A Waffle Death, page 8
He’d never said much to her about it. She was an atheist, so why would he share those things? But Erin had heard him talk to others. She had gone to church with him once for a Christmas Eve service and had seen the look on his face when they talked about the Christmas story and faith and miracles.
Terry scowled. “This wasn’t a miracle. You didn’t pray to be guided to his body. Nothing… spiritual led you there.”
Of course he wouldn’t believe that. Even if he were an ardent churchgoer, he wouldn’t think that God could guide an unbeliever, would he?
“I can’t explain it to you,” Erin said finally, shaking her head. “You know me. You’re just going to have to trust me when I say I didn’t have anything to do with that body being dumped in Canyon Park.”
The look he gave her was not reassuring.
CHAPTER 14
Erin was studiously avoiding discussing anything that had happened the afternoon before as she and Vic worked together in the kitchen to prepare the day’s morning breads and muffins. Erin really didn’t want to spend any more time answering questions about the body that had now reappeared or how she had just happened to be the one to find it.
Instead, she was talking waffles.
“I have a few new recipes to try out. Some different flour combinations to see how they will hold up. I really think that the pumpkin spice idea is a good one. If I totally liquefy the pumpkin in a blender, it can act as most of the liquid for the waffles and shouldn’t make them too heavy. Maybe I’ll add a bit more baking soda or cream of tartar to make sure it has enough rise.”
“You always need a bit extra for gluten-free recipes anyway,” Vic agreed.
Erin smiled and nodded. Vic was picking up on some of the nuances of gluten-free baking. She wasn’t making any of her own recipes yet but, like all of the Auntie Clem’s employees, she made plenty of suggestions as to things they could make in the future, variations on favorites, and holiday or promotional treats that would keep people coming back again and again, interested in the variety rather than being bored with brown rice bread and chocolate chip cookies. Erin often discussed the possibilities with Vic, talking about what things she might have to tweak in a new variation to make it work. And Vic was clearly picking up on and remembering the details.
“You’re getting the hang of it,” she commented. “How you need to adjust for different flours and ingredients, I mean.”
“Well, not like you, but I’m getting more of the basics.”
“One day you’ll be coming up with new recipes all on your own.”
“As long as I document them.” Vic nodded to the recipe binder on the counter.
They couldn’t be casual about the recipes. They needed to replicate it exactly every time, and customers needed to know exactly what ingredients were in each baked good. Some people were only following a gluten-free diet and could have anything in the bakery, since no gluten-containing ingredients were allowed in the kitchen. And the majority of the bakery customers weren’t actually following a gluten-free diet. Because Erin’s was the only bakery in town, they chose to go there rather than to drive all the way into the city to get to a regular bakery or settle for the mass-produced loaves of bread and boxes of cookies at the grocery store.
But more often than not, those who had a problem with gluten also had other allergies or intolerances and needed to be very careful about what they ate. A single purchase could involve a careful review of half a dozen different recipes to find a product that was suitable.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be as good as you,” Vic said. “You really have a knack for it. And there aren’t a lot of people around who know how to bake for gluten-free diets like you can.”
Erin shrugged modestly, feeling a flush creep up her throat. “Not in a small town like this. I know Mrs. Foster did some gluten-free baking before I opened up Auntie Clem’s, for little Peter, but she must be so busy with all those kids. I don’t think she makes much anymore, and it was just the bare basics when she did.”
“Aunt Angela never got the hang of it,” Vic referred to Angela Plaint, who had died shortly after Erin had moved into town. “Even though she was a baker and ended up with a wheat allergy. She mostly just bought that awful stuff off the shelf.”
“Most of the commercial stuff isn’t that awful anymore,” Erin said generously. “You can hardly even tell that some of it is gluten-free.”
“Hmm. Not to hear Aunt Angela tell it. She was miserable when she started reacting to wheat.”
It had affected Angela’s living—being the owner of The Bake Shoppe at the time Erin moved into town—as well as her health and ability to enjoy the foods she loved, so Erin could understand it. She knew other people who had reacted that way. Who were so miserable eating a special diet that every meal was a chore and a cause for distress. It was no wonder Angela Plaint had been such a grouch, so miserable to everyone else around her.
Though from what Erin understood, Angela had always been a hard woman. Tough on her kids, maybe even abusive. She had been accepted into the church ladies’ group that met at Auntie Clem’s every Sunday after the Baptist services but, as Erin had discovered after Angela’s death, no one had really liked her. It was hard to embrace someone who was so prickly.
“There is Lacey,” Vic said, “Lacey Moore.”
Erin looked toward the door but didn’t see anyone waiting outside yet. “Lacey Moore?” Erin repeated.
“Not actually here. I just meant that she had a knack for special recipes, like you.”
“And who is Lacey Moore?” Erin knew she’d heard the name before but didn’t know where. One of the older ladies, she thought. Not a regular customer. Of course, if she were a good baker herself, there wouldn’t be any reason for her to patronize the bakery.
Vic raised her brows in surprise. “Bertie’s sister.”
“Bertie Braceling?”
