Cake and Taxes: A Yellow Rose Cozy Mystery (Yellow Rose Mystery Series Book 2) (2 page)

The next morning, Betty decided to drive over to see Tom Nelson and offer her respects on the passing of his wife and see how he was holding up. Tom lived on Abbott Circle on the east side of town. Traffic was usual, meaning light. Fortunately, Betty didn't have far to go.

The day was turning warm and clouds melted into the horizon. Mature landscaping, punctuated by large trees, dotted the landscape of the neighborhood. The homes were single-family residences owned chiefly by professionals.

Betty made several more turns and found the Nelson house. It was a large red brick home with a well-maintained yard. She drove through the open wrought iron gate and parked to the side on the circular drive. The housekeeper met her at the door and asked her to follow her down a lengthy hallway. The home's interior had high ceilings with multiple wet bars, French doors, and built-in bookcases.

They arrived at the office where Tom Nelson was working. He was a rugged man with a strong jawline and brown hair interspersed with flecks of gray. He wore an open-collared shirt with dark trousers. The top of his desk held stacks of paper so high they almost obscured his face. A large cup with mechanical pencils and erasers sat perched to his left. He nodded when the housekeeper announced Betty and continued working, staring at the screen on his computer.

After waiting for several moments, Betty tapped lightly on the door frame.

“Hope I'm not taking you away from something important,” Betty said, nodding at the computer.

Tom gave a wan smile. “Finishing up some business,” he said. He got up and gave Betty a light hug before returning to his seat and motioning Betty to a blue leather chair.

The housekeeper arrived with a tray, a covered container that gave off a rich aroma, and a pair of ornate cups.

“Coffee?” Tom asked.

“Half a cup. Black. Still working off breakfast.” Betty never knew quite what to say to someone who'd suffered the loss of a loved one. Over the years, she'd found it best to simply be there and let them direct the conversation if they were inclined to talk.

“Used to drink it that way myself years ago,” Tom said, pouring. “Need something a little sweeter nowadays, though.”

“Enjoy a good sugar rush myself, but it’s the caffeine that helps me through the day. ‘Coffee in the morning, Diet Coke in the afternoon.’ Refrain from a song recorded in the seventies.”

“Jackson Browne,” Tom said. “Except that it was cocaine, not soda he was singing about.”

Betty nodded. “Didn’t know you listened to music from that era.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. I've listened to, as well as learned, a lot of things since I lived with you and Julian.”

“That was a good time in our lives. I'm glad we were there for you.” Three decades earlier, before Betty and Julian had their first child, a couple they knew were going through a rough patch in their marriage. Betty and her husband had taken Tom into their household for six months when he was five. Fortunately, after about six months, his parents worked out their difficulties and the family was reunited.

“You've done well for yourself,” Betty said, looking around the office.

“Thanks, yes. The accounting degree paid off. Turns out everyone needs organizing as it relates to numbers and money.” Tom shook his head. “I wish Marge hadn't insisted on working. We didn't need the extra income.”

“A lot of people like to keep their professional skills up,” Betty replied. “Plus, with Boone almost seventeen now and getting more independent, she may have simply craved more activity.” A display case on one of the shelves caught Betty's eye. “Nice medals,” she said.

Tom nodded. “Served in the infantry in Afghanistan. Marines.” Which Betty already knew. She had quietly followed Tom's progress during the years after he'd left her household. She'd tried not to intrude on his life too much as he grew up, but he'd always held a special place in her heart and she'd enjoyed watching him grow into a fine young man.

He swiveled slightly in his chair. His foot caught the edge of a backpack which tipped over onto a small tent in a roll-up bag.

“Back from a trip?” Betty asked.

“No. Planning one, actually. Haven't been on one in awhile. Decided I needed a little getaway for a day or two while things settle down around here.”

“Taking Boone with you?”

Tom shook his head. “No, he's going through enough right now. I've arranged for someone to look after him.”

Before Betty could ask where he was off to, the housekeeper reappeared and said that someone had arrived to discuss funeral arrangements.

Betty stood to leave. “Take care, Tom. Everyone's keeping you in their prayers,” she said. Tom gave her one last hug before walking her to the front of the house.

Bobbi Miller, Betty's eldest daughter, arrived at her mother's house shortly after Betty had returned from talking with Tom Nelson. Even though she still had a key to the front door, she rang the bell and waited outside.

Betty opened the door and let her inside. “I don't know why you do this every time you visit,” she said, shaking her head. “You know you're welcome to just come on in. As long as I'm alive and here, this is still your home.”

