Assaulted Caramel Page 4
“Thank you.” I noticed the blinking green light that indicated a new message. “Did you check my messages?”
“No. We’d have to acquire a court order to do that, and besides, we can’t get beyond your passcode.”
The passcode comment made me wonder if perhaps they had tried.
I frowned, hoping that there wasn’t a text message from Eric on my phone after all. Not that my relationship in New York had any bearing on the tragedy unfolding in Harvest, but the fewer people who knew about Eric and me, the better.
Aiden held onto his duty belt just in front of his gun. “You won’t be allowed into the kitchen until the scene is released. That will take a couple of days. My best guess is you all will be allowed back in there on Saturday.”
I shoved the phone into the pocket of my hoodie. “How are my grandparents supposed to run their shop?”
“We will release the scene as soon as possible. We have no intention of harming your grandparents’ business, but do remember a man died here.” His voice was stern. “And when the time comes, I can recommend a company that can come in and clean the kitchen. It will need to be professionally cleaned.”
I bit the inside of my lip and tried not to think of the state the kitchen must be in. “Thank you.”
“I’m glad you’re here to be with your grandparents through this. They need you.” He paused as if debating whether or not he wanted to say what came next. “Your grandparents are good people. I know that more than anyone. I’ll make sure they’re treated fairly. You have my word.”
My forehead wrinkled as I puzzled over what that meant.
Before I could ask him, he pulled his sheriff’s department ball cap out of the back pocket of his uniform. “I’ll be in touch, Bailey.” He put the hat on his head and marched out the door.
Through the front window, I watched as Aiden climbed into his cruiser and drove away.
I was headed for the stairs when my cell phone rang. The readout said Baker. It was my code name for Eric. That was how deep my paranoia over anyone finding out about my romantic relationship with Eric Sharp went. Even in my own cell phone, I used a code name for him. It was in case he ever called, and someone spotted the readout before I did.
The name—Baker—was a bit of a joke too. Eric hated it. As he told me countless times, he was not a baker, he was a pastry chef, and there was a world of difference.
The phone rang again.
I put it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Bailey, for the love of God, what are you doing outside of the city?” Eric yelled into my ear.
I barely heard him over the hard rock playing in the background. From the music, I knew Eric must be working in one of his pastry shops, probably the one in SoHo—it was his favorite. Eric always listened to loud music while he worked. He said it helped his muse. I suspected he played it to reinforce his “bad boy of the pastry world” image. It was the persona the media just couldn’t get enough of, which was why a major network had just offered him his own reality TV show. Eric hadn’t agreed to anything yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time. He loved the limelight.
“Can you turn the music down?” I asked, holding the phone away from my ear.
A second later there was silence, which came as a relief to my ringing ears.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“I sent you a text,” I said defensively. “I’m visiting my grandparents in Ohio. My grandfather is sick.”
“You left during the most important moment of your life. The committee is about to name Jean Pierre’s replacement, or did you forget?”
I gripped the phone. “I didn’t forget, but my gran—”
“Hey!” Eric yelled. “I said brown sugar in that tart, not cane sugar. I don’t share my recipes with you so that you can change them!”
I winced for the sous-chef who was about to be verbally flogged the moment our call ended. I had been on the receiving end of Eric’s chef rants more times than I cared to count.
“You jump on the next plane for home,” Eric said into the phone.
“But—”
There was a crash in the background.
Eric swore and ended the call without saying good-bye.
I didn’t even have a chance to tell him that I’d found a dead guy in my grandparents’ kitchen. Maybe I should have led with that.
“Bailey, dear, are you all right?” Maami asked.
I jumped and juggled my phone, catching it before it hit the floor.
“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Maami said. She stood in the doorway leading to the stairs to the apartment. “Who were you talking to on your little phone?”
I smiled. Maami always called cell phones “little phones.” I shook my head. “It’s not important.”
She straightened her apron. “It sounded important.”
“It’s not,” I reassured her, and stuck the phone back into the pocket of my hoodie.
Maami’s eyes widened as she saw the large X of crime scene tape covering the door that led into the kitchen. “Oh my.”
“Deputy Brody said we can’t go into the kitchen until the scene is released. He said it’ll be released as soon as possible, and thinks we will have it back Saturday. It’s only one day of business lost.” Then I thought of how the kitchen would need a thorough cleaning. “Maybe you will be able to open on Monday.”
“Aiden is a gut man, and I know he will do what he can.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “A few days closed for us is nothing compared to what that poor man’s family will suffer when they are told the news.” Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.
“Did Tyson have a family?”
“Oh, yes.” She brushed the tear away from her eye. “A son. I hope that Aiden will be the one who will tell him. Aiden will deliver the news with compassion.”
I frowned, momentarily distracted from wondering what the unlikable Tyson Colton’s family must be like. More than once Maami had hinted at some kind of relationship with the brown-eyed deputy. The last comment the deputy had made to me before he left Swissmen Sweets had given me the same feeling.