Vic nodded as she started one of the big mixers running. “You know how challenging he was to cook for.”
“I didn’t even realize he had a sister.” Erin had been at Bertie’s funeral, but she couldn’t remember much about it. She had probably still been in shock at the time, after Davis Plaint had tried to run them down. But Bertie had pushed Erin away and he was the only one who had ended up being hit. Bertie had been coming to Auntie Clem’s in the weeks preceding his death. Erin wouldn’t have guessed that he had someone cooking for him at home. “Why did he come to the bakery if she cooked for him?”
“I don’t remember. Something was going on at the time. She had to go look after their ailing mother or something like that. She was away for a few months. Came back after Bertie and her mother died.”
“Oh, the poor woman. That’s too bad.”
“Yeah. I don’t imagine she has anyone to cook for now. No one who needs her special touch, anyway. She’s getting on in years, though, and probably isn’t sorry not to have to do that anymore.”
“It can be a big job, especially with someone like Bertie who had so many allergies. He wouldn’t be able to have anything packaged or off the shelf. Everything had to be made from scratch.”
“She must be in her eighties now. She’s probably happy for a break. Though… of course, she wouldn’t see it that way.” Vic gave a little grimace.
“I know.” Erin kept her eyes on the cupcake batter she was pouring rather than on the images that sprang into her head.
CHAPTER 15
The door burst open, sending the bells swinging and jingling madly. Melissa swept in like a tornado. Dark spirals of hair bounced around her face.
Erin pressed her hand to her heart. “You want to give us a heart attack? What’s going on out there? Are you being chased by a bear?”
Melissa laughed. “No… nothing like that. I was just… really eager to get here.”
The only time that Melissa was that eager to get in the door at Auntie Clem’s was when she had some bombshell news she wanted to share. She loved the drama and basked in everyone’s reactions to good, bad, or shocking news.
Since she worked part-time with the police department, the information she had to share was often not the kind of things she was supposed to be telling anyone, but some little tidbit she had learned of an investigation while she was filing reports, reading or perhaps overhearing something that was going on in the office.
“Well…” Erin pretended not to know that Melissa was only there because she wanted to burst whatever bombshell she had and watch the destruction. “What are you looking for today?” She looked down studiously at the contents of the display case, bringing up Melissa’s personal baked good preferences from her brain’s filing cabinet. “These double chocolate brownies have been very popular this week. Or maybe some salted caramel fudge?”
“Oooh.” Melissa was distracted at least momentarily from her news as she considered the possibilities. “Have you ever considered selling the two together in some kind of package? Or maybe adding a layer of salted caramel on top of the brownies?”
“Two very good ideas!” Erin approved. She would have to remember them the next time she was working on a new variation. “Would you like one of each, then?”
Melissa nodded, her lips slightly parted. At least she wasn’t actually drooling. Not down her chin, anyway.
“Anything else?” Erin raised her brows and looked over the rest. “Some crusty bread to have with soup for a simple lunch or dinner? Rosemary herb breadsticks?”
“Maybe half a dozen of the breadsticks,” Melissa decided. “Do you have garlic oil to go with them?”
“Of course.” Erin packaged up the breadsticks and added a small condiment container of garlic oil for dipping. “Just put them on parchment and heat them gently for a few minutes.”
Melissa knew that, of course. It wasn’t the first time she had purchased Erin’s breadsticks in one of their many variations. Maybe sun-dried tomato next time…
As Vic tapped the register’s keys, Melissa’s eyes slid back over to Erin.
“Did you hear,” she asked in a low, confidential tone, “that they have identified your dead body?”
Erin swallowed. This was not welcome news. She kept her face blank. “It’s not my dead body,” she pointed out.
“You’ve found him twice.” Melissa laughed, her generous mouth a wide grin showing off plenty of teeth, “I think that makes him yours.”
“I don’t have anything to do with him. That was just… a weird coincidence.”
“Mind your manners, Miss Melissa,” Vic warned. “You wouldn’t want to bite the hand that feeds you.” She passed Melissa her bag of baking, raising her brows significantly at the word “feeds.”
Melissa laughed again, but more repressed this time.
“Well, whether you want to call him yours or not, we have a name for him now.”
Erin nodded and didn’t ask the obvious question.
“Well?” Vic took up the opportunity instead. “What is it? He was an out-of-towner, right?”
“His name is Brandon Quayle. And he is from Maine.” Melissa looked at Erin expectantly.
Vic’s eyes turned to Erin as well, surprised by this news.
“Huh.” Erin shrugged. “Do they know anything else about him?”
“He’s from Maine,” Melissa repeated.
“Yes… do you know everyone who lives in Tennessee?”
“No,” Melissa laughed. “Of course not. But Maine is much smaller.”
“Well then… do you know everyone who lives in Bald Eagle Falls? Would you know everyone’s names? Anything about them?”
Melissa frowned. “No. But I thought… since he came to Bald Eagle Falls from Maine, and you came to Bald Eagle Falls from Maine, that you probably knew each other. We don’t get a lot of people here from New England. Maybe you were brought here by the same thing.”