“It's a matter of respect,” Bobbi replied. “Plus, I wouldn't want to walk in on you if you happened to be entertaining some nice gentleman,” she said with a wink.

“That, young lady, is something you don't have to worry about,” Betty said with a huff. “I haven't had eyes for anyone since your father passed.”

Bobbi smiled and walked down the hall. She left the rolling piece of luggage she'd brought in with her in her old bedroom. The 12 x 12 area still had the same furniture in it as when she'd left for college seven years earlier. She noted that everything was dusted and as clean as the rest of the house. She finished up and rejoined her mother in the kitchen.

“Anything I can help you with?” Bobbi asked.

“No,” Betty said, chopping broccoli on a cutting board on the counter. “I'm almost done preparing the ingredients for some vegetable soup.”

“I can smell the stock simmering on the stove,” she replied, taking a seat at the counter. “Smells delicious.”

“So how's your husband?” Betty asked as she mixed the broccoli with the broth on the stove, before starting in on the potatoes.

“He's fine. Construction remains steady in Austin, which means construction workers stay busy.”

“That's good to hear. What about your job?”

“Things are busy at the medical center. I'm almost done with the breaking in period for physical therapy, so I should be getting more responsibility soon. I had a couple of personal days saved up, so decided to use them and come see you and Brianna. Where is she, anyway?”

“In her room, resting. Think she may have that stomach bug that's going around.”

“Poor thing. I'll peek in on her later,” Bobbi said.

Betty finished cubing the potatoes. She added in some herbs and garlic to the mix, then retrieved a spoon from a nearby drawer and sampled the soup. Satisfied, she placed the lid on the pot, then lowered the flame a fraction.

“From what you've said, everything seems to be going well for you.”

“It is,” Bobbi said. “Which is why Gary and I are thinking about buying a house.”

Betty rinsed her hands in the sink. “Wow. That's a big step. Are you sure you're ready for that? Financially, I mean.”

Bobbi shifted in her seat and glanced down at the table before looking directly at her mother. The corners of her mouth slowly edged up into a smile. Betty knew the look well. Her daughter was about to give her the,
I'm all grown up and have it all figured out
speech. Which she was. All grown up, that is. But she was as stubborn as her mother and tended to learn life's lessons the hard way. Betty simply wanted her children to listen to her once in a while and take advantage of the hard-fought knowledge she'd earned over the years.

But she knew that wasn't going to happen today. She sighed resolutely, mentally braced herself, and waited for Bobbi to continue.

“We're both making good money. Plus, other than my student loans, which are almost paid off, we're pretty much debt free, and interest rates are still low. Really, this is great time to find a good starter home.”

“Since your jobs are there, I'm guessing you'll buy in or around Austin?”

“Yes. We're thinking about the northwest part of town and have started looking at homes in several neighborhoods.”

Betty stirred the soup with a wooden spoon. As she took in the aroma she said, “Homes in Austin are expensive. And the prices keep going up.”

“Which is another reason we want to buy now, before everything gets out of our price range. We've saved up a down payment and can squeak out a mortgage payment each month and still have enough to pay our other bills.”

“That's the part that worries me,” Betty said, turning to her daughter again and shaking her head. “If you're financially maxed out and one of you loses your job, then what? After making a down payment, will you have anything else in savings? Any kind of emergency fund?”

“Oh, Mom. Don't worry, Gary and I have a plan. It'll all work out. You'll see.”

Betty pulled a ladle from a drawer. She poured soup into two bowls which she then placed on the table. “Well,” she replied, going to the refrigerator to get some sweet tea. “It's like the boxer Mike Tyson once said – 'Everybody’s got a plan, till they get punched in the face.'”

Bobbi looked like she was trying to figure out what her mother was trying to tell her. But after several seconds she merely smiled, picked up her spoon, and started in on the soup, which she announced was quite good. Betty was quiet for a spell as she ate and formulated her own plan, one she hoped wouldn't get her punched once she was done.

An hour later, Betty was back at the bakery. She was hard at work on a bowl of batter when Martin poked his head in from out front. He cleared his throat in a loud manner to get her attention. Betty looked up and motioned him in. He walked over and sat at a small table off to the side that Betty used to decorate her cakes. Placing a small leather case on the table's surface, he zipped open the sides, pulled out a laptop and flipped it open.

“Be with you in a second,” Betty said, giving the batter a taste.

“Take your time. It'll take me a minute to power up and get set up.” Martin pulled out his cell phone and used it as a hot spot to get an Internet connection. After entering a user name and password he asked, “What'cha making?”

“Cake.”

Martin feigned a surprised look. “You're such a smart lass,” he said.

