scalp burned from the manual hair removal attempt.

"Ahh, sorry. I should've warned you about her new obsession," Geri said as she began gently prying open the baby's fingers. "Hair pulling. I think she's fascinated with long hair because Carla's is so short—she can't do this with her momma."

"No problem." Amy winced as a few strands were pulled out by the roots. When she was finally freed from Little Miss Iron Fist's grasp, she flipped all of her remaining hair over her shoulder and out of reach.

A series of beeps rang out. Geri hurried back to the kitchen and returned to the living room with a full bottle. She held her arms out to Macy, who cooed at the sight of her next meal. Geri settled into an easy chair with the hungry infant in her arms. Amy sat across from her on the couch. A fear much worse than getting a bald spot from the surprisingly strong baby squirmed into her thoughts. "Is something wrong with Carla or Shepler since you're watching Macy?"

"No…nothing's wrong. I just figured they could use some time alone, especially after all of the stress from him being shot. It was slow in the studio, so I decided to give them a surprise by taking the baby for the afternoon." She blotted a dribble of milk on Macy's cheek with her bib. "So what brings you here?"

"Alex just got another email threat. It said the Dumpster fire was just a prequel. More people will be hurt because of what he did." Amy punched an innocent throw pillow sitting on the couch beside her. The embroidered flowers crumpled into the dent made by the strike. "He's losing his cool, and now I am too because he rarely gets upset. He wants me to go home and lock myself inside. But I was across the road at The Inkwell when he called to tell me about the email a few minutes ago. Everything about the threat feels wrong, but I don't know why. I may go bonkers if I sit at home alone trying to figure it out. Do you have a few minutes to talk this over?"

Geri nodded. "First off, since I know you two are stressed out…and things can sometimes be overlooked, did Alex let the police know about this new email?"

"Yes. And that's one of the things I don't understand. Foster doesn't think the threats are from the person who killed Phoebe, even though this new one says
more
people will be hurt. Other than her, no person has been hurt. It's just been property damage. So I think everything has to be connected. Alex said the detective figures it's an extortionist who is capitalizing on the body being found in Quantum's trash."

"So what is this person trying to accomplish? You haven't mentioned any demands for money."

"That's it—there have been no demands. The emails only talk about getting revenge, but Alex has no idea for what. He doesn't know of anybody getting upset with him or the company. There have been no explanations about why the email writer is so angry."

"Then that blows the detective's extortion theory out of the water, doesn't it?"

"Exactly!" Amy smacked her hand on the end table. The sound startled Macy. Her arms and legs flailed in protest. Geri quickly stuck the dislodged bottle's nipple back into her mouth and made comforting sounds. "I'm sorry," Amy said. "I didn't mean to scare her."

"It's not a problem." Geri kissed the top of the calmed baby's head. "She's fine. And you have every right to be upset. What bothers me is everything seems to me to be out of order."

Amy rubbed her hands over her eyes to pressure them into not leaking any tears. She couldn't follow the conversation if her life depended on it…and it very well might, considering the latest threat. "I don't know what you mean by out of order—like it's broken and isn't working?"

"No, I mean the sequence. Anger builds, sometimes to the point of murder. So why commit the murder first and then make threats? Situations usually escalate, but this seems backwards. First the murder, then the threats started, followed up with the Dumpster blaze, and now another threat. It seems illogical to me, the way everything has played out."

She hated to admit it, but…
"Maybe Foster is correct. The threats and fire aren't connected to the murder, just a way to torture Alex."

"Or maybe she's wrong. If everything is connected, why is it happening in this order?"

Amy tilted her head back and rested it on the back of the couch. She stared at the white ceiling. "I don't know. Maybe they're squirrels."

"Okay, now you've lost me." Geri set the bottle down and moved the sleepy baby onto her shoulder. She patted Macy's back and asked, "What do squirrels have to do with this?"