“He was brought here by his aunt leaving him a bakery or storefront?” Erin asked dryly. “I’m sure there are other people in town who come from Maine or New England. It’s just a coincidence.”
“That you kept finding him and he was from Maine?” Melissa looked doubtful. She had obviously been expecting Erin to immediately volunteer that she knew the man and was disappointed by the lack of response.
Erin looked from Melissa to Vic and back at Melissa again, waiting for her to recognize that it was time to leave. She had purchased her baked goods, dropped her bomb, and there was nothing else for her to do.
The silence drew out awkwardly. Erin could have made things easier on Melissa by asking her how she was doing now that she was married. If she had been happy with the way the wedding and reception went, if Davis was happy, if she felt any different being married instead of single—which Erin thought was unlikely since none of their living arrangements had changed. Davis remained in the penitentiary; it wasn’t like he was going to move in with Melissa any time soon. Or within the next decade or two.
But she didn’t want to make things easier on Melissa or help her to make a graceful exit. She just wanted Melissa to leave.
“Well… thank you for these,” Melissa said, holding up her shopping bag. “I’m really looking forward to dinner tonight.”
“Enjoy.” Erin gave her a genuine smile. She was happy to see a customer enjoying her wares.
Vic gave a little wave, and Melissa left the bakery, the bells jangling more sedately as she left than they had upon her arrival.
Vic glanced toward Erin after Melissa was gone. “You don’t think there’s anything significant about him being from Maine? You don’t think it’s anyone you know… or who knows you?”
“That man and his death have nothing to do with me,” Erin said firmly. “It doesn’t matter how many points of similarity you find between us or how many lines you draw connecting us, his death didn’t have anything to do with me. I wish everyone would just drop it.” She tried not to think about the man in the bookstore basement or let the memory of his face and the knife seep back into her thoughts.
Vic pressed her lips together and nodded.
“Sorry. I wasn’t thinking about how annoying it probably is for everyone to be asking you about him like you should know him. I know you didn’t have anything to do with his death. I saw you when you came back here to report it. You were as white as a ghost.”
Erin gave a small smile. “Thanks. I really just want to put this behind me. But…” She looked toward the door, “I know that’s not going to happen now. If they know that he was from Maine, then it’s just a matter of time before they come to ask me more questions.”
CHAPTER 16
As Erin had expected, it was not long before the police department wanted to speak to her about her possible connection with Brandon Quayle. Sheriff Wilmot wanted her to come in but, when she arrived, it was not Wilmot who was waiting to interview her, but Rod Stayner.
Erin had never been particularly comfortable around Stayner. Her first few experiences with him had not been positive, and she knew that had colored her opinions of him. She was sure he was a fine law enforcement officer and was well-trained and had what it would take to be great at what he did one day. But from the beginning, she had seen only his flaws.
He covered up his shortcomings with a bold, brash attitude that said he couldn’t do anything wrong, and anyone who suggested it didn’t know what they were talking about. If he missed taking fingerprints, touched something before it had been processed for evidence, or made a wrong assumption, that wasn’t his fault and he wasn’t responsible for the consequences. He made sexist or racist comments without any indication that he understood it was wrong and could hurt someone.
On the other hand, she knew that he did show some compassion toward crime victims, and still treated Erin with respect although she had been a suspect in the past.
But now she was facing him again. He had grown and matured since his first arrival in Bald Eagle Falls to cover Terry’s position while he was recovering from an assault. He was no longer brand new. His overconfidence had been replaced with real knowledge and experience, and he would probably be more insufferable than ever—a bully with experience and training in how to intimidate and interrogate.
“Uh, I thought I was supposed to talk to Sheriff Wilmot,” Erin told him. “I think I’ll just wait for him.”
“No, you’re here to talk to me,” Stayner told her firmly. “Just come in here and have a seat, and we’ll have a little chat.”
Erin shook her head again. “Maybe Terry, then, if the sheriff isn’t free.”
“Miss Price. You’re here to talk to me, and I’m the one you are going to talk to. Please come in and don’t waste my time.”
His square jaw clenched. He apparently did not appreciate her attempts to get out of the interview or to see someone else in his place. Now she had insulted him or hurt his feelings, but hadn’t gotten out of talking with him, so he would hold that against her.
Erin reluctantly followed Stayner into the interview room, her stomach tied in knots. She knew that she could refuse and go home. She wasn’t under arrest and if she didn’t want to talk to him, she didn’t have to. But she didn’t want to look guilty and didn’t want them to think they had to investigate her further because she was trying to hide something. She wanted them to be satisfied that there was nothing in the coincidence that both she and Brandon Quayle came from Maine. It was not that big of a deal. There could be hundreds of people in Bald Eagle Falls who had come from Maine. Or dozens, anyway.
“Thank you for coming in,” Stayner said formally as he sat down across from Erin. He turned on a digital recorder on the table and dictated the date, time, and persons present. Erin looked at the security camera in the corner of the ceiling and wondered whether Terry was watching on his computer or in another room with a monitor in it.
