Cremas, Christmas Cookies, and Crooks Read online

  “I’d like one of those, please. A very large one of those.”

  “And for you?” I asked Mark.

  “Espresso. A double. At least.”

  I wondered if the poor man had gotten any sleep at all since his wife had been arrested.

  “A pumpkin spice and a double espresso. Anything else?”

  I saw Ann eyeing the cookie display.

  “Some cookies maybe?”

  She smiled. “Maybe one or two.”

  I went back behind the counter to make the drinks as Sammy led the Crowsdales over to the table with the big armchairs in the back corner. Once everything was ready, I carried it all over to the table. A pumpkin spice latte decorated with a star in our very largest cup for Ann, a double espresso with an absolutely gorgeous, thick, creamy crema for Mark, and a plate piled high with cookies for the table. “I know you said one or two,” I said as I put it down, “but you looked like you could use a plateful.”

  Ann broke into a smile as she surveyed the mountain of cookies. She took one of the glittery snowflake sugar cookies and bit into it. She closed her eyes. “That is so good.” She took a sip of her latte, and I watched as she swirled it around her mouth before swallowing. She sighed. “That is exactly what I needed.”

  Mark took down his double espresso in three sips that would have made my espresso-connoisseur Italian grandfather proud.

  “Can I get you another?” I asked.

  He hesitated for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t. I haven’t slept much the past few days, but I might as well.”

  I turned to go make his next drink but stopped when I heard him suddenly say “Oh!” When I turned around, he was reaching in his back pocket.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “No, no, no. None of that. It’s on the house.”

  “But—”

  “No. Please. Consider it my good deed for the day.”

  “Well, then let us pay for the next customer.”

  I looked around the café. There was no one in line and no one on the street who might conceivably be coming in any time soon. “We’re a little slow right now, so I don’t think you need to worry about that.”

  He sighed and put his wallet back into his pocket. “Well, thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you so much,” Ann said. “I was so worried about coming out in public, about what people would think, and you have been so very, very kind. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Everyone knows you didn’t do it, Mrs. Crows—I mean Ann,” Sammy said. “We all support you.”

  Ann’s eyes filled with tears. She clutched Sammy’s hand. “I didn’t, you know. I didn’t—” she swallowed hard and took a breath, as if she didn’t want to say the word “—kill her. I would never do something like that.”

  “We know,” Sammy said. “The police got it wrong. It’ll all be straightened out soon, I’m sure.”

  “I hope so,” Ann said.

  I went back behind the counter to get Mark his drink. Sammy sat with the Crowsdales until they left. When they were gone, she cleared their table then came up to me with a folded up napkin.

  “I found this on their table,” she said, handing it to me.

  I unfolded the napkin and found a twenty-dollar bill inside with a note. For the next customers. I stared at it for a moment then looked at Sammy. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 8

  DESPITE AGREEING to investigate Veronica Underwood’s possibly already-solved murder, I still wasn’t sure whether I should really do it. After meeting Ann, I understood why everyone was so convinced she couldn’t have done it. She and Mark were both so nice, so thoughtful, that I found myself wanting to do whatever I could to help them.

  But it felt strange to do it when the police had already closed the case. If they had looked at all their evidence and all their information and come up with Ann Crowsdale, how likely was I to find something different? And if I did, would they believe me? And how mad would Mike be about me poking around? It already drove him nuts when I investigated open cases. Then again, maybe he would actually be more okay with it since the case was already closed. If it didn’t hurt his ego too much.

  I was glad the café had gotten pretty steadily busy after the Crowsdales left. It kept me occupied and gave me an excuse not to be out pounding the pavement yet in search of clues. Based on the way Sammy kept glancing my way every time things slowed down the slightest bit, I could tell she was eager for me to get out there. I needed to think first, though. About the case, about who to talk to, and about how on earth anything I found was going to make the slightest difference.

  Becky came in after school looking tired and stressed, but at least she didn’t look as if she was going to burst into tears.

  “How was school?” Sammy asked her.

  She shrugged. “It sucked.”

  “It must have been a rough day, being the first day back since Ms. Underwood…died,” I said. “I heard they were going to have grief counselors in case anyone needed someone to talk to.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, and they were really annoyed that everyone wanted to talk about how upset they were about Mrs. Crowsdale instead of Ms. Underwood.”

  I stood there for a second, trying to think of the adult thing to say. Obviously, I didn’t want to encourage their “ding dong, the witch is dead” attitude, but on the other hand, I had met the woman. And I’d met Ann Crowsdale. I couldn’t say I was surprised that the kids were more upset about one of them than the other. “Well, you can certainly grieve over someone being arrested,” I said finally, deciding that that sounded sufficiently noncommittal.

  “It’s a lot sadder than Ms. Underwood getting killed.”

  “Becky!” Sammy and I said at the same time. We all knew it; we were all thinking it; Sammy and I just knew better than to say it out loud.

  “What?” Becky asked innocently, as if she really had no idea.

  Sammy and I looked at each other. She shrugged and made an “I don’t know” gesture. I sighed. I was going to have to be the adult.

