Gluten for Punishment (13 page)

CHAPTER
15

G
randma Ruth was in my kitchen when I got up the next morning. She sipped espresso
and snagged two cookies out of the cookie jar on the counter. It was day three of
having a drive-to-work babysitter, and after last night’s encounter with Craig, I
wasn’t in the best of moods. It didn’t help that the blinking answering machine now
had twenty messages on it.

“I don’t need you to come to work with me, Grandma,” I stressed as I worked the machine
and made my own espresso. Then I dumped the thick brew into a large cup and added
steamed milk until the lovely smell filled the air.

“I’m not here to be your bodyguard, kiddo,” Grandma said. She sipped her coffee and
then licked her index finger and swiped up the cookie crumbs from off her bosom. “I
have news.”

“What’d you find out?” I leaned against the counter. While I wore my usual white shirt,
black slacks, thick socks, and black walker shoes, Grandma wore men’s brown corduroy
slacks, a maroon butterfly-patterned waffle weave undershirt, and a flannel lumberjack
shirt. She wore a thick denim rancher’s jacket over that.

With the right hat, you wouldn’t be able to tell what gender she was. Grandma liked
that.

“I spent the day in the public records department at the county courthouse.” Grandma
loved public records and, more important, she loved research. “Seems George Meister
inherited his father’s farm a few years back. Did you know ever since he took it over,
the place has been leaking money like a sieve? He asked for an extension on his property
taxes three times last year. I talked to Roger Payne at the county extension office.
Turns out George had taken a risk on a new genetically modified wheat seed.”

“What happened?”

“Last year, we had a rainy spring and a very dry summer. The wheat rose quickly then
got spindly and died off from the lack of water. George had to till under more than
half his crop.” Grandma’s blue eyes sparkled. She loved a good disaster story.

“What was the seed supposed to do? I mean, why gamble if there wasn’t the promise
of a big payoff?” I took a sip of my latte and let the caffeine go to work on my brain.

“The seed was supposed to withstand drought, but the rainy spring ruined it.” Grandma
shook her head. “The good news is he wasn’t the only farmer trying the seed and a
lot of people lost their crops.”

“How’s the fact that people lost their crops good news?” It might be early but even
my sleep-addled brain didn’t like the idea of farmers losing crops.

“Those with traditional wheat got more per acre for their harvest. George tried to
sue the seed company, but a judge dismissed the case as frivolous and ordered George
to pay for the company’s lawyer fees. Mr. Meister filed for bankruptcy two weeks ago.”

I leaned against my counter and digested the news. “No wonder he was mad. It really
had nothing to do with me or my bakery.” I grabbed up my keys and my leather bag.
“Are you coming?”

“Since I’m here.” Grandma shrugged and hauled herself out the door after me. She stopped
at the top of the steps and lit up a cigarette. “I heard you didn’t have any luck
interviewing the business owners on your block.”

“Well, yes and no.” I blew out a breath. It steamed out in the early morning air.
There was frost on the ground for the first time. Fall was well and truly here.

“Okay, spill.”

I tried to form my thoughts as the sound of my footsteps on the bricks echoed through
the cold air. I opened the back of the van, let down the ramp, and drove Grandma’s
scooter inside. “I learned that most of the businesses open at ten,” I informed her.
“Only my bakery and the pharmacy open early. Craig and Ralph were in the pharmacy
working on the books and the Halloween displays but they didn’t hear or see anything.”

“So we’re mostly clueless as to who did this.” Grandma frowned and puffed on her cigarette
while she watched me work. I closed the back doors and got into the driver seat.

“Not really,” I said as Grandma put out her cigarette butt and climbed into the passenger
seat. “Todd Woles, the men’s store owner, really didn’t like George. He told me so
himself.”

“But you said he wasn’t downtown at the time.”

“That’s what he said.” I chewed on my bottom lip. “But Tasha told me that Todd and
George got into a fight last year. I guess the cops were called to force George to
leave the store. Tasha thinks there might even be a restraining order on George.”

“Huh.” Grandma narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. “I can check on that. Todd might be
a good suspect after all.”

