Gluten for Punishment (6 page)

I pursed my lips. I could feel the customers behind me staring out the window. “Maybe
if you removed his Stetson? Sun shining in his eyes might help.”

Barney gave me another evil look, but he did what I said. He reached down and took
the hat and we both gasped. The drunk was facedown in about an inch of water and the
back of his head was covered in blood.

“That can’t be good,” I muttered. I dialed 911 again because Officer Fife stood frozen
and stared at the guy.

“Nine-one-one dispatch, how can I help you?”

“Hello, Sarah, this is Toni again, down at the bakery. I think you need to send a
second squad car and possibly an ambulance. I think the drunk guy might be dead.”

CHAPTER
6

I
stepped closer as the officer reached down and felt the drunk guy’s neck for a pulse.
He was a lot braver than me because I wasn’t touching a possible dead body. I guess
that’s why they paid this guy the big bucks.

“Is there a pulse?” I asked. “Should we turn him faceup and start CPR or something?”

“No.” The officer straightened. He was a couple inches shorter than me, and his face
had gone white. His eyes were big and dark in his face. “There’s nothing to revive.
The man’s colder than a witch’s tit.”

“Cold as in has been dead for a while?” The thought creeped me out. Had there been
a dead body outside my bakery the whole time I was working this morning? I took an
involuntary step back. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

The officer ignored me and hit the two-way radio on his shoulder. “Dispatch this is
Officer Emry. I want to confirm the DB here on Main Street. Send backup and call the
county ME and CSU.”

I swallowed hard and stared at the dead man. Had he died while I was in the bakery
working? Had I been a mere few feet away when the murder took place? Or had it been
a tragic drunk accident? Could I have saved him if I had seen him tumble into the
trough?

“You need to step back, miss.” Officer Emry put his arm in front of me. “As first
responder, it’s my duty to preserve the crime scene.”

I took two steps back as a second cop car pulled up along with a small blue Toyota.
Candy Cole stepped out of the Toyota and wormed her way around the cops to stand beside
me.

“Hey, Toni,” Candy stage whispered. She pulled out her small digital camera and snuck
in a couple of photos while the cops huddled together discussing what to do with the
crime scene.

“Hey, Candy,” I whispered back. I’d known Candy since high school, when she’d worked
on the
Oiltop High Gazette
. “Are you here for breakfast or the story?”

“I have a police scanner in my car. I heard the report as I was taking the kids to
school.”

“All right.” Officer Emry strode toward us, hitching up his gun belt. He was thin
enough that it probably would slip right off him if he didn’t constantly hitch. He
sniffed. “Looks like I need to keep you, Ms. Holmes, and everyone in your bakery for
questioning.”

“What? I have work to do.”

“And we’ll let you do it, ma’am, but first we have to tape off the crime scene and
question the witnesses.”

I noted a rotund policeman unrolling crime scene tape from the corner of my building,
around the lamppost, across the front of the trough, then back to the other side of
my building, completely blocking off the bakery. “What’s he doing?” I asked, pointing
at the giant “crime scene.”

“As I said, ma’am, we need to process the area before it gets contaminated.”

“But no one can get into my bakery.”

“Looks like there are plenty of people inside now,” Barney’s voice broke. “Let’s go
inside, ladies. There’s nothing to see here.” He waved his thin arms and pushed us
back into the bakery.

Inside, it was warm and smelled of coffee and sweets. The radio was on and, over the
speakers, someone strummed a guitar and sang a lovely ballad about broken hearts.
Meanwhile, Officer Emry closed the front door and threw the lock.

“Hey, you can’t lock us all in here,” John complained. “I’ve got to get to work, and
I promised Sarah I’d bring her pastries.”

“We have to get to the hospital,” the nurses said in unison.

“I’m working in official press capacity.” Candy flashed her newspaper ID. “You need
to help these people out, Officer Emry, or there might be a nice sidebar on police
brutality in tonight’s paper.”

I did love Candy. She’d worked with Grandma Ruth for years and now was the lead reporter.
She knew how to manipulate things in a small town.

“All right, all right, calm down.” Officer Emry took a notebook from his coat pocket.
“I promise not to take too long. First off, I need a place to question each of you
individually.” He looked at me expectantly.

The man had just touched a dead person and had yet to wash his hands. There was no
way I was letting him into my kitchen. “You can take the small table in the corner.”
I motioned toward the corner farthest from the windows.

“Good, I’ll start with the first customer you had this morning.”

“That’s me.” John’s mouth went flat and turned down at the corners. The men moved
toward the table.

“Everyone, pour yourself some coffee and pick out a free roll.” I went behind the
counter and grabbed plates and tissue squares. After I got everyone settled with breakfast,
I studied the full display, dismayed that it might remain full.

