Page 86 of Murder By the Millions
“Yes, I know, but there’s a murderer on the loose. Anything new regarding the investigation?”
“The police do not have a suspect in custody. It can be a long process. And, no, I haven’t been exonerated, if that’s what you’re asking.” The notion made my head ache. “But I have some ideas about who did it, and I’ve been sharing them with Zach.”
“Is he listening?” She said away from the phone, “No, Jamie, it’s not the maître d’. It’s Allie. Yes, I’ll tell her.” To me, she said, “Your father sends his love and is telling me it’s time for dinner.”
“It’s late,” I replied.
“You know we’re night owls. Keep me in the loop. And check your text messages more regularly. Ta-ta.” She ended the call abruptly.
“Bye. Love you,” I said into the stratosphere. “Love you, too, Cookie,” I added snarkily and regarded my cat. “My mother is not fuzzy and cuddly like you. FYI, I prefer you.”
He meowed his approval.
The moment we were in the house, I locked the door and switched on all the main lights. Without thinking, I also checked the walls to see if any other art or artifact was absent. Everything seemed intact. Why hadn’t I noticed the spearhead missing before? A shiver ran down my spine. Having one’s personal space violated was unnerving. From this moment on, would I feel secure? Would solving Jason’s murder put an end to my anxiety?
I shimmied off my unease and said to the cat, “I’ve got to prep.” I fixed him a bowl of food and placed it on the floor by the dining nook. “You can snooze.”
After closing the Plexiglas door, I scrubbed my hands, secured my hair, uploaded the information from the thumb drive onto my computer—merging the new suspect notes with the previous notes—after which I focused on a plan for tomorrow. Yes, I was burning the candle at both ends, but I wanted my business to thrive as much as I wanted the bookshop to flourish, and I really wanted to see a murderer brought to justice. I was young. I could multitask without getting eight hours’ sleep.
While I was gathering items for the assorted cookies and muffins I would make for the museum tea in the morning, like cocoa, macadamia nuts, and white chocolate—ingredients I was running low on at my ghost kitchen—I noticed Darcy in the living room, scraping under the armchair.
“Stop, mister.” I pushed through the door. “Knock it off. I know I need to redo the jute straps and fix the springs on the darned thing. It’s older than Moses. You don’t have to remind me. Out! Now!”
Sufficiently reprimanded, Darcy bounded to the top of his llama cat-scratching station and sat stock-still.
Mortified by my negligence not to have figured out the reason for his sore toenail, I crossed to the fireplace to recheck for rough edges. I ran my palm along the surface. It was as smooth as it had been the last time I’d examined it.
“Darn it. What did you hurt yourself on, sweet thing?” I didn’t see any splinters jutting from the flooring. No protruding nails required hammering back into place.
My cell phone pinged. I pulled it from my jeans pocket and scanned the readout. Talk about timing. The vet had sent a message asking how Darcy was doing. I smiled, not surprised she’d contacted me. She’d once told me she made all her follow-up calls after hours. I was grateful for how dedicated she was. I texted back that he had pulled off his bandage, but I was checking diligently to make sure his toenail didn’t get infected, adding,So far, so good.She suggested I bring him in on Friday for a follow-up. I agreed.
I returned to the kitchen, washed my hands again, and after stowing the nonperishable ingredients I’d amassed in a large plastic tub and setting it by the front door, I slogged to bed.
Thursday morning the alarm trilled before dawn, and I was disinclined to get up, but as always, I did. I was a creature of good habits. To burn off the mental fog, I decided to take a quick jog. I donned workout clothes and reflective shoes and headed off.
I enjoyed running in the dark. I’d been doing so ever since I’d started track in junior high. The hour before dawn was peacefuland invigorating. I could process thoughts in my muddled brain with no distractions, despite the sound of critters skittering in trees.
Before long, I was thinking about the murder. If Iggie was truly innocent, then only Patrick and Reika were left as suspects. Was I missing someone? Did Zach have more names on his list? Was it possible someone on the town council had been against Jason’s plan? What about the neighbor named Ed Smith, who Pearl had said might have lied about hearing a dog bark?
C’mon, Allie.How in the heck would he, or anyone on the council, for that matter, have known to implicate you?
A nagging feeling gripped my insides. Suppose Finette had mentioned my spearpoint collection in passing, which had given the killer the idea to steal one.
Frustrated, I went home and screamed in the shower à la Janet Leigh inPsychowhile letting the hot water pummel my tired body. Refreshed, I stepped out, dried off, put on a tad of makeup, slipped into comfy blue jeans and a white buttondown shirt, and drove to Dream Cuisine. I left Darcy at home with kibble and water and warned him not to fool around. He seemed content with the plan.
After drinking my first cup of coffee, I addressed the assorted cookies for the museum tea. I knew each recipe by heart. I started with the triple chocolate chunk cookies; then I tackled the white chocolate macadamia ones and the dark chocolate raspberry cookies. Not everyone was a fan of the latter, but I adored them. Next, I threw together four dozen peanut butter cookies, each topped with a chocolate kiss. I’d take extras to the bookshop.
While I was baking the sugar cookies, I thought of Zach. He hadn’t responded to my text. How I missed bouncing ideas off him and wished I could tell him so, but I couldn’t and shouldn’treach out again until the murder was solved. He might snap off my head, and I needed it.
As the cookies were cooling, I decided to make a batch of deviled eggs as well as a pineapple upside-down cake. I’d take them to the bookshop for a taste test. I could make deviled eggs in my sleep. The secret ingredient was white vinegar, so I tackled those first.
Then I addressed the cake. I had made it in the past and had struggled with having a soggy cake. However, while researching which foods I wanted to serve at theGatsbyparty, I’d read on a fellow baker’s website that using creamed butter instead of melted butter could make a difference. She’d also suggested using cake flour instead of sifted all-purpose flour and egg whites in place of whole eggs.
On top of the melted butter and brown sugar I’d combined in the bottom of a cake pan, I arranged the topping of pineapple rings, which I blotted dry, and deposited a maraschino cherry in the middle of each. I stowed the pan in the refrigerator to chill and focused on the batter.
A pineapple upside-down cake meant exactly that. You layered the batter on the topping, which was on the bottom, and when the cake was turned out of the pan, the topping was now on the top. Once I poured the batter over the topping, I slid the cake into the oven. Reika’s order was next on the list. I mixed the batters for the muffins she’d requested—chocolate as well as apple. Afterward, I assembled the batters for the items I had to deliver to Jukebox Joint, Ragamuffin, and Blessed Bean.
Sometimes I was amazed by how quickly I could produce all my orders. To make sure I hadn’t missed anything, I checked the to-do list on my Notes app. I’d written a duplicate list on the whiteboard on the wall. Big Mama’s Diner wanted sourdough bread for the weekend, but I could handle the task tomorrow.