I was about to ask my grandmother about it, when she clapped her hands. “I’ve just had an idea,” Maami said. “There is a farmers’ market in the square this afternoon. We can set up shop there to sell our candies and fudge. The fudge in the refrigerated display case should be enough for the day.”
“Maybe it would be better if you and Daadi rested after your ordeal,” I said.
“Nonsense. Sitting here and dwelling on what’s happened won’t change anything. Work is the best medicine for troubled thoughts. I will need your help setting up. We have a small canopy in the shed in the back alley along with a cart that we can use to move the candy across the street. We must do as much as we can without involving your grandfather. I don’t want your daadi helping—it wouldn’t be gut for his heart. We’ll give him the job of pricing the items for sale after we have the booth set up. Considering the circumstances, I think we could price everything at a discount, but I will talk that over with Jebidiah to make the final decision.”
I smiled. “I knew you would think of something to do.”
She grinned back at me. “It wasn’t my idea. It was a gift of the gut Lord. I’m certain of that, and He will help us through all of this. You will see.”
I wished I had her confidence.
Chapter 7
As the farmers’ market wasn’t until that afternoon, Maami and I spent the morning packing up treats to transport across Main Street. I arranged shiny truffles in a bakery box. My grandparents sold milk chocolate and dark chocolate varieties. Back at JP Chocolates we made over fifty varieties every day, from orange cream to saffron. Saffron was out of the question for Swissmen Sweets, but I wondered if I could talk my grandfather into some other flavors when we got the kitchen back. I was creating a list of possible truffles in my head when there was a rapid tapping on the front window.
“Oh dear,” Maami said.
“Oh dear,” Maami repeated.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Ruth Yoder, the deacon’s wife.” Maami wiped chocolate from the edge of a plate with a clean rag.
Ruth spotted us standing at the counter and waved.
“She’s seen us,” my grandmother said, disappointed. “I suppose I have no choice but to let her in.” She removed the gloves she wore while working with the chocolate.
My hospitable grandmother didn’t want to let a member of her district into the shop? “Why don’t you want to let her in?”
Maami stepped around the counter. “You will see.”
A moment later, Maami opened the door, and the large woman flounced into the shop holding a casserole dish in her hand. She pulled up short when she saw the kitchen door with its X of crime scene tape. “Oh, Clara, I’ve heard about what happened, but I hoped the news was horribly exaggerated. I came as soon as I was able. As you know, the deacon is very busy, and as his wife, I have many responsibilities. He’s heard about the tragedy in your shop, but I assured him I would comfort you. What a terrible, terrible thing to have happened in our district. The deacon and the other church elders are meeting now to discuss what the district response should be.”
The deacon’s wife lowered her voice. “How is Jebidiah doing with all of this? I hope it’s not affecting his heart. Poor man. It must be just awful being told that you’re about to pass on, but, it’s something we all will face someday.” She paused in front of me. “Who is this now? Did you hire a new girl?” She frowned. “I would have hoped that you would hire a young lady from our district. You know how important the deacon believes that to be.”
I stared at her openmouthed. I don’t think she had taken a single breath since entering the shop.
Maami jumped in before Ruth could say another word. “This is my granddaughter, Bailey. She’s visiting from New York.”
“I see.” Ruth studied me. “This must be Ben’s daughter then. It was such a shame when he decided to leave the community to marry that English woman. It breaks a mother’s heart when any of her children choose another path.” She placed her hand over her own heart. “It would break mine, but as you know, Clara, none of my six children have left. They’re married and settled in our district with children of their own. It must be extra difficult for you, since Ben was your only child.” She nodded at me. “I’m Ruth Yoder, the deacon’s wife.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I forced myself to say out of politeness. As for it actually being nice to meet her, I wasn’t so sure. And my grandmother was right; I did see why Maami had been reluctant to let her into the shop.
“This is sure to affect your business, Clara. You wouldn’t want anyone coming into your store with that,” she said as she pointed at the crime scene tape, “on your door. Present company excluded, as you know I’m only here to lend my support out of duty and friendship.”
I mentally snorted. If this was what the deacon’s wife considered friendly support, I didn’t want to know how she treated people she didn’t like.
“We will be selling our fudge and candies at the farmers’ market later today,” Maami said as she walked back around the counter and resumed packing fudge into disposable plastic containers.
Ruth pulled out a chair from one of the café tables and sat. “I’ll be here to support you.”
My eyes widened as I made eye contact with Maami. Was this woman serious? She was going to camp out in the shop while we prepared for the farmers’ market?
There was another knock at the door.
“I’ll get it, Maami,” I said, and squeezed her arm as I passed her on my way to the front door.
Through the glass door, I saw Deputy Aiden Brody standing on the sidewalk with another man in uniform. The second man was much younger than Deputy Carpenter, and I was relieved the surly deputy was absent. I opened the door.
“Hello, Bailey,” Aiden said. “This is Matt Larkin.” He nodded at the other man. “He’s here to take the f ingerprints.”
I inwardly groaned. I had only known Ruth Yoder for fifteen minutes, and I knew my grandmother would not want her around while the police fingerprinted us.