"Pogo can be totally focused on begging for a treat, but all I have to say is 'squirrel,' and he'll go running into the living room to jump on the couch and look out the front window. Someone could be using the threats as a way to cry squirrel and distract us from something that really matters. The treat of discovering who the murderer is."

Amy flipped another page in the cookbook. It was filled with recipes for quick and easy meals—a good thing since it was almost dinner time. But nothing sounded appealing. And she couldn't concentrate. Very likely an easy meal that involved any knife-wielding, chopping, or slicing would turn into a quick trip to the emergency room. She would like to keep all of her fingers intact. It wasn't as if she had the energy to move anyway. There were too many worrisome thoughts circulating and percolating in her mind, weighing her down so that she felt as though her bottom was glued to the breakfast nook bench. She had no idea what Detective Foster was thinking—or doing—about the murder case, but Amy was terrified. There was no doubt in her mind that the threats Alex was receiving were tied to Phoebe's death. And they were hinting at some very serious consequences. What if Charlotte had been correct about the murder being a case of mistaken blonde identity, and she had been the target all along?

The thump of Alex's Jeep door brought her mind back around to the fact that she was too stressed to cook. That was something that didn't happen often. Amy closed the unused cookbook as Alex punched his code into the security system pad next to the kitchen door. The beeps alerted Pogo to his presence. The small dog barreled into the kitchen from wherever he had been occupying himself in the house, most likely napping on the couch.

After the door was locked behind him, Alex bent to scratch behind the furry greeter's ears. Amy stayed seated as the unspoken questions hung in the space between her and her husband. Not even Pogo's enthusiastic display of affection could make it all better. What were they going to do? What would happen next?

"That's my good guard dog," Alex cooed. He squatted down to receive the flurry of grateful doggy kisses but kept his eyes on Amy. "It doesn't smell like you're cooking, so I bet you're thinking the same thing as I am. It's been a long day. Let's go out to dinner and relax a bit. I'm sure we'll be safe in a busy restaurant. I don't think the person would be stupid enough to try something in a crowd."

Amy blinked. Going to a restaurant was one of the few things she hadn't thought of. Since she was very short on motivation to cook, it was an excellent idea. But the second half of Alex's analysis made her even more jittery—something she didn't think was possible. Her own mind had done a good enough job at freaking her out. She trusted Alex's judgment though. "Sounds good. I've been jumping at every sound since I've been home. I guess I may feel better hanging out in a bustling restaurant. As long as you think Pogo will be safe here alone."

He stood up. "He has a doggy door escape route into the backyard, and we have great neighbors, along with a neighborhood watch group. I also talked with the officer in the cybercrimes division who is investigating the emails. He said he'll have some patrol cars swing through the area to keep an eye on the house and Quantum since there was imminent harm indicated in today's threat."

"Okay." Amy crossed the kitchen and put the cookbook back in its place on the bookshelf. She felt as though her muscles were made of saltwater taffy. Every step was an effort. "Now the question is where do we go? I know it's a rare occurrence, but nothing sounds appetizing to me."

Alex locked his arms around her waist as she stood in front of the shelves filled with cookbooks. She leaned back against him. His chest muscles were a nice warm pillow for her head and the headache that was trying to manifest inside it.

"How about fish tacos?" he asked. "A bunch of my employees have been going to that new sports pub downtown for lunch. The tacos are supposed to be excellent, but I haven't tried them yet. I guess you can choose between different varieties of fish along with having it fried or broiled."

Amy placed her hands on top of his, which were laced together over her belly. Fish tacos hadn't been on her dinner menu radar, but they sounded good. On cue, her stomach grumbled. When was the last time she ate? Alex chuckled softly and whispered, "We can head downtown whenever you're ready."

"Let me get Pogo his dinner, and then we can leave."

Ten minutes later they settled into Alex's Jeep. Pogo had wolfed down his bowl of kibble and was working for his dessert. Amy had filled a hollow treat ball with homemade sweet potato doggy biscuit nuggets. When they had walked out the door, the pup was busy batting the perplexing toy around the kitchen trying to get it to release his snack. "Has anything else happened since I talked to you this afternoon?" Amy asked as Alex backed the vehicle down the driveway. She really hoped not, but considering the way things had been going, she had to ask.

