And Then There Were Crumbs--A Cookie House Mystery Page 4

  As far as they were concerned, she’d probably fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing. And poor Oliver was just barking to be let into the bakery.

  Hepplewhite walked Officer Hardy to the curb. She also noticed that he’d sent the policeman off with a box of sour cream and chive biscuits.

  “Too late to bother with sleep now,” he said when he reappeared in the kitchen. “Might as well start the morning’s baking. Why don’t you go upstairs and get some rest?”

  No one had to ask her twice. Suddenly Kate was exhausted. And with Hepplewhite ensconced in the kitchen, she felt safe.

  Upstairs, Kate opened the storeroom door and found Oliver.

  Stretched out on the floor, with his head on her duffel bag, he looked at her through half-closed eyes and wagged his tail.

  “Oh, you are a good boy,” she said, patting his soft flank. “Such a good boy.”

  She noticed that his paws were too big for his body. “You’re still growing, aren’t you? You’re just a puppy. A very big, very good puppy.”

  Ginger snaps.

  Kate blinked. Oliver sighed deeply.

  “If I had any ginger snaps, I would give them all to you,” she said softly, stroking his downy head.

  “Tell you what,” Kate said after a few minutes. “There may not be any cookies here now, but I’m gonna fix that—soon. For now, there’s some deviled ham in the pantry. I know it’s not sirloin steak—or ginger snaps. But I bet it would taste pretty good.”

  Oliver’s cream-colored tail stroked the floor rhythmically.

  Kate hustled down the stairs and hit the pantry for one of the tins. Then she snagged a paper plate and a small glass bowl. The pup was bound to be thirsty.

  She nearly collided with Hepplewhite coming through the kitchen.

  “I’m grabbing a few things—for a snack,” Kate said, feeling instantly guilty.

  “Just keep the dog out of the kitchen. Don’t need the health department causing a fuss,” he said.

  “Thank you, Mr. Hepplewhite. I appreciate it. But you need to know. There really was someone in here tonight. Not kids. A man. He picked the lock on the back door, came through the kitchen, and then went into the shop.”

  Hepplewhite glanced over at Kate as he floured the counter with a practiced hand. “Yup. Figured as much. Kyle Hardy’s a nice kid. I know his folks. Good people.”

  The baker shook his head. “But that boy’s not gonna make detective anytime soon.”

  Chapter 6

  When Kate opened her eyes, sunlight was streaming through the windows.

  For a split second, she was disoriented, half-expecting to be in her room at Paradise Cove. Or her apartment in Manhattan.

  Oliver, bright eyed, looked at her expectantly. And last night came flooding back.

  The storeroom. The break-in. The police.

  She checked her watch: 7:05 a.m.

  She’d overslept!

  The pup gave out a little whine, and Kate realized he needed to go out.

  “You good boy. Oh, you’ve been so patient, haven’t you?”

  The tail wagged twice rapidly. Definitely a yes.

  “The one good thing about sleeping in your clothes,” Kate told Oliver as she pulled a brush through her caramel-colored hair, “is that you wake up fully dressed.”

  She fished through her purse and grabbed her sunglasses. “C’mon, sweet pea, let’s get you outside for a nice break.”

  Oliver raced downstairs. The minute Kate opened the back door, he shot outside. She left it ajar, hoping he’d return, and jogged back upstairs to get ready for work.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, brushed and washed, wearing a fresh pair of jeans, a simple white T-shirt, and her favorite white Keds, Kate galloped downstairs and into the kitchen.

  As commutes go, she had to admit, this was pretty sweet.

  Hepplewhite was heading into the shop with a tray of warm bread. The Cookie House, she noticed, was already open for business.

  “Coffee’s on the counter in the kitchen,” Hepplewhite called over his shoulder. “Some rolls, too.”

  The entire place smelled like baking bread. And Kate realized she was ravenous.

  Next to the coffeepot, Hepplewhite had put out a spread—with a glass mug and dessert plate, a carton of creamer, a jar of orange marmalade, butter, and a platter of popovers still warm from the oven.

  After two mugs of strong coffee and three popovers slathered with butter and marmalade, Kate felt like she was ready for anything.

