Chapter 8
“They’re a rotten crowd … You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.”
—Nick Carraway in F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby
After the evidence team arrived, followed by the coroner, who officially declared Jason dead from a stab wound, and after Zach asked me each question two more times to see if I would change my answers—I did not—he released me on my own recognizance, adding I was a person of interest and not to leave town.
As if.
On the drive home I went over every detail of the crime scene.
Had the killer staged the clues? Had he or she tossed my earring under the furniture to make Zach think Jason and I struggled, and I killed him?
Why frame me? I’d just met him. My motive to want him dead was weak at best. Big deal if I didn’t want him building on the historic properties.
I had no say. All I could do was carp about it.
Way past midnight, I carried Darcy into the house and released him from his carrier. Despite his bandaged paw, he scampered toward the fireplace, but I intervened. “No, sir.” I scooped him into my arms. “You may not play here until I’ve made it cat friendly. For now, it’s bedtime.”
My gaze landed on the collection of spearpoints hanging on a plaque to the right of the fireplace. I teetered. There had been five. Now I counted four. One was, indeed, missing.
No, no, no.
Resigned, I immediately dialed Zach. While I waited for him to show up, I inspected the front door lock. It didn’t look like someone had tampered with it. How had the thief gotten in?
Zach arrived within thirty minutes, leaving Bates to manage the evidence team at the Sugarbaker estate.
I showed him inside, relocked the door, and ushered him into the living room. “I’m not sure when it went missing. It’s not something I look at every day. It could’ve vanished months ago.”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and snapped pictures. Darcy butted his leg. Zach bent to pet the cat’s head and said, “Sorry, pal. I’m busy.”
Darcy retreated to the belly of the llama cat-scratching station, probably hoping I wouldn’t notice he’d already stripped the bandage off his paw, the sneaky Pete.
The vet had said he might do it and not to worry.
Infection was her main concern. As long as I inspected and reinspected the toenail and determined it was healing, I could let him be.
“The plaque isn’t dusty,” Zach noted.
“The housekeeper comes every other week, on Fridays.”
“She could pinpoint when it disappeared.”
“I suppose.” She wouldn’t have taken it.
She was sweet and kind and devoted to all her clients.
“I also had a handyman fix the shutters and a few loose cabinet doors in the kitchen, but he’s as honest as the day is long.
I’m sure he didn’t swipe it.” I fought back an edgy yawn.
“While I was waiting for you to arrive, I checked my front door lock. It doesn’t look like it was jimmied. ”
“Do you keep a spare key outside, like in a fake rock?”
“No. I have one in my van.”
“Do you secure it?”
“Yes. I have a ton of paraphernalia in there.”
He examined the plaque again. “You hosted a neighborhood watch party a few weeks ago.”
“I did. I also held a book club when the bookshop was dealing with a leak in the plumbing, and I invited a few friends for a wine tasting.”
“Okay.” He heaved a sigh, rubbed the back of his neck, and headed for the door.
I followed and startled when he swiveled abruptly. I almost bumped into him but didn’t move away.
“Allie …” He held my gaze for a long time, but he didn’t continue, in the same way he’d faltered after our poker game. What did he want to say? Why couldn’t he spit it out?
I murmured, “Please find the killer.”
He promised he would and left.
Though it was late, after I washed my face and changed into pajamas, I texted Tegan about the situation.
Jason, dead. Me, a person of interest. The spearpoint missing from my living room.
She didn’t reply, which probably meant she and Chloe were still at Chloe’s theater audition.
A month ago Lillian had confided that they often ran late, because the director was a stickler for reading each actor multiple times.
Relieved that Zach hadn’t arrested me, I crawled under the comforter and nestled into a ball. Darcy liked to sleep on the pillow to my right. He paced in a circle to get comfortable and regarded me with soulful eyes.
“Yes, it’s a good thing Zach doesn’t think I’m guilty.
” Sure, clues pointed to me, and my being on the premises when Jason died made me look culpable, but I wasn’t, and Zach had to know in his heart of hearts that was the case.
I peeked at Darcy’s toenail. He withdrew his paw quickly, but from the brief appraisal, I didn’t think it was infected.
I tapped his nose. “I’m checking again in the morning. ”
He meowed.
When the alarm on the cell phone rang at five a.m., cobwebs were fogging my brain.
Even so, I clambered out of bed. I had a lot of baking orders to fill and deliveries to be made.
