Gluten for Punishment (15 page)

“That’s a great idea,” Tasha said. “Smash George in the head, walk down, and toss
the bag in the depository.”

“Exactly, but then Grandma and I looked in the depository chute and it was clean as
a whistle. If someone had used a bank bag it should have left at least a streak of
blood, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Tasha said. “Or maybe the chute was cleaned.”

“Really? They clean that?”

“Every Wednesday. Remember, I used to work at the bank. Hey, by the way, I heard Ed
Bruner had foreclosed on George’s farm. Has anyone asked the banker where he was at
5:30
A.M.
that morning?”

“Why? That would only make sense if George had killed Ed, right?” I sipped wine, thinking
about the topsy-turvy world.

“No, I heard after Ed set up the auction and put the place up for sale, he had a couple
of interested buyers. Then George got a lawyer involved and threatened to draw out
the foreclosure as long as possible. It was a big stink. The buyers picked up their
briefcases and walked out. They weren’t interested in waiting. They wanted the farm
now.”

“Why?”

“Who knows,” Tasha said. “Word is they were taking their money and going home.”

“Wow. Then Ed did have motive to kill George.”

“Motive and, if you can prove your bank-deposit-bag theory, he had means. What we
need to do is prove he had opportunity.”

“Right.” I stared out the window. The kitchen was warm and cozy and styled like the
rest of the late-Victorian house with black-and-white tiles, white cabinets, and tiled
countertops and backsplash. It was the most recently remodeled room and felt like
home.

“Maybe he’ll be at the memorial service,” Tasha said. “You could ask him then.”

“You did say the killer might be at the service.”

“ I did, because I’m smart like that. So, did you find out more about Todd Woles’s
fight with George?”

“Yes, you were right. He did have a restraining order out on George.”

“So you have two good suspects.”

“Maybe,” I said, scooping cheese tarts off their baking sheets and onto a cooling
rack. “The restraining order is two years old. Why kill George now?”

“Something must have happened,” Tasha declared. “I’ll see what I can find out. In
the meantime, if I were you, I’d keep an eye on Ed.”

The timer buzzed softly. “I will. Listen, I have to go. See you tomorrow around nine?”

“Or earlier if I can have everything ready in time to let me attend the memorial and
help out.”

After I hung up, I pulled the cookies out of the oven. Of the two suspects, the banker
had stronger means and motive. All I needed to do now was place him at the scene.
That was going to be the hardest part of all.

CHAPTER
18

T
im went into work with me. I kept my eye on the bank, but it was dark and had no cars
in the parking lot.

“Do you know of any reason for Ed Bruner to be at the bank early in the morning?”
I asked a sleepy Tim.

My brother looked at me and drew his eyebrows together in a
V
. “Hell, no, banker’s hours remember? The guy gets to work six hours a day, like from
ten to four or something. I swear, if Dad had been a banker we’d all be set.”

“Dad was a good professor at the school.”

“And lived on a professor’s income with six kids, for God’s sake. We had nothing.”

“Nothing but love.” Mom’s words rolled off my tongue. My brother growled at me. I
shrugged and continued to drive. It was going to be a big day. I was nearly done with
the catering platters for the memorial. A few more little details and they would be
ready.

I still had the children’s birthday cakes to finish today as well. “Do you know any
of the Moores?”

“Rob Moore was two years ahead of me in school, why?”

“Does he have a daughter Meghan?”

Tim shrugged then yawned. “Beats me, why?”

“I’m going to hire her. Things have been crazy since Carrie left. I really need more
help.”

“Huh. Good for you.”

Brothers are so helpful. I rolled into the parking lot. The light next to the bakery’s
back door was out.

“Light’s out.” Tim perked up.

I parked the van. “I see. Hand me the flashlight.”

“What flashlight?” My brother was dense as a cornfield when he was tired.

“The one in the glove box.” I held out my hand while he opened the glove box, riffled
through, and slapped the flashlight at me. “Thanks.”

I got out of the van and turned the flashlight on. The light had been broken. I got
up under it.

“Wow, BB gun or rock?” Tim offered, his hands in his coat pockets.

I looked around. I didn’t see any rocks out of place. There was a small mark in the
back siding. Definitely a BB gun. I shone the flashlight around but there wasn’t anyone
hiding in the shadows.

That’s when I noticed it: a giant mass of spray paint on the back door. The flashlight
hit the metallic paint and reflected the light back at me.

“What’s it say?”

I swallowed and read out loud. “Stop nosing around or you’ll regret it.”

“That’s a threat.” Tim turned to me. “What did you do to make someone do this?”

“Nothing.” I half shrugged.

“Toni . . .”

“Grandma Ruth and I might be looking into the murder.”

“Oh, man, sis, are you nuts? Whoever killed George has to know you’re trying to figure
out who he is.”

I unlocked the back door and opened it. “I must be getting close,” I pointed out,
“or he wouldn’t feel threatened.”

“Let me go first.” Tim hit the lights and stepped inside. I was right behind him and
turned off the alarm as he checked the office. “It’s clear.”