  “Left a clean apron on the counter,” Hepplewhite said as he reloaded a tray with corn muffins. “Soiled ones in the pantry hamper. Clean ones on the shelf.”

  She found it. Neatly folded on the counter next to the coffeemaker. With wide navy and white vertical stripes, it reminded her of one she’d seen in a French patisserie. She looped it over her neck and tied it in the back with a neat bow. And felt strangely exhilarated.

  Brand-new life in Coral Cay: Day One.

  For the next few hours, the customers came in a steady stream. Most were locals. Moms running errands. Folks on their way to work. Teens looking for some carbs before they hit the beach.

  And they were all as curious about Kate as she was about them. More even.

  Seems word had gotten out that Sam Hepplewhite finally hired someone. And that she was living above the store.

  For her part, Kate suspected that while Kyle Hardy might not be much of a sleuth, he was a first-rate gossip.

  Oliver had vanished again. “Probably home,” Kate reasoned.

  Wherever home was. But a dog that smart and sweet? Someone must love him.

  After last night, she was also on the lookout for Ball Cap Man. But he was MIA.

  Sight-seeing with the wife? Or finally giving up after almost getting caught?

  Through it all, Hepplewhite kept baking while Kate manned the counter. At one point, when the shop was empty, she saw him grab a liquor bottle under the cash register and carry it into the kitchen.

  “Flavoring,” he said by way of explanation.

  Later, when Kate smelled cinnamon and sugar, she couldn’t contain her curiosity. With her empty coffee mug as a prop, she hustled into the kitchen in time to see Hepplewhite take a batch of sandwich bread out of the oven. Along with a pan of cinnamon rolls.

  “My snack,” he announced bluntly as she refilled her mug. “Not for the store.”

  Eyeing the rum bottle on the counter, Kate wondered what, exactly, he’d use to wash them down.

  * * *

  Just as the morning rush had tapered off, Kate grabbed a clean towel and started wiping down the counters. She glanced out the front windows in time to catch a long black limousine gliding to a stop in front of the Cookie House. A driver in a black suit and cap hopped out, ran to the car’s side door, and threw it open.

  Kate knew that the area was catnip to the very wealthy, as well as more than a few celebs. But in laid-back Coral Cay, most of them at least attempted to keep a low profile. And downplay their net worth.

  Not this one.

  Fascinated, she watched as a well-dressed man exited the limo. Short and squat, with high cheekbones and a tan, he looked like a businessman or senator straight out of central casting. Complete with a full head of expertly barbered gray hair.

  The cut of his blue blazer screamed “money.” As did the blue-and-white-striped Turnbull & Asser–style shirt paired with a lavender silk tie. When he shook his finger in the driver’s face, Kate caught the glint of gold on his white cuffs.

  Her ex-mother-in-law-to-be, who hailed from money fresh off the Mayflower, would have dismissed him with one acid-drenched word: “arriviste.”

  When the driver opened the shop door his passenger marched in like he owned the place.

  The man sized up Kate with a smirk. “And here I thought old Hepplewhite didn’t fancy sweets,” he said loudly, with a British accent that betrayed his East End origins. “I don’t suppose you know what a crumpet is?” />
  “It’s similar to what we Yanks call an English muffin,” Kate replied pleasantly, smoothing her apron. “While we don’t currently have any, the popovers are delicious.”

  “If I’d known you were here, I’d have popped over a lot sooner,” he said, leering. “I’m Stewart Lord. I’m going to be your new boss.”

  Hepplewhite burst through the swinging doors with a pan of iced cinnamon rolls in one hand and a spoon dripping white icing in the other. “You can take your break now,” he said quietly to Kate, setting both pan and spoon on a low caddy against the wall.

  She was all too happy to flee. Something about Stewart Lord gave her the creeps.

  “Well, well, Sam, got some pretty new help, I see,” the man jibed. “But you’re only delaying the inevitable. And at your age, you shouldn’t have to work. Just think, if you accept my generous offer for this shop, you can spend all your time on the beach. With that … metal detector you love so much. Yo-ho-ho and all that.”