A glance out the window showed someone had placed a tarp over the trough and the dead
guy; at least there were no longer arms and legs showing. The cops stood around waiting
for the coroner.

Another car pulled up nearby and Rocky Rhode stepped out with his giant digital camera.
He snapped a few pictures of the cops, the crime scene, and my storefront. Great,
another less-than-flattering photo of my business.
I stepped back from the window to ensure I wouldn’t show up in the shot.

“Did you get a look at the guy’s face?” Candy asked me, sipping her coffee and drawing
my attention back into the room.

“What? No.” I shook my head. “His cowboy hat covered his head. I thought he was blocking
out the sun.”

“Hey,” Officer Emry shouted. “No talking until you’re interviewed.”

I rolled my eyes at Candy. She grinned.

Outside, the crime lab guys showed up. They wore dark jackets with
CSU
on them in white letters. They took pictures and got out fingerprint dust and dusted
the trough and the bakery windows. I could have told them they were wasting their
time. I mean, it was pretty clear the guy had been spray painting. Why would he have
touched anything?

“You know, you’ll have to go down to the station and get fingerprinted,” Candy said
low, her eyes sparkling. Her golden-brown hair was the color of soft caramel. Her
heart-shaped face held fine features and a smattering of freckles across the nose.
A little shorter than me, Candy was thin but curvy and had married a doctor. They
had the perfect marriage and the perfect family of two kids, a boy and a girl. I would
have loved to hate her, but she was such a sweetheart she kind of deserved what she
had.

“Why would I need to do that?”

“They’ll need your fingerprints to determine which ones are yours and which ones belong
to the victim and the killer.”

“Fabulous,” I muttered. My prints would be on file for all the world to see. Now,
I know I sound paranoid, but if they took your fingerprints, wouldn’t they run all
future crimes against your prints? I mean, there’s something creepy about the idea
that you could be innocently opening a door to a bank one day and suspected of being
a robber the next. I shuddered and knew I had Grandma Ruth to thank for my morbid
imagination.

Speaking of which, a crowd had formed around the cops outside my bakery. Rocky continued
to eat up the photo opportunity and snapped shots right and left. Grandma Ruth was
front and center in her scooter. Her brown fedora smashed down wisps of orange-and-white
hair. She took careful notes of the action.

“Hey,” I said to Candy, “looks like you have competition.” I pointed to Grandma, who
was currently grilling a young kid in a cop uniform.

“She may have the outside scoop,” Candy winked, “but I have the insider info. Right?”

I did a quick head count of the crowd. There must be twenty people out there. It would
be great if I could get them in here to buy baked goods or a cup of coffee at the
least. I was certain the police wouldn’t mind. In a small town everyone knew everyone.
It might even be better to have a wall between the crowd and their crime scene. I
grabbed my cell phone off the counter and speed-dialed Grandma.

“Hey, kiddo, I’m kind of busy here,” Grandma Ruth said.

“I know, I can see. Listen, could you do me a favor?”

“Will it interfere with my story?”

“I don’t think it will,” I said.

“Then name it.”

“Could you mention to the crowd of lookie-loos that the view is better from inside
the bakery? It’s also warmer in here and there’s coffee and baked goods?”

“Oh, you’re inside?” Grandma scanned the windows. I waved when she spotted me. “Is
that Candy with you?”

“Yes, Candy got here when the police did.”

Candy gave Grandma a thumbs-up.

“Darn it,” Grandma muttered. “Okay. How do you plan on getting these folks inside?”

“Tell them to come around back. I’ll have the door open.”

“Will do, kiddo.” Grandma hung up and used her megaphone voice to announce the bakery
was open for anyone who wanted coffee and a better view. All they had to do was go
around to the back entrance.

People surged toward the alley. I felt success bloom in my heart. “Candy can you watch
the front for me while I open the back door?”

“Sure.” Candy settled in on the stool behind the counter. I rushed to the back and
opened the door, letting everyone in.

By the time Officer Emry got done with John, the bakery was standing room only. I
sold at least twenty coffees and several muffins and pastries.

“You shouldn’t have let these people in,” Officer Emry chided while I boxed up a baker’s
dozen apple cinnamon turnovers for John. “I’ve got no place quiet to question the
remaining witnesses.”

“This is a business,” I replied. “My bills don’t go away because you have to investigate
a crime scene.”

“Looks like my crime scene has brought you some good business. Sounds like motive
to me.”

I rolled my eyes for the second time that morning and handed John his change. “Thanks,
John. Tell Sarah hi for me. The door to the back is through here.” John made his way
through the kitchen. I turned my attention back to Officer Emry, who currently had
narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry. Listen, you can take the nurses into my office. It’s the small alcove
next to the back door.” I showed him the way. “Will this do?” I turned on the light
of what used to be a utility closet but now held a tiny desk, two chairs, and my computer.

