Cape Bay Cafe Mystery 10 - Punch, Pastries, and Poison Read online

  “Franny made a list of everyone who was at the party and was also at the café yesterday.”

  “Okay. We’ve done the same thing, but if you want to share your list—”

  Matt cut Mike off. “And then she called them all.”

  Mike closed his eyes. “You. Called. All the people who had the opportunity to commit both attacks?” he said slowly.

  “Yes?” I braced for his reaction.

  Luckily for me, it was mild. He just leaned back in the armchair, covered his eyes, and groaned.

  Chapter 24

  The next day, I found myself yet again alone in my house. Matt had argued and debated, but he finally conceded that he did need to go in to work. And so there I was, just Latte and me. And a police officer at the front and back doors. And one down the street in an unmarked car. And possibly another one somewhere that I didn’t know about. It seemed like overkill to me, but Mike was afraid the attacks would continue to escalate, and he didn’t want to take any chances.

  My anger from the previous night had dissipated, but it had been replaced by a nervous energy that made it impossible for me to sit still. All the coffee I’d had probably didn’t help. I’d started with a cup for myself and one for each of the officers outside. By the time I’d delivered their cups and engaged in some polite chitchat, I was ready for my next cup, which I drank while wandering around the house, trying to figure out what I should spend my time doing. I ended up deciding to make myself another cup of coffee.

  Then I deep cleaned the espresso machine.

  Then I took everything off the counters, gave the counters a good cleaning, wiped down everything that had been on them, and put everything back neatly.

  Then I cleaned the cabinet doors.

  Then I wiped down the kitchen table and chairs.

  It was barely lunchtime.

  I usually ate at the café, so I didn’t have much in the way of ingredients. Still, I managed to throw together a quick spaghetti carbonara with some good Italian pasta, pancetta, Pecorino Romano cheese, eggs, and black pepper—simple things I pretty much always had in the house. I delivered some to the officers at the doors then sat down and ate the rest.

  I washed the dishes and checked the time. It had barely taken an hour.

  I made myself another latte.

  Standing in the middle of the kitchen, fueled by nerves and caffeine, I looked around for what to tackle next. I decided on the cabinets. There were a few pots and pans I used on a regular basis, but I hadn’t really emptied everything out to assess what was inside since I inherited the house after my mother’s death.

  And so that was how Matt ended up finding me sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, surrounded by sixty or so years of kitchen utensils, when he came home with takeout tacos for dinner.

  “So, how was your day?” he asked casually, looking around at the disaster that was my kitchen.

  “I’ve been working on reorganizing the kitchen,” I replied.

  “I see that,” he said slowly. He held up the bag in his hand. “I have tacos.”

  I looked around, briefly considering asking him to just hand me the tacos so I could eat them where I was. My grandparents and my mom had accumulated quite a lot of cooking vessels in their time in the house, not to mention the things I’d brought back with me from New York. Finally, I just started pushing things aside—carefully, so as not to disturb the organization system I’d started. Matt worked from the other side and then reached out his hand to help pull me up.

  I glanced in the direction of the espresso machine, thinking another latte would be tasty with dinner, but the path to it was covered by colanders of various shapes and sizes. I’d have to make do with—well, water from the upstairs bathroom in my dirty coffee cup, since I couldn’t make it to the sink either.

  We ate our tacos picnic-style on the living room floor, watching my baking show that Matt had somehow become invested in. His baking knowledge and interest was usually limited to “what did you make?” and “what’s in it?” and “can I have some?” but he suddenly had opinions on the proper way to fold a mousse and whether Viennese whirls needed to be refrigerated between piping and baking. I’d created a monster. I loved it.

  But when I was in bed that night, the sinking fear that someone was trying to kill me settled back in. Who could want me dead? Mike—and Matt for that matter—seemed to think I’d triggered someone to break in when I made my calls the day before. Someone thought I was more suspicious of them than I was. I thought about who I’d talked to—Todd, Dean, Melissa for barely a second, Karli for hardly longer than that.