  Kate couldn’t resist eavesdropping from the kitchen. Angling herself the right way, she discovered she also had a line of sight on part of the shop.

  “What do you want, Lord?” Hepplewhite asked tersely.

  “Oh, let’s see,” the businessman said, pacing in front of the case. “Hmmm, are those cinnamon rolls I see? I heard you didn’t sell pastries. Y’know they look just like the ones my gran used to bake. And I haven’t had any really good ones since she died. Of course, Gran never allowed dogs in her kitchen. I certainly hope the Board of Health doesn’t hear about that. Lovely people, they are. I snap my fingers and they come running.”

  Stewart Lord leaned in and lowered his voice to a ragged whisper. “You should take my deal before I drop the price.”

  “This is a bakery, Lord. Order something or get out.”

  “Is that any way to treat a paying customer?” he said genially, as if he was playing to an invisible audience. “If my employees did that, I’d fire them on the spot. Of course, I know what it is to run a corporation. I hire and fire legions. And you just have the one employee. So is that charming girl really your ‘niece’? That’s the story that’s going around town, you know. Of course, I wouldn’t doubt it for a minute. I’ll bet those buns are a special treat just for her. They smell delicious.”

  Hepplewhite pulled a flattened white box from under the counter and neatly assembled it. Then he grabbed a knife, loosened the cinnamon rolls from the tray, and lifted them into the box. He closed the lid and handed it across the counter to Lord.

  “Time for you to leave,” Hepplewhite said quietly. “Now.”

  Kate noticed the baker never put down the knife.

  “Luckily for you, my time really is money,” Lord said, flashing his gold Patek Philippe. He opened the bakery box, pinched off a roll, and downed it in two oversized bites.

  It’s like watching a cobra swallow a rat, Kate thought as she peered in from the kitchen.

  “Ah, good stuff!” Lord said, licking his fat fingers. “See you soon. And thanks for breakfast.”

  * * *

  The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful.

  But after the break-in and Stewart Lord, a brass band marching through the bakery would be positively soothing, Kate thought lightly. New York’s got nothing on this place.

  Carl Ivers, an ex-cop who ran the hardware store, showed up to install a dead bolt on the back door. “Can’t say for certain this one’s been picked, but from the scratches I’m seeing, that’d be my guess,” he pronounced. “Want me to give any of these parts to Kyle?”

  “Wouldn’t do any good,” Hepplewhite said.

  “Yeah, ’fraid you’re right about that,” Carl agreed. “But I might hang on to ’em, just in case. In the meantime, this is the dead bolt I have on my own home,” he said, holding up a brushed-silver model.

  “That’ll be fine,” Hepplewhite said.

  When Carl finished, he presented Kate with a new key on a shiny chrome key ring. “Welcome to Coral Cay. And don’t let what happened last night give you the wrong idea,” he said, dropping his voice. “Truth is, crime is rare here. Very rare. That was one of the reasons my wife and I moved the family here from Atlanta. Well, that and the beach.”

  “You like it?” Kate asked as she centered herself and mentally focused on the ex-cop.

  Snickerdoodles.

  “Love it,” Carl said, oblivious. “Love. It. Can’t buy a decent piece of sweet potato pie, but other than that, it is heaven. Especially for an old cop like me.”

  Sam finished the baking a little before noon and announced he had to run a few errands and would bring them lunch from the deli down the street. Since the rum bottle had moved from the kitchen counter to the trash bin out back, Kate suspected one of his first stops might be a liquor store.

  But, she had to admit, Hepplewhite always seemed perfectly sober. And she never smelled a drop on him.

  Maybe it was just “flavoring” after all?

  After he left, Kate heard a police siren. Followed by what sounded like a fleet of emergency vehicles.

  She was filling an order for Amos Tully, who ran the corner market, when Justin came running into the store. Still wearing board shorts—this time in orange—the surfer looked shaken.

  “Oh my God, did you hear?” he said, eyes wide.

  “What happened?” Tully asked, taking a bakery bag from Kate and handing her a twenty-dollar bill in return.

  “It’s Stewart Lord. The guy just had a heart attack in the back of his limo. He’s dead!”