“Fine. But don’t say anything about this morning until I talk to you,” Officer Emry
said. “Or I’ll have to cite you for obstructing justice.”

“No problem.” I closed the door on him and the first nurse, Judy, and smiled as Grandma
Ruth came through the back door on her scooter.

“How’s the coffee?” she asked as she scooted through the kitchen. “It’s cold out there,
and the cops are slow as molasses in January.”

“The coffee’s fresh, Grandma, come on in. Good luck getting a seat by the window.”

“No worries.” Grandma grinned. “One of the advantages of being old is you can push
your way through the crowd. If that doesn’t work, I’ll whack them with my cane.” She
pulled the cane out of the back of the scooter and waved it.

It was certainly going to be an interesting day.

CHAPTER
7

I
t seems death can be profitable.

I had nearly sold out by the time they hauled the body off to the medical examiner’s
office. But I had to close down when Officer Emry wanted to question me. Candy had
left to file her story, muttering how circulation was going to soar and that she deserved
a raise. Grandma had left to practice for her next Scrabble match and now there was
no one to watch the front.

Luckily, most people lost interest the moment the body was put in the black bag and
onto a gurney. Morbid, I know, but even I tried to get a look at the guy’s face. The
cops covered it so only they knew what he looked like and who he was.

“All right, Ms. Holmes.” Officer Emry cleared his throat. “Why don’t you start at
the beginning?”

I sat in my office chair, happy to be off my feet for a moment. Then my stomach started
to clench. Funny, but you wouldn’t think a person could be nervous if they innocently
spotted a dead body, but I was. “What beginning?” I asked. “Like I was born at Oiltop
Mercy or when I opened my shop door and noticed a drunk guy sleeping it off in the
horse trough?”

From his expression, Officer Emry was not amused. “Let’s begin with what time you
came to work this morning?”

“I got to work at four. I take Central and pull into the back-alley parking.” Interestingly
enough, for the first time, I really noticed my office was painted closet white and
with no windows. It looked a bit stark, and it smelled like a combination of pine
cleaner and printer toner.

“You didn’t see anything?” He wrote something in his notebook.

“I didn’t see anything.” I craned my neck to see if I could read his writing upside
down. He tipped the notebook up and raised an eyebrow at me, and I continued. “I’m
sure you know the streets are pretty much empty at four in the morning. You do patrol
at that time, right?”

“I’ve been known to take that shift.” His protruding Adam’s apple bobbed up and down.
“Then what happened?”

“I parked in the lot and didn’t hear anything. I mean, I’m a girl alone at four in
the morning, I listen.”

“You opened the back door . . .”

“I unlocked the back, turned on the kitchen lights and locked the door behind me.
The rest was the usual stuff.”

“Like what, exactly?”

I sighed. The metal office chair was not as comfortable as I remember. Maybe it was
my nerves getting to me or maybe I didn’t want everyone in town to know how boring
my life was. “I pulled out the dough I made the night before to get it warmed up.
Then I came in here, turned on my computer, and did about thirty minutes of paperwork.
Wait, I went out and made some coffee after I turned on my computer. Then I came back
and did paperwork and checked my online orders.”

“Let me see if I have this straight. You got here around four and were in your office
until four-thirty.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I worked in the kitchen from four-thirty until six. There’s actually
a schedule hanging up on the kitchen wall if you want to look at it.”

“A schedule?”

“Sure, I plan out what I’m making the night before based on Internet orders and sales.
Sometimes it changes if I get a rush online order but not this morning.”

“Sounds exceedingly organized.”

I narrowed my eyes and pursed my lips. Was he suspicious of my lists? Geez. “I not
only bake but run the front. I need to know exactly how much time I can devote to
each recipe.”

“And while you were back here, you didn’t hear a thing . . .”

I sent him a quick, closed-mouth smile. “I like to blast my music. It keeps me awake
and from worrying about being alone.”

“You Play loud music?”

“It’s not like I’m bothering the neighbors.”

“I see.” He wrote more things in his notepad. I tried not to roll my eyes. I hate
it when people judge me. In a small town, everyone judges you. It was one of the reasons
I had left. Right now I was having second thoughts about coming back.

He brought his gaze up. “Then what happened?”

“I filled the display case around five-thirty. Made fresh coffee around six forty-five,
and, at seven, I opened the shades, turned the sign around, and unlocked the front
door. That’s when I noticed the guy in the horse trough.”

“And all that time you heard nothing.”

I scrunched my forehead and frowned. “Wait, no, I did hear something. It had to have
been around five-thirty because I went out to get the display trays. I heard like
a thump or something.”

“A thump?” He sat up straighter.

“I don’t know . . . it was like something hit the store window. I looked out but didn’t
see anything. It was pretty dark. The streetlamps don’t exactly shine bright.”