  “Even if you didn’t like her, she’s still a person, and she was still murdered. That’s a tragedy no matter what she was like. And whoever killed her needs to be punished, no matter who it was. Murder is wrong, period.” I felt like a moralizing harpy, but I couldn’t very well let it go without saying anything.

  “Oh my gosh, Fran, I know! I’m not stupid. I was just saying that I like Mrs. Crowsdale a lot more than I ever liked Ms. Underwood, not that I thought she deserved to die. Geez, what kind of person do you think I am?” She rolled her eyes and headed for the back room to drop off her bag.

  I was glad, because I didn’t have any idea what to say next.

  She came back out a minute later with her apron on. “And it’s not even like that’s the worst thing anybody said about Ms. Underwood today either. I mean, some kids didn’t even try to act like they weren’t happy she’s dead.”

  Sammy and I exchanged a glance.

  “Like who?” I asked.

  “OMG, Brett Wallace.”

  She actually said the letters O-M-G out loud, and I suddenly felt very old. I forced myself to move past it, though. “He seemed happy about Ms. Underwood dying?”

  “Yeah, but he’s pretty messed up in general, though.”

  Sammy and I exchanged another look.

  “Messed up? How?”

  “He’s just into weird stuff. And he’s, like, aggressive and stuff. Especially with girls. He likes to grab us and stuff.”

  “He grabs you?” I was now not just interested in whether he could have killed Veronica Underwood but horrified that he was grabbing the girls.

  “Just on the arm usually. It’s more to scare us than anything. It’s like he wants us to be afraid of him or something.”

  “Are you afraid of him?”

  Becky shrugged. She didn’t seem bothered or afraid in the slightest, but I knew teenage girls were masters of indifference. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to be alone with him or anything.”


  “Because you think he might hurt you?”

  She shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe if he got mad or something. Why are you asking so many questions?”

  “Well, I’m concerned about your safety for one.”

  Becky scoffed at me. “I’m not worried about Brett. I mean, he’s creepy, but I stay away from him.”

  I glanced over at Sammy for reassurance and took a deep breath. “You said he seemed happy about Ms. Underwood’s death.”

  “Yeah, but he’s weird like that.”

  “Do you think he wanted her dead?”

  Becky’s face brightened into a smile. “Are you going to investigate Ms. Underwood’s murder? Are you going to get Mrs. Crowsdale off?”

  I held my hands up. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I’m just asking you a question.”

  “You are, aren’t you? You don’t think Mrs. Crowsdale did it either! Oh my gosh, Fran, thank you so much!” She threw her arms around me.

  I looked at Sammy helplessly as I patted Becky on the back. She shrugged uselessly.

  “Now, Becky, I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” I said when she finally let go of me.

  “I know you can do it, Fran. You’re, like, a murder-solving genius.”

  I tried to look at Sammy again for help, but she’d abandoned me to go clear a customer’s table. I put my hands on Becky’s shoulders. “Becky, now listen to me. The police have already investigated Ms. Underwood’s murder and made an arrest. Even if I find evidence that someone else could be the murderer, the police may still go forward with their case against Mrs. Crowsdale. I can’t make them change their minds. Do you understand?”

  “Totally.”

  I smiled. She understood.

  “But I know you can do it. I know you’ll prove that she’s innocent.”

  I sighed. Maybe she didn’t understand after all. “I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises.” I kept going before she could assure me yet again that she knew I would exonerate Ann Crowsdale. “Now, do you think it’s possible Brett actually wanted Ms. Underwood dead?”

  “I mean, yeah, I guess. They got in a fight at practice the other day, and he was calling her a bunch of names and stuff. I thought he was going to hit her, but she got in his face and yelled back, and he eventually just walked out.”

  “Which day was this?”

  “Friday.”

  “The day she was killed? Did you tell the police?”

  “They didn’t talk to me.” She looked blissfully ignorant of the fact that this was a significant piece of information.

  “Who else was there?”

  “Everybody. The whole cast, the crew, Mrs. C. It was right out in the open in the auditorium.”

  If Ann Crowsdale had witnessed the fight, there was no way she wouldn’t have told the police. So either they hadn’t thought it was important, or they had enough evidence against Ann that it didn’t affect their opinion. It could mean that Brett had nothing to do with the murder… or it could mean that the police had just overlooked the lead. And that could mean they had overlooked something else. “You said other kids also seemed happy Ms. Underwood was dead?”

  She shrugged. “I mean, yeah, but not as much as Brett.”

  “Did you ever see Ms. Underwood argue with anyone else?”

  “Other than Mrs. Crowsdale? Nope.”

  I studied her for a minute as I racked my brain for what else to ask her. I could think of only one thing. “Is he online? Can you show me a picture of him?”

  “Sure!” She whipped out her phone and tapped on the screen for a few seconds before turning it around to me.

  A brown-eyed teenage boy looked back at me. His hair was short and blond. The face he was making in his profile picture was clearly supposed to make him look tough, but the effect was lost on me. Maybe I was getting old.

  “May I?” I held out my hand. Becky nodded and passed me the phone. I scrolled down through his posts. It was mostly pictures of him, with or without his friends, but he was making the same tough-guy face in all of them. A few other scattered posts complained about tests or papers, but that was about it.