Betty grinned. “Caramel apple crunch with Oreo crust. Custom order.”

Betty wasn't sure if it was the word
caramel
,
crunch
, or
Oreo
that triggered the hound dog look in Martin's face. She smiled to herself, then pulled a slice of something from the refrigerator along with a fork and a pint of milk and set it on the table.

“Cherry cheesecake. Saved a slice since I know it's your favorite.”

“All your creations are my favorites,” Martin said, fork in hand.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Martin patted his ample stomach. “Don't I know it,” he said, taking his first bite.

After he'd finished his afternoon snack, Betty cleared the table and the two got down to business.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Martin asked.

“Not sure. A clue, I suppose. I told you yesterday about overhearing Ned and Marge in the alley.”

“Yes. Ordinarily I'd say it was Ned being his usual hot-headed self. But with Marge Nelson being found dead a few hours later...”

“I know. Still, the news reports say that witnesses heard what sounded like gun shots in the appraisal district parking lot around 2 p.m. An employee returning from lunch who was parked nearby discovered the body. Ned was at the store working then. I know because I went in to see if he had any compound for some loose bricks at the back of the store here.”

“Have you already given your statement about what you witnessed to the police?”

“Yes, by phone. They said that I may need to make a formal statement in person later, but if so they'll contact me.”

Martin finished tapping at the keyboard. “Here we go,” he said, turning the laptop sideways so that Betty could see. “This web site has the values for all homes, commercial buildings, and business personal property located here in Magnum County.”

Betty stared at the screen. “Hmm...type in 'Ned's Friendly Hardware Store.' But without the apostrophe.”

Martin tapped away and soon new information appeared.

“Good,” Betty said. “Now click on 'View Details,' then 'Roll Value History.'”

More tapping followed by more information. Martin studied a set of numbers. “Wow. Ned's business' value has doubled in the last three years.”

“Which means the taxes for his business have roughly doubled depending on the tax rate for each year. No wonder he was giving Marge an earful.”

“Why was she there, anyway?” Martin asked.

“Each year a BPP, or business personal property, appraiser comes out and gets information from business owners regarding their equipment. Everything that's not part of the land or building is included. The land and building are on a commercial property account.”

“Sounds like you did your research before opening up here,” Martin said.

Betty nodded. “Anyway, the appraisers do field work primarily from January through June and yesterday Marge came through this part of town.”

“Do you know what your taxes for this year will be yet?”

Betty shook her head. “According to the Texas Property Tax Code, new businesses like mine aren't assessed the first year of operation as long as they open after January first of that year.”

“A break for you, then. For a short period, anyway.”

“Yes. I don't mind paying my fair share. I doubt Ned does either. The money collected goes toward funding the local school districts among other things. But apparently he thinks his current assessed value is more than a little out of line.”

Martin started clicking various menu selections on the web site. “Maybe we can find out why these figures have risen so much in the past three years.”

Betty shook her head again. “That's confidential information. Only Ned and the appraisal district know the specifics.”

Martin arched an eyebrow at Betty.

“I know. I could ask Ned directly and he might tell me. But I'm not sure I want to go that route since I've already made a statement that could tie him to Marge's death.”

“Point taken,” Martin replied.

“I'm worried about Tom, though. I went over and visited him yesterday.”

“How'd that go?”

“Overall okay, all things considered. He was quiet and withdrawn. Someone came by to discuss funeral arrangements so I didn't stay long. I'm guessing he's still in shock. He said something about taking a trip which made no sense. Also...”

“Yes?” Martin prompted.

Betty rubbed her temples. “Well, I hate to jump to conclusions. But in murder investigations, the person the police usually start with is the husband.”

“So you think Tom may be thinking about leaving town to avoid talking with them?”

“No. Something else is going on. Tom's a kind and gentle soul. I can't believe he'd ever harm anyone, including Marge. Much less kill her.”

“He could have hired someone else do it.”

Betty shook her head. “Not Tom. I just can't see it.”

“Who do you think might have done it, then?”

“Almost anyone who owned a business here in the county, I suppose. Appraisers and tax collectors aren't the most popular people in the word. Especially in a soft economy.” Betty sighed. “It's a mystery.”

Martin checked his watch. “Have to go. Got a report to finish for a client. Need to email it by this evening.”

Betty stood as Martin repacked his laptop. “Thanks for the help, Martin. I'll give you a call later after we close.”

“Looking forward to it,” Martin replied.

Betty walked over to the refrigerator. “Hey, I pulled out a pair of cupcakes earlier but now one's gone. What happened to the other one?”

“It's a mystery,” Martin said, heading out and nibbling on his second snack of the day.