“Did you call 911?”

My eyes widened for a second and I shrugged. “Why? It was only a thud. It certainly
didn’t sound like a gun going off or a car backfiring. It could have been anything.”

“What did you think it was?”

“I don’t know, that a bird or something hit the front window. Like I said, I looked
out and didn’t see anything. I went back to work.”

“Did you hear anything else?”

“Nothing. Seriously, I opened the front door and spotted the guy in the trough at
seven. I might have said something like, ‘Hey, get off the sculpture.’ But he didn’t
move. Then I noticed the paint can.”

“The paint can?”

“Yes, there was a can of spray paint on the ground next to the guy’s hand. That’s
when I noticed the paint on the front of my store.”

“How did that make you feel?” He looked down his long, thin nose at me.

“What are you, a therapist?”

“Answer the question.”

It was hard not to get snarky. Seriously, what did it matter how I felt? “I guess
I was mad someone would do that to my storefront.” He wrote my words down. My nerves
picked up. Did he think I had killed the guy over spray paint? Crazy, I lived in Chicago.
People tag stuff all the time. It’s expensive to clean up, but you don’t kill people
over it.

“Then what did you do?”

“I called 911 and reported the drunk guy with the spray can.” I took a deep breath
and let it out slow. “Sarah kept me on the line until you showed up.”

“Did you touch the DB?”

I sat up straight. “What’s a DB?”

Officer Emry frowned. “The dead body . . .” He waved his hand dismissing my ignorance.
“Did you touch it or anything near it?”

“No and no. I wasn’t about to confront a drunk all by myself. Like I said, as soon
as I saw the spray can I took a step back and called 911.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t know he was dead?” Officer Emry’s eyes gleamed. I bet
he was having fun with this.

“How could I know? This is Oiltop; people don’t die on Main Street.”

“Did you identify the body?”

A queasy feeling washed over me. There had been an actual dead person in front of
my store—as in smelly, squishy, creepy dead. “No, I didn’t see his face. The hat covered
his face. You saw that. In fact, I thought he had his head turned to the side, like
someone who sleeps on his stomach. Seriously, I figured he was a drunk sleeping off
his bender.”

Officer Emry stood and hitched up his gun belt. “We’ll need you to come down to the
station and let us take your fingerprints. It’s procedure.”

I rested my elbow on my desk and the side of my face in my hand and closed my eyes.
“Candy told me.”

“When can we expect you?” His tone was pushy—real pushy and grating on my last nerve.

“When my help gets here, after school.” His pause and narrow-eyed stare caused me
to be more precise. “I’ll be there at 3:30
P.M.
” I stood, pushed in my chair, and glanced at my watch. It was nearly noon. “When
will they take down the crime scene tape?”

“In a day or two.”

Really? They were going to block off the entrance to my bakery for a day or two? “Why
so long?”

Officer Emry stepped out into the kitchen. It smelled better here, like rising yeast
dough and sugar. “Depending on what the county ME finds, we may need to come back
and look for more evidence.”

“Like what kind of evidence?” I went over to the sink and washed my hands.

“Bullets and the like.”

“Bullets?” I leaned back against the deep stainless steel and felt the blood rush
from my head. “Are you telling me the guy was
shot
outside my bakery?” Thoughts of bullets flying through the windows and walls had
me shaking. I’d heard of plenty of innocent people shot in the safety of their own
living rooms. My gaze went to the front wall. The storefront was brick, but there
was no way of telling if it was decorative or real.

“I can’t say if the victim was shot or not.” Officer Emry shrugged. “But it’s a possibility.”

“A possibility? There was a possibility I could have been killed by a stray bullet
in my own shop in Nowhere, Kansas?” I grabbed a work stool and sat down, hoping the
action of drying my hands on a clean white towel would distract from my distress.
I guess it worked because Officer Emry didn’t seem to notice.

“Is there anyone who can verify you were inside the bakery all morning?”

My eyes widened. “Um, no. I told you, I work alone.” Just me and Bon Jovi. “Why does
it matter if I work alone or not?”

“The way I see it, Ms. Holmes, you’d better hope you don’t have a motive, because
your alibi is a bit thin.”

My right eye started to twitch as Officer Emry jangled his way toward the front door
of the bakery.

“You’d better lock this behind me,” he said. “If anyone comes through the taped off
area and goes through this door we might have to charge you with aidin’ and abettin’
the destruction of a crime scene.”

I got up and locked the door behind him. I almost stuck out my tongue at the skinny
runt of a man, but then I realized my mama was probably looking down at me from heaven
and would disapprove. I leaned my back against the glass door and stared at my empty
bakery. I wasn’t going to ask if the day could get any worse. That would be asking
for trouble, now wouldn’t it?