I locked the door behind us and held on to Tim’s shirt as we checked out the rest
of the bakery. “No one’s here,” I said with some relief. “The alarm didn’t go off.”

“Do you have a camera on your rear entrance?”

I pursed my lips and cracked my knuckles. “No. I didn’t think I needed it.”

“This is crazy.” Tim’s face grew red. “What if you’d come here alone? What if whoever
killed George was waiting for you? Geez, Toni, you’re not safe here.”

“Oh, come on.” I could feel my anger rising. Someone was scaring me and I didn’t take
kindly to it, so I took it out on my brother. “This is Oiltop, for God’s sake, population
ten thousand when the college isn’t in session and fifteen thousand when the school
is in. It’s a heck of a lot safer than Chicago.”

“If it’s so safe, how come some guy was murdered a few feet from your front door?
And why are we so worried about you we’re not letting you go to work alone?” Tim flapped
his hand around, his voice rising.

I raised my voice and stood toe to toe, nose to nose with him. “I didn’t kill the
guy. And I have no idea who would vandalize my place or why. Plus, I never asked you
or Grandma Ruth to take me to work. So you can go home and forget worrying about me.”
I had my hands on my hips, and I could feel my temperature rise.

“I’m here because you need a keeper.” Tim pointed at the back door. “I don’t want
to wake up one day and find the cops at my door telling me they found your body in
the street.”

“Technically, it’s my door.”

“What?” Tim jerked back at the low blow. I was too angry and scared to be ashamed
as his face flushed. “Fine. Do whatever you want. You’re a grown woman and I can’t
worry about you. Just make sure you make a will or something, will you? I don’t want
Mom’s house stuck in probate for fifteen years.”

“Great. Fine. I’ll have Brad get right on it. I suppose you think I should leave the
house to you.”

“Damn it, Toni, I don’t want the house. I want you safe. Why the hell do you think
I stay up late every other day and see you safely here? I’m doing it because I care
about you and, from the looks of your back door, someone needs to be here.”

I rubbed my temples. “I have a security company.”

“You need to have them put an outside camera in the back.”

“Fine.”

“Good. Now call 911. When the cops get here, I’ll head home.”

I wanted to stick my tongue out at him for making me mad and for being right. I hated
it when my brother was right. I picked up the phone and dialed 911. Starting my day
with a visit from Barney Fife was not going to be fun. But the day could only get
better from here. Right?

CHAPTER
19

M
eghan stopped by around ten-thirty that morning. She looked exactly the same as she
had the day before, only this time her black hair was pulled back, exposing several
piercings on her ears. “Hey, Ms. Holmes. How are you? I thought I’d stop by in person
and see how it was going.”

“I’m good.” I wiped my hands on my apron and stepped out into the shop. “I called
your references and they were quite good.”

Meghan nodded and tilted her head a little in expectation.

“Can you start this evening?”

“Yes!” Her expression broke out into a wide smile. She literally jumped up and down
on her toes and clapped her hands. “You won’t regret this, Ms. Holmes. Seriously.”

“Like I said yesterday, there’s a memorial service tonight at seven and I’m catering.
You’ll need to be here by five-thirty. And remember to wear a white button-up blouse,
black slacks, and good black walking shoes. No boots.”

“Got it.”

“I’ll also need you Saturday from ten
A.M.
until four
P.M.
The shop is closed on Sundays. I’ll post next week’s schedule before you leave on
Saturday.”

“Great!” She bounced.

“Wear your hair pulled back and out of your face. You can keep the eyebrow piercing
but don’t add to your visible piercings, and no tongue piercings as customers need
to be able to understand you when you talk. This is a business and we try to be as
professional as possible. The goal is to build customers, not chase them away.”

“I understand.” Her tone was solemn but her expression shone with happiness.

“See you at five-thirty.” I watched her walk out; her happiness lifted my mood. It
had been hell dealing with Officer Emry on the vandalism this morning. He’d taken
pictures of the painted message and then made scrapings of the paint before he left.
It had taken me an hour to scrub the message away. I wondered if I could ask the landlord
to repaint the back door along with the front bricks.

The whole episode had pissed my brother off and put me an hour behind. But it was
good to know I had help starting tonight. Thank goodness for Sam and Meghan.

• • •

S
am showed up at 12:30
P.M.
right as I turned the
OPEN
sign over to
CLOSED
and marked the
BE BACK IN AN HOUR
sign.

“Hey.” His expression was warm, his mouth turned up and his dark gaze interested.
“Are you ready for lunch?”

I took off my apron and grabbed my jacket. It was a black-and-white houndstooth, which
matched the black slacks and white shirts that made up most if not all of my wardrobe.
“I’m ready.” I grabbed the big box full of twelve-inch, gluten-free rolls and jerked
my head toward the back. “Let’s go out this way.”

“Here, let me carry that for you.” He took the box and I set the alarm system and
locked the door behind us. “Wow, what happened here?” He nodded toward the shot-out
back light and the faint impression of silver paint left on the door.