  The thought dawned on me that they’d all been closely involved in a murder since I’d come back to town the year before. Melissa’s ex-boyfriend, who was also the father of her oldest child, had been murdered in the parking lot of Todd’s Gym. That hadn’t really involved Karli, but she did work at the front desk. It had been a stressful time for everyone at the gym. And then one of Dean’s employees had died during a break-in at his jewelry store. Could any of them be holding a grudge against me for my role in investigating those crimes? It was possible—but who? And why?

  I drifted off to sleep before I could think about it anymore.

  THE NEXT DAY was more of the same. I immediately cleared a path to the espresso machine and was on my third cup of coffee before I made it back to my kitchen organization. Sleep and a fresh infusion of caffeine had it going more quickly than it had the previous afternoon. I got everything organized and put away by lunch, except for a cast-iron skillet I’d found that I set aside for Sammy. She’d mentioned wanting one, and I had never used the one I didn’t even know I had, so I wanted to give it to her.

  Mike called around lunchtime with an update on the case, or at least what he called an update anyway. All he really said was that they were looking into leads and would keep me posted. And I was still to stay at home, despite my best efforts at convincing him to let me out.

  I started getting antsy again around midafternoon and convinced the back door officer—a different one from yesterday—to let me play fetch with Latte. I was allowed provided I kept both feet indoors at all times. Apparently, Mike had been serious about not even setting a foot outside.

  By midafternoon the next day, I had cleaned out the refrigerator and pantry and made a detailed shopping list for Matt. Immediately after dinner—pizza again—I sent him to the grocery store to stock up. I made him video-chat me anytime he wasn’t sure exactly which product to get so that I could approve a replacement. The last time I’d asked him to pick up flour at the grocery store, he came back with the self-rising kind, and I wasn’t willing to risk that again.

  The day after that I spent baking. I prepped enough puff pastry for about a year, wrapped almost all of it up tightly and froze it. That was one great thing about puff pastry—it froze incredibly well. I took the portion I’d set aside and used it to make chocolate rolls, which I shared with the officers staking out my house. I put a few prepared rolls in the fridge to bake for dessert, since I knew how much they loved them. I baked some bread, started a batch of brioche, and made chicken parmesan for dinner. By the time Matt got home, dinner was on the table, the house was immaculate, and I was bored out of my mind.

  “I called Mike today,” I said as we sat down to dinner. I had just popped the chocolate rolls in the oven and figured they’d be out and cool just in time for dessert.

  “Oh yeah?” Matt had already cut a tender piece of chicken off with his fork and stuffed it in his mouth. “Chicken’s delicious.”

  “Thank you.” I took a bite myself. I had to admit—I’d done a good job.

  “So what did you and Mike talk about?” he asked after enough time that I thought he’d forgotten.

  “I just asked him to come by tonight.”

  Matt put his fork down. “Why?”

  “I just want to see how the investigation’s going.” I twirled some spaghetti onto my fork and popped it into my mouth.

  He looked
at me with suspicion. “You couldn’t ask that over the phone?”

  I smiled. “I’ve been stuck in this house for days on Mike’s orders. I feel like coming by to update me in person is the least he can do.”

  “Fair enough,” he said without looking like he believed me at all.

  We finished our dinner just as Mike knocked on the door. As always, his knock was more of a bang that could scare the life out of you if you weren’t expecting it. I actually was expecting it and still jumped out of my chair.

  The oven timer went off just as Matt opened the door for Mike.

  “What smells like chocolate?” Mike asked.

  “Franny made dessert,” Matt said.

  “Save me any dinner?”

  I suddenly wondered if I should have made him a portion as well. The question must have shown on my face because Mike immediately smiled.

  “Just kidding, Franny. Sandra’ll have dinner for me at home, which is where I’m finally going right after this.”

