Page 40 of Murder By the Millions
“Give it a rest. I’ll go home and change before heading to the bookshop. Back to you. Is Zach nuts? It’s ridiculous for him to think you could be a killer.”
“As ridiculous as when he thought you were?”
“I’ve had nefarious thoughts from time to time. You? Never.”
“Oh, yes, I have.” My desire to eighty-six my ex-fiancé had been so powerful I’d seen a psychologist to work through the anger. I still touched base with her every few months. Heaven forbid I reveal that tidbit to my parents. They were dead set against anybody picking apart another person’s brain.
Tegan grasped me in a bear hug and released me. “Tell me everything.”
“As I bake.”
I referred to the flowchart on the wall and awakened the laptop computer on the desk—the business one. I had a personal one at home. I reviewed the orders I’d jotted on my Notes app. “Big Mama’s needs lemon muffins.” I opened the recipe I’d stored in a Word file as I recited the other orders. “Milky Way wants four dozen oversized chocolate crinkle cookies. Legal Eagles is expecting a vanilla cake with coconut frosting for the receptionist’s birthday. Jukebox Joint wants scones.”
I paused. I hoped Zach’s mother wouldn’t press me for information when I showed up. We weren’t well acquainted. I’d been supplying scones for only a month. I pushed the thought aside and reviewed the order chart. “And I’m going to make a dozen poppy-seed muffins for Patrick and his crew.” Ragamuffin wouldn’t suffer if Patrick didn’t purchase muffins from them. They sold out daily. “He’s starting the renovation at your mom’s B&B today.”
“Helga won’t be happy about you popping in with goodies.”
“She’ll be fine. In fact, she’ll be over the moon. She’d begrudge having to provide sustenance for the workers.” Helga was devoted to Noeline and wouldn’t dare cut into her bottom line to give treats to the workmen.Let them feed themselves,I could hear her say.
I donned an apron and reminded myself to breathe. I had plenty of time. I didn’t need to start deliveries until at least nine a.m.
The rear door opened, and Vanna hurried in, appropriately attired for baking. No high heels, her hair swept into a chef’s cap. “What are you doing here, Tegan?”
“Good morning to you, too, Sis,” Tegan replied.
“You’re never up before eight.”
“Allie texted me.”
“Allie”—Vanna addressed me, dismissing her sister—“I had a dream to beat all dreams and came up with so many ideas about how to expand the business.” She flung her purse on the desk. “I was thinking we could deliver flyers to every refined business in town. You know, lawyers, accountants, and the like.” She slipped on an apron and viewed the recipes I’d pulled up on the computer. “Want me to make the cake?”
“Yes.”
She placed a mixing bowl on the prep counter. “We can also reach out to nearby communities, like Black Mountain,Swannanoa, Leicester, and Woodfin. Think of all the inns and B&Bs we could approach. Oh, and art galleries. There are so many. They’re always having gatherings.”
“Not a bad idea.” Many of the towns surrounding Asheville were similar in size to Bramblewood.
“Vanna, time-out.” Tegan formed a T with her hands. “Allie’s in a pickle. I’m here to help.”
“Do you need me to do a grocery run?”
“Not that kind of pickle. She’s a person of interest in the murder of Jason Gardner.”
Vanna gasped. “He’s dead?”
“He was stabbed,” I said. “Last night.”
“Oh, no!” Tears sprang to her eyes. A sob caught in her throat. She covered her mouth. “Oh!”
The memory of Jason mumbling, “Duh,” and expiring directly afterward caught me up short. Should I try to track down Delilah and let her know he’d been killed? Would she care?
Doing my best to maintain my calm, I went into the walk-in refrigerator and emerged with two dozen eggs and four cubes of butter. I dumped the butter into a large glass bowl and placed it in the microwave to melt. Then I began cracking eggs into two other bowls—eight for a double batch of cookies and eight for the poppy-seed muffins.
“Stabbed?” Vanna repeated.
“In the house he was renting,” I said.
She slumped onto a stool beside the prep counter. “What happened? Why are you a person of interest? Because you met him for dinner?”