“What I want to know is how George was killed.” I started up the van and waited for
Grandma to buckle her seat belt. “It could make a difference in suspects.” I noted
the small burn mark on the knee of her pants and sighed.

“You’re right. It could make a difference.” Grandma snapped the buckle in place. “Not
to worry. I have an in with the ME. I’m taking her to lunch today.”

“Of course you do.” I shook my head and backed the van out of the driveway. “What
about friends? Did George have any? Did he go to church, Play poker, anything?”

Grandma squinted a second. “I don’t know . . . Do you think a friend would kill him?”

I frowned. “Well, I can’t imagine a seed company executive standing out on Main Street
at 5:30 in the morning. Can you?”

“Hmm, probably not.”

“What if he talked one of his friends into planting the seed and their farm went belly-up
along with George’s? I saw George’s anger. Can you imagine how angry his friends would
be?”

“Good point,” Grandma said. “Effy Anderson did tell Eloise Blake that her son Bob
was mad enough to choke a heifer over crop loss. But I have no idea if he was around
that morning. I’ll tug on a few of my community strings and see what I find out.”

“Community strings?”

“Old folks, kiddo.” She reached over and patted me. “Oiltop is a small town. Not much
goes on here that someone, somewhere, doesn’t know about. When I worked for the paper,
I had a lot of tipsters. You know, friends who would call in and tip me off on something
new coming down the pike. Like those ghost tours Sherry Williams talked you into being
a part of. . . .”

“Drat,” I mumbled, embarrassed again. “It’s your fault I signed up for them.”

“My fault?” Grandma tried to look innocent by placing a hand on her bosom.

“Sure, you’re the one who always told me there’s no such thing as bad publicity. Do
you think the chief knows?”

“Of course the chief knows.”

My stomach turned over. I was going to have to call Brad. There was no way Chief Blaylock
would give up his suspicions without prodding. I didn’t want to think about that and
changed the subject. “Tasha thinks we should pay close attention to who attends the
memorial. You know, because the killer always comes back to the scene of the crime
to either gloat or because he or she feels guilty or something.”

“That’s a great idea.” Grandma clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “I’ll have
Bill bring me. What’re you serving?”

“I’m offering petit fours and cheese tarts. I suppose it is ironic for George to have
a gluten-free memorial.”

“I understand the bank’s going to auction off his ranch in two weeks. Maybe Bill and
I’ll go. Who knows? Perhaps he was killed for a fast sell.”

“Now you’re reaching.” I pulled into the parking lot behind the bakery. “The auction
was set up two weeks ago. If someone wanted the land, why kill him now? And speaking
of the bank, don’t let me forget that I have to make a deposit.”

“Don’t you usually do that at night?” Grandma asked as she heaved herself out of the
van.

“Yes, but I had a few things on my mind last night and forgot.” I opened up the shop
and turned on the lights. As was my new habit, I checked the office, the pantry, then
the front and bathrooms for any hidden dangers . . . like murderers.

Then I unlocked the safe and took out the deposit bag. Most people paid electronically
these days, but you still had people who carried cash, especially in a farming town.
As much as Oiltop liked to think it was a progressive county seat—we had the county
courthouse, the fairgrounds, and the semipro baseball stadium—we were still a very
small town. A town surrounded by farm fields, ranches, and what Pete and the rest
of the chamber of commerce hoped would soon be a tourist Mecca of a slowly filling
lake created by damming the river, which tended to flood certain parts of town every
spring.

I don’t know about tourists, but farmers and ranchers dealt in cold, hard cash. Also,
bankers and farmers didn’t have a good history with one another. Not when you considered
how many small farms were repossessed every year. I filled out the deposit slip and
stuck it in the bag, which had quite a heft to it. Bankers and ranchers . . . hmmm.
I walked over to Grandma Ruth, who was currently in the office reading the
New York Times
. She had a weekend subscription and prided herself on being “in the know.”

“We really need to find out how George was killed.” I leaned on the door frame and
tossed the bag up and down. “I think we can rule out bullets, right? I mean, I didn’t
hear a shot and they haven’t dug around for bullets in the wall.”