  “The chocolate rolls just need to cool for a few minutes,” I said, coming into the living room and sitting down on the couch. Matt and Mike had already taken their seats. Latte was leaning on Mike’s leg, getting his hair all over Mike’s dress pants. Mike seemed okay with it, though—he was leaned over, giving Latte double-handed scratches.

  “So, what’s up, Franny?” he asked as Latte lifted his hand.

  “I was just hoping for an update on the case,” I replied cheerfully.

  Matt and Mike both looked at me with skepticism, but Mike gamely answered. “Not much to report, unfortunately. We’ve been tracking down leads, but there’s not much evidence. The best we got was a single hair from your steps, but without a DNA sample to compare it to, it doesn’t give us much. If we identify a suspect, we can use it to confirm that they were here, but without one, we’re out of luck.”

  “If you identify a suspect?” Matt asked.

  Mike sighed. “Unfortunately, that’s where we are.”

  “So can I go back to work?” I asked.

  Like they shared one brain, they simultaneously burst out with “No!”

  “So, what’s your plan, then? You’re just going to keep me here until someone spontaneously confesses?”

  “No, of course not,” Mike said. Matt, on the other hand, looked like he would consider it.

  “Then what?”

  “Fran, I’m just not comfortable relaxing the police protection just yet.”

  I stood up. “Fine, then I’m just going to solve the case from here.”

  “We will solve it. You just need to give us time,” Mike said.

  “You can’t do that, Franny,” Matt said at the same time.

  I stomped into the kitchen and threw some of the chocolate rolls in a storage container. I took them back into the living room and shoved them at Mike. “Here. Take these and go.”

  He looked at me in stunned surprise.

  “Go!”

  “Franny—” Matt stood up and put his hand on my arm, but I didn’t take my eyes off Mike.

  “If you don’t have any other news about the case, you can go ahead and go. There’s no reason to keep you when you obviously have work you could be doing.”

  Latte looked wounded as Mike stopped petting him and stood up. He took the storage container from me.

  “Franny—” Matt started again.

  “No, Matt, it’s fine. She has every right to be upset.” He moved toward the door. “Thanks for the, uh—” He peered into the container.

  “Chocolate rolls,” I said. “Puff pastry chocolate rolls.”

  “The chocolate rolls. Thank you.” He nodded to Matt and went out the door.

  That night, Matt and I had the biggest fight we’d ever had and, frankly, that I hoped we’d ever have. I yelled that he wasn’t in charge of me, and he yelled that he was just worried about my safety. I countered that I was going stir-crazy. He said that it was just for a little while. I pointed out that he had gotten to leave the house every day and interact with other human beings while I’d been stuck inside with a (truly excellent) dog and only occasionally got to talk to the police officers stationed outside. He said the police were taking care of it. I shouted that they clearly were not. He yelled that they were working on it. I said that it wasn’t fast enough. He bellowed that I needed to leave it alone. I screamed that he couldn’t tell me what to do, and if that was what he was going to do, he could get out of my house. He left and went home. I cried myself to sleep.

  Chapter 25

  I woke up to my phone ringing. I picked it up and looked at the screen, hoping it was Matt calling to apologize, but the display had Mike’s name on it. I silenced the ringer, put the phone down, and rolled over to go back to sleep.

  A minute later, I heard the ding of the voicemail notification. And then the chime of a text message. I rolled over to put the phone on silent before he could annoy me any further, but the text message caught my eye. Call me. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  Reluctantly, I called Mike back.

  “Hey, Fran, how you doin’ this morning?” he said, greeting me with more enthusiasm than I could handle.

  I felt awful. I felt sad and emotionally exhausted. I felt unmoored, unbalanced. I felt like I had a hangover without having drunk a single glass the night before. But I didn’t think Mike wanted all that dumped on him first thing in the morning. “I’m okay. How are you?”