  “Does he bully people online?” I didn’t know how to see his activity other than on his own page.

  Becky shrugged.

  “You don’t know, or not really?”

  She shrugged again. “I don’t see him do it, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do it.”

  I noticed the blue checkmark at the top of the screen. “You’re friends with him.”

  “Yeah, but that’s online. You can’t not be friends with someone you know.”

  I thought about all the many people I knew but wasn’t friends with online and wondered if I was doing social media wrong. Then I noticed her friend count and realized it was nearly the population of Cape Bay. Not that we lived in a large town, but I still couldn’t comprehend how she knew all those people. Although it could be helpful. “What about Ms. Underwood? Are you friends with her?”

  Becky made a face as I handed back her phone. “No.”

  “Oh, I guess you don’t friend teachers.”

  “I do. Just not her.” She dropped her phone back in her pocket while I tried to mentally sort out the rules of teenage social media. Your teachers? Sure! A boy your age who you think is weird and creepy and could possibly be capable of murder? Of course, it would be rude not to! A teacher you don’t like? Never!

  But I had a feeling that really trying to understand all that would give me a headache, and I had other things to do. “Do you know where Brett would be this time of day? Or where he lives?” I felt creepy asking where a teenage boy lived, but it wasn’t like I could just wait for him to wander into the café.

  “He lives on my street. Like, directly across the street. I could walk straight out my front door and into his.”

  Well, that might explain why she was online friends with him. “Do you think he’d be home right now?”

  “No.” Her tone made me think that she thought I was as old as I felt right about then.

  “Do you know where else he could be?” I wished Becky were a little more forthcoming. I felt like I was dragging the information out of her.

  “Yeah, he’s right over there.”

  Chapter 9

  AFTER I GOT over my embarrassment at talking about the boy when he was practically right next to me, I realized I had a problem. I couldn’t exactly walk up to him in the middle of the café and ask him if he killed his teacher. But if I didn’t, I’d have to go find him at his house or somewhere else, and that could be complicated.

  Before I could decide what to do, he made the decision for me and got up to leave. I had to think fast. I ran to the back and grabbed my purse. For a second, my fingers hovered over the five-dollar bill in my wallet, but then I grabbed the twenty instead. Brett didn’t seem like the kind of kid who would be seduced by a mere five dollars.

  I dropped my wallet back into my purse, tucked it away, and headed back out into the café. Brett was gone.

  “I’m going to go out for a bit. You guys will be okay without me, right?” I hesitated for a second halfway out the door while I waited for confirmation.

  “Yup, we—”

  I didn’t wait for the rest of Sammy’s reply, just pushed the door open and went outside. I instantly realized I should have grabbed my coat, but I’d just have to deal with being cold. I didn’t have time to go back to get it and still catch up to Brett.

  I looked up and down Main Street for Brett. For a second, I thought he’d disappeared, but then I spotted his white T-shirt and jeans a block away.

  “Excuse me! Excuse me! I think you dropped this!” I said, hurrying in his direction. “Excuse me!”

  He finally turned around. “I didn’t drop anything, lady.”

  “No, I think you did. It was under your table at the café.” I held out the twenty so he could see it.

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah. I did. Thanks.” He took it from me and stuffed it in
his pocket.

  “It’s Brett, right?” I asked before he could turn around and walk away.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Me.”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Francesca Amaro. I own the café.” I gestured behind me like he might confuse us for some other café.

  He looked skeptical. “You were at my school the other day.”

  For a second, I wondered how he knew that before I remembered that he was a student there and must have seen me. Then I realized with a start that I’d seen him too. He was the boy in the principal’s office. “Yes, I was. I saw you coming out of the principal’s office.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  I shrugged. “I was just saying that I saw you. You’re one of Becky’s friends, right?” It was an exaggeration, but it served my purposes.

  “Yeah, we know each other. What’s that got to do with you?”

  “Well, I just—” I tried to think of something. “You’re in the play together, right? How’s that going? It must be really hard right now with one of your directors getting killed and the other one arrested for her murder.” It sounded stupid to my ears even as it came out, but I had to get him talking somehow.

  He smiled. It was more sneering than happy, though. “Yeah, old Veronica caught it, huh? She had it coming. Too bad about Mrs. C, though. But she’s not going to get convicted. She’s too nice.”

  “People don’t get acquitted on the basis of being too nice, Brett. They get acquitted because they’re innocent.”

  “Or because there’s not enough evidence. Or because everybody hated the lady who got killed and everybody loves the lady on trial.”

  “I wouldn’t want to count on that if I were on trial.”

  “Well, you’re not on trial, are you?” He smirked at me.

  “No, fortunately not. But Mrs. Crowsdale is. Do you think she’s willing to count on it?”

  He shrugged and looked as if he couldn’t care less.

  “Do you think she did it?”

  “Why do you care?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I’m just curious. I don’t know either of them, so I don’t know what to think.”

  He looked at me, again seeming to sneer. “Think whatever you want. It doesn’t bother me.” He turned around to walk away.