“What do you think killed him?” Grandma kept her eyes on the paper. Her fingers were
pinched as if she held a cigarette. She probably would have if I didn’t have a strict
no-smoking policy in the bakery.

“I don’t know.” I eyed the bag. “It’s why I want to know what the coroner’s report
says.”

“We’ll get it today. Then our investigation will really start going places.”

I hoped she was right, because right now it was going nowhere.

CHAPTER
16

B
y mid-morning, Grandma and the breakfast crowd had left. The mirror on the door to
the bakery allowed me to see the front door from the kitchen while I worked. Tomorrow
was George Meister’s memorial and I was hard at work on the menu. Sherry had picked
out a variety of fancy cookies such as ladyfingers, date pinwheels, and pistachio
thumbprints. Also finger foods with protein, which included cheesecake bites and cheese
tarts. Finally there was a wide selection of petit fours. I made them out of gluten-free
white sheet cakes and filled them with chocolate, raspberry and, in keeping with the
season, pumpkin filling. These were then cut into one-inch squares and topped with
pourable fondant. Then there were gluten-free chocolate cakes filled with chocolate,
cannoli, and cherry filling. The chocolate petit fours were decorated with a green
leaf and the white with a white cross.

It was a lot of work, but the chamber of commerce paid well, and I wasn’t about to
complain. Saturday was also Amy’s son’s birthday party and the bowling league’s monthly
meeting. Both of those parties had Halloween themes.

The doorbells jingled and I glanced up to see a young woman walk in. She looked a
bit ragged with dyed black hair and a worn coat. She had her eyebrow pierced, which
was an interesting contrast to her thick black cat-eyed eyeliner and what had to be
false eyelashes. The combination made it hard to guess her age. Anywhere from sixteen
to twenty-six might apply.

“Hi, can I help you?” I came into the front room, wiping my hands on a towel.

“Yes, um . . . you have a help wanted sign?” She pointed at my hand-printed bit of
desperation.

“Yes, I do.” I smiled at her because she didn’t seem too sure of herself.

“Well, um, my uncle Sam—Sam Greenbaum—said you might be hiring.”

Ah, handsome Sam must have seen my sign. I leaned on the counter and studied her.
“I’m looking for help who can work whatever hours I need, but the pay is barely above
minimum wage.”

She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I graduated high school last May. I can work
when you need me. That means anytime.” She glanced around. “Nice bakery.”

“Thanks, we’re gluten-free. Do you know what that is?”

“No wheat or malt.” Her gaze came back to mine and I noticed her eyes were a lovely
shade of blue, deep enough they were almost lavender. “I, um, have a friend with celiac.”

“I see.”

“Oh, sorry.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Meghan.”

I shook her hand. It was clean and firm. Her nails were appropriately short with no
polish. “Well, Meghan, do you think you might want to be a baker?”

“Actually, yeah.” Her eyes lit up. “I love the Food Network. All those baking challenges.
I thought, I want to learn how to do that. Problem is, my mom and dad kicked me out
and there’s no money for school.”

I frowned. “Why’d they kick you out?”

“You know.” She shrugged. “Eighteen and done. My dad always said we would get a suitcase
and a twenty-dollar bill on our eighteenth birthday. We all knew he meant it and that
we’d better be prepared.”

I swallowed hard. It seemed very wrong. My feelings must have shown on my face.

“I know.” She gave a soft smile. “It’s kind of old school. Anyway, I need a job. Right
now I’m working three nights a week at the Quickmart and bunking with my girlfriend.
When Uncle Sam told me about your sign I thought, cool. I thought I could maybe learn
a thing or two while I save up to go to school.”

“Well, Meghan, let me scrounge up an application. Do you want to fill it out now or
bring it back in?”

“I can fill it out now, if that’s okay.” She pulled a pen out of her purse. “I’m prepared.”

“Great.” I reached under the cash register counter and pulled out one of the five
applications I’d downloaded from the Internet. “Here you go.” I handed her the form.
“Take a table.”