Darcy didn’t budge, but I couldn’t leave him home, where he might further injure himself, so I dressed in work clothes, packed him a breakfast, deposited him in the cat carrier, and took him with me.
On my way out the door, I peered at the fireplace, searching for what Darcy might have snagged his toenail on. I didn’t see a thing.
“Figure it out later, Allie,” I murmured.
My gaze fell on the plaque with four, not five, spearpoints.
Though I got nauseous thinking about the possibility that a killer had stolen one of them to use as a murder weapon, I texted my housekeeper and asked if she could remember the last time she’d seen the spearpoint in question.
She responded in an instant that she’d dusted the plaque Friday morning and all of them were accounted for, meaning whoever had swiped it must have done so between then and now.
Minutes after I entered Dream Cuisine, I heard a fist pounding the front door.
“Allie!” Tegan bellowed. “Open up.”
I did. “It’s early. What’re you doing awake?”
“What am I …” She barged past me and stopped by the prep counter. “Why didn’t you call me? How could you text me?”
“I thought you might still be at Chloe’s audition.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered. Honestly, you’re a goon sometimes. I would’ve come over in a flash. As it was, Chloe and I left the theater around eleven and went to her place to rehash her audition until around two, and I didn’t see the message until I left her house.” She yawned.
“Why didn’t you call me then?”
“I didn’t want to wake you.” Though it wasn’t cold out, she was bundled in a bulky sweater and pajama bottoms adorned with bunnies. I recollected numerous sleepovers as girls where she’d worn equally ridiculous ensembles.
“Nice of you to dress up,” I gibed.
“Give it a rest. I’ll go home and change before heading to the bookshop. Back to you. Is Zach nuts? It’s ridiculous for him to think you could be a killer.”
“As ridiculous as when he thought you were?”
“I’ve had nefarious thoughts from time to time. You? Never.”
“Oh, yes, I have.” My desire to eighty-six my ex-fiancé had been so powerful I’d seen a psychologist to work through the anger. I still touched base with her every few months. Heaven forbid I reveal that tidbit to my parents. They were dead set against anybody picking apart another person’s brain.
Tegan grasped me in a bear hug and released me. “Tell me everything.”
“As I bake.”
I referred to the flowchart on the wall and awakened the laptop computer on the desk—the business one.
I had a personal one at home. I reviewed the orders I’d jotted on my Notes app.
“Big Mama’s needs lemon muffins.” I opened the recipe I’d stored in a Word file as I recited the other orders.
“Milky Way wants four dozen oversized chocolate crinkle cookies. Legal Eagles is expecting a vanilla cake with coconut frosting for the receptionist’s birthday. Jukebox Joint wants scones.”
I paused. I hoped Zach’s mother wouldn’t press me for information when I showed up.
We weren’t well acquainted. I’d been supplying scones for only a month.
I pushed the thought aside and reviewed the order chart.
“And I’m going to make a dozen poppy-seed muffins for Patrick and his crew.
” Ragamuffin wouldn’t suffer if Patrick didn’t purchase muffins from them.
They sold out daily. “He’s starting the renovation at your mom’s B&B today. ”
“Helga won’t be happy about you popping in with goodies.”
“She’ll be fine. In fact, she’ll be over the moon. She’d begrudge having to provide sustenance for the workers.” Helga was devoted to Noeline and wouldn’t dare cut into her bottom line to give treats to the workmen. Let them feed themselves, I could hear her say.
I donned an apron and reminded myself to breathe. I had plenty of time. I didn’t need to start deliveries until at least nine a.m.
The rear door opened, and Vanna hurried in, appropriately attired for baking. No high heels, her hair swept into a chef’s cap. “What are you doing here, Tegan?”
“Good morning to you, too, Sis,” Tegan replied.
“You’re never up before eight.”
“Allie texted me.”
“Allie”—Vanna addressed me, dismissing her sister—“I had a dream to beat all dreams and came up with so many ideas about how to expand the business.” She flung her purse on the desk.
“I was thinking we could deliver flyers to every refined business in town. You know, lawyers, accountants, and the like.” She slipped on an apron and viewed the recipes I’d pulled up on the computer. “Want me to make the cake?”
“Yes.”
She placed a mixing bowl on the prep counter. “We can also reach out to nearby communities, like Black Mountain, Swannanoa, Leicester, and Woodfin. Think of all the inns and B&Bs we could approach. Oh, and art galleries. There are so many. They’re always having gatherings.”