  Chapter 7

  That night, Kate turned in early. If Ball Cap Man tried to break in again, he was in for a surprise. Thanks to Carl Ivers, that back door was beefed up with a dead bolt.

  And, for the first time in her life, Kate owned a landline phone. A fire-engine-red slimline that magically appeared on a shelf in her storeroom-slash-bedroom.

  One of Hepplewhite’s “errands.”

  And the light in the closet worked, too. Now that someone had installed a pink bulb in the socket.

  Still, she slept fitfully. And it wasn’t the cot.

  When Hepplewhite showed up in the bakery again at 2:00 a.m.—whistling loudly, slamming cupboard doors, and banging pans—Kate finally relaxed.

  The next morning, armed with her own key and a workday that didn’t begin until noon, she vowed to get out and explore Coral Cay. She made it as far as next door when she spied Oliver.

  Maxi was planting some kind of bush out front, and Oliver was, literally, running circles around her.

  “Did he at least help you dig the hole?” Kate called from the curb.

  “He’s super good at digging,” she said, laughing. “He’s not so good at stopping.”

  Oliver bounded over to Kate, raced around her several times, then planted his front paws, ducking his head, and wagging his tail. Clearly, a game. Even if the clueless humans didn’t know how to play.

  Maxi tenderly patted the ground under the bush, then leaned back and peeled off her garden gloves. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee. And it’s nice and cool on the porch. Wanna join me?”

  The front yard of Flowers Maximus was a marvel. Kate had never seen most of the colorful flowers that filled the wide beds ringing the shop.

  But some blooms she recognized. Like the purple bougainvillea overflowing from hanging baskets that rimmed the porch. And the two lemon trees, thriving in oversized clay planters on either side of the door.

  Kate was mesmerized. It smelled like a tropical paradise.

  Oliver ignored all of it, in favor of the yellow water bowl on the far end of the porch. And the pup splashed almost as much as he drank.

  “This is incredible,” she said when Maxi reappeared with a tray. “It’s like an explosion of color. How do you do it?”

  “Time and patience,” Maxi replied with a smile, setting the tray on a table between two wicker rockers. “And the weather doesn’t hurt. It’s warm and humid—like a jungle. The challenge is to ke
ep them from taking over.”

  Oliver trotted over, spun around a few times, and stretched out next to the table between them, looking up hopefully. Kate guessed she wasn’t the only one who smelled the platter of lemon cookies on the tray.

  Kate helped herself to a cookie and nibbled thoughtfully. “Wow, these are wonderful,” she said, savoring the lemony flavor, sharp and sweet at the same time.

  Maxi beamed. “My abuela’s secret recipe. So ‘secret’ that she only shared it with anyone who asked her for it.”

  “If you ever give up gardening, you could give the Girl Scouts a run for their money.”

  “The garden is what makes them good,” Maxi confessed. “The lemon syrup comes from these two trees,” she said, pointing to the container pots. “Last year’s harvest. Along with some herbs from my garden.”

  “Too bad Mr. Hepplewhite won’t sell cookies in the bakery,” Kate said, taking two more from the tray and slipping one to Oliver. “These are amazing.”

  “Gracias,” she said, smiling widely. “Coming from you, that’s a very big compliment. So you’re from New York? What made you decide to come to Coral Cay?”

  “I got voted off the island,” Kate deadpanned. “Unfortunately, the island was Manhattan.”

  Maxi giggled.

  “The restaurant I was working for folded. Turns out the owner had been embezzling. My apartment building went condo. And I called off my wedding.”

  “Sounds like a rough year,” Maxi said.

  “All in the same day,” Kate said sheepishly.

  “No!”

  “A month before the wedding,” Kate said, grinning.

  “¡Arroz con mango!” Maxi said, her black eyes wide.

  “Exactly. So I decided, what the heck—time for a change.”

  “That is super gutsy.”

  “Or super stupid. Jury’s still out on that one. So tell me, what should I know about Coral Cay?”

  “Ay, where to start. Right now the big news in town is Stewart Lord. I saw his limo in front of the bakery yesterday. You met him, right?”