“Thanks.” I watched her walk to a small table and place the form and her pen on top.
She took off her dark gray wool coat and draped it on the chair behind her. She wore
a clean tee shirt, which was a size too small, and a pair of jeans finished off by
thick-soled black boots.

She looked hungry. I decided to bring her a small coffee and a piece of cherry pie.
“Here.” I placed them on the table beside her. “You need to know what the food tastes
like before you decide to work here. I need employees with a passion for gluten-free
foods.”

“Oh, thanks.” She picked the fork up off the plate and took a bite of the pie. “Oh.”
Her eyes grew wide. “This is fab.”

“Thanks.” It warmed my heart to see her enjoy the pie. “I’m working in the back. Bring
me the form when you’re done and, if you have time, we’ll do a little interview.”

“Thank you,” she said and took a sip of coffee.

“There are creamers and natural sugars at the counter.” I pointed out the coffee bar.

“I like it black. Thanks.”

I’d done what I could and went back to the kitchen. My opinion of Sam had lowered
when she said her parents tossed her out and she was now living with a friend. If
he were her uncle, why hadn’t he done something to help her out? I was pouring fondant
over the last of the petit fours when Meghan knocked on the doorjamb to the kitchen.
“I’ll be right with you,” I said. She walked in and watched intently.

“Is that glaze?” Meghan asked.

“Pourable fondant,” I answered as I tipped the pan, then took a knife and smoothed
out the tops. “It hardens and creates the petit four shell.”

“Huh, I didn’t know they had a pourable kind. I thought you had to knead and roll
it.”

“It’s hard to cover inch-size cakes by rolling,” I said and finished the smoothing
with a flourish. “Therefore we pour.”

“Makes sense.” She waited for me to wash and dry my hands and then handed me the application.
“I’ve listed three references. One is Uncle Sam; well, he’s not my real uncle. He’s
my uncle Steve’s best friend. That was, until Uncle Steve died. Then Uncle Sam stepped
in and sort of took his place. There’s also my home ec teacher. I put her down because
she’s seen me cook. Last is my current boss, Harold Mooney. He manages the Quickmart.”

“Will he be okay with me hiring you?” I kept my gaze on her face. Most bosses didn’t
like it when you stole their employees. The last thing I needed was to piss off another
guy in town.

She shrugged. “I think he’ll be fine. His son dropped out of college last week and
he’s been talking like Joe’ll need my job, anyway.”

I studied the application. Meghan had very neat handwriting. Everything was properly
filled out. She was willing to work whatever hours I needed. “I’ll need to call your
references before I can hire you.”

“That’s fine.” She stuck her hands in her coat pockets. “I listed my roommate’s phone
number. I don’t have a phone yet. If you want, I can come by another time.”

I rubbed my chin. “If I hire you, you’ll need black slacks, a white shirt, and good
black tennis shoes. Can you do that?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll also have to wear your hair back all the time. We have food safety rules.”

“Great.”

“And I may need you to clean bathrooms before you leave at night.”

Her mouth turned up. Her blue eyes twinkled. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes
to learn the bakery business. If that means cleaning floors with a toothbrush, I’m
there.”

“Great. There’s a memorial service for George Meister at seven tomorrow. Come in a
couple hours before and I’ll let you know what I’ve decided.”

“Thank you.” She held out her hand and I shook it. “I hope you’ll consider my enthusiasm.
I really mean it when I say I want to be a chef.”

“I believe you do.” I watched her walk out. She was eighteen and willing. To top it
off, I was desperate. I glanced at the neatly printed form and picked up the phone.

I left Sam for last. Harold Mooney gave Meghan a glowing review. He mentioned he was
sorry to have to let her go but his kid needed the work and family came first, right?
I thought about the girl forced out on her own and then I thought of my own huge family
that came and went at will, crashing in my big house. It was pretty clear Meghan’s
family had a different idea of what family meant. Even if I did sometimes wish I didn’t
have to see so many of them quite so often.

I rang Sam’s number. Why was I nervous? It was his voice, I decided. His voice was
mellow enough to melt a woman’s knees.