  “I think you’re going to be a lot better than okay in a minute.”

  “Did you find out who’s trying to kill me?”

  There was a pause, and I realized I had probably overshot my optimism.

  “Okay, not that much better. But I think you are going to be happy.”

  Couldn’t he just get to the point already?

  “I’m letting you reopen the café.”

  I sat up in bed, jolting Latte out of his slumber. He immediately looked toward the door with a growl.

  “Please say you’re not just messing with me. I can’t handle it if you’re just messing with me.”

  “I’m not messing with you,” he said with a chuckle. “Now, I’m not completely letting you loose, but you can reopen.”

  “That’s great! Today? It’s already a little late, but—”

  “Not today. I still need to get some security worked out, and we need to discuss some things.”

  “So, tomorrow?” I asked hopefully.

  “Tomorrow should be fine.”

  “Great!” My mind started racing with all the things I needed to do to get ready to reopen. “I’ll need to go to the store for some supplies and—”

  “Not so fast,” Mike interrupted. “We still need to prioritize your safety and security. You’ll need to get someone else to pick up whatever supplies you need.”

  Slightly defeated, I asked what the other rules were. He gave me a rundown. No going anywhere alone. No going anywhere without notifying him or another officer. No eating or drinking anything I didn’t personally prepare using freshly opened ingredients. Above all, no investigating. If I so much as got a flicker of an inclination to stick my nose anywhere that it didn’t belong, I was to shove that inclination out of my head faster than I could down a shot of espresso. Mike’s words, not mine, of course. I didn’t shoot espresso—I sipped it so I could appreciate the nuances of its flavor. It wasn’t quite the way I would have liked things to go, but it was better than staying locked in the house all the time. I agreed to all his conditions.

  “There’s one more thing,” he said, just as I thought we were about to hang up. “Whoever’s behind these attacks has been lying low for the past few days. That could mean that they’ve given up, and you won’t have any more problems with them. Or it could mean that the police presence has been enough to deter them. If we scale back, they could come after you again. And we already know how dangerous they can be. Are you sure you want to do this?”

  I took a deep breath. His warning was enough to give me pause but not enough to scare me
off. I was ready to have my life back. “I’m sure.”

  “I had a feeling that would be your answer.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You work on getting things ready to reopen tomorrow. Only things you can do from home. Anything else, you’ll have to get Sammy or Rhonda to handle. I’ll come by later tonight to make sure we’re clear on how everything’s going to work, okay?”

  “Sounds good. Oh, and Mike?” I stopped him before he could hang up. “I’m sorry for kicking you out like that last night. I was frustrated and just... not at my best. I’m sorry.”

  “No hard feelings. And if there were, those chocolate roll things would have made up for it. Sandra and I finished them off last night. One of the best things you’ve ever made.”

  I thanked him, and we hung up. My first instinct was to call Matt to tell him the good news. I even got as far as pulling his number up on my phone, but I stopped before I hit the call button. I still had too many feelings about our fight the night before.

  I called Sammy instead. Together, we worked out a plan for what we needed to do to get the café ready to reopen. Sammy was responsible for picking up any of the supplies we needed to replace, and I was responsible for... well, not much, since I was still technically not supposed to leave the house. But I could still coordinate coverage and plan the bakes and drink specials for the day. I was tempted to put everything on special to celebrate our reopening but restrained myself to a spring-themed latte and a buy-one-get-one-free donut deal. I still wasn’t comfortable having Becky and Amanda come in, so I arranged for Sammy to open and Rhonda to close. I planned to be there all day.

  Most of the day was spent brainstorming and making calls, either to Sammy and Rhonda to coordinate details, or to our suppliers to see if they could rearrange deliveries so we could have as much of our normal stock as possible. I barely had time to think about the fight Matt and I had gotten in. Well, I could barely think about it if you defined “barely” as hardly being able to keep it off my mind and needing to continue finding distracting tasks.