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I was vandalized this morning.”

He drew his brows together and narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You called the police, didn’t you?”

I made a face. “My brother Tim was here. He insisted. So, yes, I filed a police report.”

“Good.” Our feet crunched on the gravel parking lot. We came out onto the sidewalk
on Central. “I hope you don’t mind walking.”

“No, actually, it’s good to get out into the fresh air.” I glanced up at the sky,
the brilliant blue illustrating that it was too cold now for summer haze. We passed
a few trees that had turned color. Their leaves were yellow and red. There was a snap
to the air but the sun on my cheek was warm and I walked with a good-looking man.

Sometimes when everything was looking down you had to take a moment and enjoy the
small things right in front of you or you’d go crazy. It was something my mom had
taught me. I felt a twinge of sadness at the memory.

“A penny for your thoughts.” Sam’s voice soothed my ears.

“I was thinking how lovely this time of year is, what with the trees and the cool
air. Much nicer than, say, August, when the air is so hot you can barely breathe.”

“I like this time of year.”

“Do you like the long shadows or the spooky decorations?”

“I like the spooky decorations and more important, the hayrack rides.” He opened the
door to the deli and waited for me to walk in.

“Wow, hayrack rides, I’d forgotten about those.”

“The best part is cuddling with someone under the blankets at the bonfire after.”

The light in his eyes did funny things to my insides.

“Hi, can I help you?” A young man with blond hair and a crooked smile asked from behind
the counter.

“Yes, hi, I’m Toni Holmes. I own the new gluten-free bakery down the street.” I handed
him my card. “Is your manager in?”

The boy, whose name tag read Jared, glanced at the card. “Sure, I’ll get him.” He
went to the end of the counter and stuck his head in the kitchen. “Mr. Blake, there’s
a lady here who wants to talk to you.”

I felt the heat of a blush at the kid’s shouted words. The diners in the deli stared.
Sam wiggled his right eyebrow and I relaxed a bit.

A middle-aged man, shorter than me, bald and about as big around as he was tall came
out from the kitchen. He wore a large black-and-white striped apron over a dress shirt
and slacks. “Can I help you?”

“My name’s Toni Holmes.” I handed him my card. “I run the new gluten-free bakery down
the street. Sam here offered to take me to lunch at your deli, but I have celiac disease
and I can’t eat bread unless it’s gluten-free. Sam had the idea maybe we could work
together to bring you more customers.”

Mr. Blake eyed Sam and the box and then me. “Go on.”

I gave him my best smile and opened the bakery box. “I specialize in gluten-free baked
goods, including bread.” I glanced at his selection of deli meat and noted he carried
Boar’s Head brand, which is GF. “You already carry GF lunch meats and cheeses.” I
pulled out one of my sub loaves—this one was GF oatmeal. “Smells great, right?” I
waved it under his nose. “Now, Jared, is it? If you could take this and cut it I’ll
show you how to make a GF sandwich.”

The young man looked at Mr. Blake, who nodded. He took the bread, got out a deli plate,
and reached for the bread knife.

“You’ll have to cut the bread with a fresh knife. You don’t want to cross contaminate
the wheat with the GF.”

Jared went to the back and came out with a new knife. He cut it and then added the
meats, cheese, and condiments I requested. Then he sliced the sandwich in half and
added a pickle and a bag of potato chips and set the plate up on the counter.

“And now I can eat at your deli.” I smiled and paid full price for the meal. “There
are several people in and around town who have gluten allergies or sensitivities to
wheat or barley. These people currently avoid eating in your deli, Mr. Blake, but
if you were to offer GF sandwiches and were careful not to use the same utensils,
people would be happy to dine here.”

“Really? And where would I get the gluten-free stuff? Your bakery?”

“I would be happy to supply you with a variety of bread types from white to potato
to oatmeal.”

“And the price?”

“Can be negotiated depending on the number of loaves you purchase.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his bald head. “We’re known for our fresh breads.”

“I’m a few blocks down on Main and can deliver fresh every morning.”

“How do I know these will sell?” he asked as he looked through the box Sam held out
for him to inspect.

“How about we do a trial run? I can offer you the loaves for half price for the first
week. If you don’t see an improvement in sales, we’ll call it off. But if you do,
you’ll order your GF bread from me. What do you have to lose?”

Mr. Blake glanced at Sam, at the loaves, my sandwich, and back to me. “I tell you
what, we’ll give it seven days, like you said. Then we’ll talk again.”

“Great!” I smiled broadly and took the box and handed it to Jared, who stared at it
as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “You can have these on the house today. I’ll
send over fresh tomorrow.”

Mr. Blake’s mouth made a firm line and he nodded. “Put those on the counter,” he told
Jared. “Then put up a sign that says we offer gluten-free sandwiches.” He reached
out and shook my hand. “Good sales pitch, Ms. Holmes.”

“Thank you, it’ll be nice working with you.”

“On a one-week trial,” he said.

“Oh, I think you’ll find you want to work together more than a week,” I said. As long
as no one else got killed.