He shook his head. "Other than giving myself a headache trying to figure out who my company pissed off? No." He maneuvered the Jeep into the street then shifted it into drive.
"I've done my own digging on the employees who have been fired. One lives in Alaska. The other in Florida. And both of them appear to be doing well, based on what I can see on their social media profiles. I really don't think it's either of them."

"So if it isn't them, who is it? A customer?"

Alex raked his fingers through his short hair, leaving behind ridges and furrows. "I've always made sure we do our best to satisfy customers. So if a company has a problem with Quantum, I do everything possible to make it right with them. If somebody had a major issue, I wasn't told about it."

"What if a salesperson or installer didn't want to get in trouble so purposely never brought something to your attention?"

"That's possible, but I don't think very likely. I can't imagine anyone doing that. All of my employees have a lot of integrity, from what I see of them at work."

Unless one of them had a hidden dark side—Detective Foster's theory du jour.
They didn't talk anymore during the drive to downtown. Sitting next to Alex in his Jeep was slightly better than jumping at every noise, alone at home. But Amy was still battling a mental swarm of scary scenarios that she couldn't shake. What did the email mean? She was positive that Alex didn't have a secret evil side, but what had he done to be the recipient of a revenge campaign?

"I'm going to drive by Quantum, just to make sure nothing is going on," Alex said as they cruised past Riverbend Café. He switched on the Jeep's blinker.

Amy's fingers ached as she gripped the armrest on the vehicle's door. But they turned the corner, and the building appeared fine. No damage, suspicious people, or emergency vehicles were in sight as Alex turned again to drive past the parking lot. A quick journey around the block afforded them a view of all sides of the three-story office building. Alex pulled into an open parking spot along the street near the front door once he had completed the inspection loop. He leaned on the steering wheel and looked past Amy to study the windows of the business he had worked so very hard to establish and grow. "Everything looks fine. I'm guessing the person behind the emails is more talk than action."

"Let's hope so."

She stared out the side window as the Jeep pulled out of the parking space. There were no movements that she could see through the reflective coating on the windows. The mirror-like privacy feature would work in favor of an intruder. But breaking in while it was still daylight seemed like too brash and risky of a move for the unnamed slimeball tormentor. The rich smell of coffee wafted through the vehicle. Alex had cracked the window open, and a breeze brought the signature scent from Riverbend Café into the Jeep. Amy inhaled deeply. The aroma ranked up there with her favorite scents in the world, right along with warm chocolate cake and lemongrass tea.

The stoplight turned green, and Alex turned the Jeep onto Main Street. The fabled fish tacos were only two blocks away. She watched people strolling along the sidewalk. The windows of Make It Unique were a kaleidoscope of colorful pottery pieces. She'd wave at Geri if she was working at the pottery wheel in the window.

Amy's eardrums exploded with pain. The Jeep shook as though it was being attacked by Godzilla. All of the air was pushed out of her lungs by the seatbelt as she was propelled forward.
What was happening?
The windshield glass was a giant, glimmering spider web as she turned to look at Alex.

"Get out!" he yelled.

Her neck muscles spasmed in pain when she turned toward her door.
Why was it so dark? Where was the handle?
Her vision was going in and out of focus as tears streamed down her face. The door magically opened before she could find the handle. An unfamiliar man reached across her and unlatched the seatbelt. His arms wiggled behind her back and under her legs. A fresh wave of pain radiated through her ankle when it smashed into the doorframe as he yanked her out of the Jeep. A flash of intense heat washed over her as the man turned toward the sidewalk.
Why?
Amy's foot smacked into the roof of a sedan as he carried her between two parked cars. More tears blurred her vision. The man set her down on the edge of one of the brick planters. "The ambulance and fire department are on the way," he said.