Matt held up a black case that was the size of a toaster. “I have everything I need right here.”
I opened the door wider and let the two men inside.
Ruth jumped out of her seat. “What is going on? Are you here to arrest someone?”
“No, ma’am.” Matt stumbled back. “We’re just here to collect fingerprints from the King family.”
If a forceful Amish woman like Ruth barked questions at me like that, I might have taken a couple of steps back too.
“Fingerprints?” Ruth yelped. She glanced at Maami and me with suspicion.
Aiden stepped around the fingerprint tech. “It’s only to eliminate their fingerprints from our evidence.”
Ruth smoothed her apron over her skirt. “I had better be off. The deacon would not like it if I were here at the same time as the police.” She turned to my grandmother. “Don’t you worry, Clara, I will make sure everyone in the district knows about your predicament.” She marched out of the shop, taking the casserole she’d brought with her.
“I’ m sure you will,” Maami muttered under her breath.
I stifled a chuckle.
Matt placed his case on one of the café tables and unzipped the top. “I’m sorry to have scared off your guest.”
“It’s quite all right,” Maami said. “It might keep her away for a little while at least. Let me find my husband while you are setting up your contraption. He’s upstairs resting.” Maami walked to the small hallway that led to the stairs.
Matt pulled out a black box that appeared to be the weight and size of a television remote control. He caught me watching him. “It’s a portable fingerprint scanner. We got it last month. It’s awesome.” Matt gave it a loving pat.
Aiden laughed. “Matt likes his toys.”
Matt grinned. “Especially the new ones. I just need to enter some data, and we can get started.”
While Matt tapped on his screen, I looked at Aiden. “Do you have any leads on what might have happened?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No, but it is still very early in the investigation.”
Part of me wanted to ask him about the conversation I had overheard between him and Deputy Carpenter. The older deputy had seemed pretty certain that I’d murdered Tyson Colton. I thought better of it and instead asked, “Why was Tyson inside of my grandparents’ shop?”
Aiden’s eyebrows knit together, and he studied me. “That’s a good question. The answer might lead to the killer. We’ll find out who did this. Don’t worry.”
“Was there any forced entry?” I couldn’t believe I hadn’t thought to ask that before. How, exactly, had Tyson entered Swissmen Sweets?
He arched an eyebrow at me. “Forced entry?”
“How else could Tyson have gotten inside the kitchen other than to break in? My grandparents didn’t let him in, and I sure didn’t.”
He nodded. “Someone broke the lock on the back door to the shop.”
Even though it was what I had expected him to say, it was still shocking. “What’s the status of the lock now? Is the door secure?” I asked. “Can someone get into the shop from that way?” My eyes darted in the direction of the kitchen door, still blocked with those glaring strips of yellow crime scene tape.
Aiden shook his head. “We took the lock with us for evidence and had it replaced with two deadbolts. No one is getting into the shop from that direction.”
“Why didn’t you tell us this before?”
“I told your grandparents when I went upstairs to interview them. I assumed that they would have told you.” His voice was even.
I wondered why Maami hadn’t thought to mention that little detail. But, no matte
r whether or not my grandparents had told me about the broken lock, it was very good news. “Doesn’t that take my grandparents and me off the hook?”
“I’m afraid not.” He removed his departmental baseball cap and tucked it into the back pocket of his uniform. “It only proves that someone broke into Swissmen Sweets through the back door. It doesn’t tell us anything about what happened after he entered, or who he was with in the kitchen.”
I read his thoughts in those dark eyes. He thinks that person with Tyson in the kitchen could have been me.
His brow knit together as he studied me. “Don’t worry. I’ll find out who did this.”
I frowned. Aiden’s telling me not to worry only made me worry more. I still didn’t quite understand Aiden’s history with my grandparents, but no one was going to care about this case as much as I did. I couldn’t allow my grandparents’ good name to be tainted in their Amish district or in the village as a whole. Unfortunately, it seemed the deacon’s nosy wife had already taken on gossiping about the murder as her personal mission.
I watched Aiden as he and Matt put their heads close together, looking at the fingerprint reader’s small screen, and I came to a decision—I needed to do a little poking around on my own. My grandparents seemed to trust Aiden. I wasn’t as sure about him, and I didn’t trust Deputy Carpenter the least little bit. The only person I trusted to find out what had really happened to Tyson Colton was me.
“Miss?” Matt pointed to the chair. “I’m ready for your fingerprints.”
I sat at the table and gave him my hand.
Chapter 8
After Aiden and Matt—still cradling his beloved fingerprinting machine—had gone, Maami and I finished packing up everything we would need to sell fudge and candies at the farmers’ market. My grandfather, who seemed to be rejuvenated after his rest, sat at one of the café tables writing a price list by hand. His lettering was careful and precise. Penmanship like my grandfather’s was a lost art in the English world of keyboards and smartphones.
Maami closed one of the plastic fudge containers with a piece of Scotch tape. “I’m going next door to ask Esther if we can borrow her cart to move all this chocolate across the street. With two carts, the job will go much more quickly.”