“Hello?”

Oh, boy. “Is this Sam Greenbaum?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, this is Toni Holmes from the Baker’s Treat. I’m calling about a reference for
Meghan Moore.”

“Oh, hello, Toni.”

I smiled involuntarily at the way he said my name and the warmth that blossomed in
my chest.

“I’m glad you called,” Sam said. “I sent Meghan over when I saw your help wanted sign.”

“Thanks for thinking of me.” I pretended to be professional. “Do you think her family
would be upset about her working for me?”

“No, why would they?”

It was like we were cocooned together and he was talking into my ear and my ear only.
I turned away from the front and faced the wall. “My last helper’s parents feared
for her safety, what with George being murdered in front of the store and my being
the police’s number one person of interest.”

“How’s that going?”

“If you’re asking if I did it, no, I didn’t. If you’re wondering if the cops are closing
in on me, gosh, I hope not.”

He chuckled. It was a deep rumble that made me smile again. “I know you didn’t do
it. I was wondering how your own investigation was going.”

“Oh.” I blew out a long breath. “How did you know I was looking into the murder?”

“Word gets around.” I swear I heard him shrug. “It’s a small town, and my grandma’s
pretty tuned in. She thinks you’re innocent, by the way.”

“Thanks, Grandma,” I muttered.

“And speaking for Meghan’s parents, they’ll be happy she has a good job.”

“Are you saying they wouldn’t care if I were a killer as long as I paid well?”

“They want to see their child succeed on her own. It’s a family tradition. One that’d
been practiced for over one hundred years.”

“Well, it’s a bad tradition if you ask me.” I took a deep breath. Meghan had told
me Sam was not her real uncle. Still . . . “What about you? Do you think it’s right
to abandon a child as soon as they turn eighteen years old?”

There was a long pause.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not going to argue one way or the other whether their choice
is right. Meghan is a great kid and a hard worker. She wants to be a chef. You need
help and I think she’ll work hard for you.”

“Okay.” I supposed that was fair. It was a good reference and all I could realistically
expect from him. I barely knew him and he had so far been nice to me.

“Are you going to hire her?”

I leaned on the doorjamb and sneered at myself in the mirror. “I think so, yes.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for sending her my way.” Professional. Keep it professional, Holmes, no matter
how badly you wanted to pry. It is none of your business.

“You’re welcome, but I did it for selfish reasons.”

That caught my attention. I scrunched my forehead. “Why?”

“I thought that maybe if you had help, you would have time to get a coffee with me
and we could get to know each other better.”

My stomach did a little jig. “Oh.”

“You sound funny. Is coffee a bad idea?”

His voice was low again. I rubbed my arms and turned away from my reflection. “Coffee
isn’t bad. But I have the best coffee in town right here.”

“Then how about a cocktail? Beer? Wine?”

I scratched the back of my neck. I should not be this excited. “I’ve sworn off dating
and men.” Oh, wait, crap did I say that part out loud?

“Are you saying it’s not personal?”

“Oh, God, no. . . .” I tended to talk with my hands; the one not holding the phone
flailed about. As if he could see it from the phone.

“Let me guess, bad relationship?”

I winced mentally. “Divorce.”

“Oh.” There was a slight pause. “Then how about lunch. You do eat lunch, right? I’ll
even let you buy your own lunch. That way it won’t be a date.”

“It won’t be a date?” I chewed on my lip.

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’ll be two people buying lunch and eating it at the same table.”

I stared out the window into the evening darkness. “I don’t know. . . .”

“Good, how about tomorrow at one
P.M.
?”

I cringed inside. He was a nice guy but I was still having serious rebound issues
from my divorce. Nice guy or not, did I want to go out?

“Toni?”

“Hold on, let me check my calendar.” Maybe there would be a good reason why I could
put off this whole lunch thing without ruining my chances if I changed my mind. I
popped into the kitchen and consulted the big calendar next to the baking schedule.
“I don’t know. I’m catering George Meister’s memorial tomorrow and Saturday I have
two events.”