Weddings are Murder (Bee's Bakehouse Mysteries Book 7) Page 4

  9

  Darlene spun the sign on the door around so it read ‘closed’. She stretched luxuriantly as she walked back toward the counter and let herself in the door marked ‘private’. It led straight upstairs to her apartment.

  It was compact to say the least, but it was home. She never had any issue with the size, but this wasn’t a normal situation.

  She was agitated.

  Restless.

  After all the stress of the past few weeks, she had wanted to make Bee Martin pay for being such a pain. It was the only thing that kept her going as she toiled all day in the stupid little store that she had grown to hate.

  Just as she went to close the door behind her and head upstairs to relax for the evening, she heard a knock at the door.

  Darlene sighed and turned around. What did these people expect? She wondered. Competition was so fierce that she was forced to charge them a little more than what it cost her to buy the flowers for the arrangements. That wasn’t even counting the long hours she spent cutting them and arranging them into little pieces of art.

  The brides were the worst, she thought as she made her way back to the door. They were always so sweet at first, but it was never long before they turned into demanding prima donnas. Just like Bee Martin. Darlene had tried to explain that even though she had forgotten to change the order, she had already picked up the lilies that formed part of the original centerpieces and bouquets so would Ms. Martin mind if they reverted to the old plan? Surely she could see what Darlene was trying to spell out.

  But no, she thought venomously. Bee had been adamant. Not only that but she’d had the cheek to get annoyed at Darlene, after Darlene spent all that time perfecting the designs for her dumb centerpieces. Bee had changed her mind so many times up to then—was it any surprise that Darlene had clean forgotten about the latest changes?

  Darlene unlocked the door and flung it open. “We’re closed,” she snapped. “Or can’t you read?”

  The man at her door blinked at her. “Is that any way to greet your old friend?”

  Darlene’s expression changed immediately. She flung her hands up in a gesture of helplessness. “I’m sorry, Joe. It’s just that I’m so fed up with this business. I’ve had it up to my eyeballs.”

  “You’ve had it up to you eyeballs?” he said with utter disdain. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  She pursed her lips. Darlene wouldn’t usually say anything to anger Joe—at least not since she found out what he really was—but today she was mad. “No? It looks to me like you’re all talk. You get other people to do your dirty work for you.”

  He stepped closer and she shrank away. She couldn’t help it. She chastised herself for saying something she should have known would make him angry. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “No, of course you weren’t. You’ve got me doing your dirty work. Do you know how close I came to losing my life last night?”

  Darlene winced. “You should come in.” She didn’t add that the only reason she was inviting him inside was so that nobody would see him hanging around her store.

  He smiled—it was more of a snarl, she thought. His thin lips peeled back to reveal sharp gray teeth and pale gums. Darlene was left with no doubt that he knew exactly why she was being so hospitable. She followed him inside, wishing she had thought of arranging to meet him in a public place.

  But she couldn’t do that, could she? She couldn’t be seen with him, or else everybody in town would know what she had done.

  “I’m fed up of this,” she hissed. “I want this done, once and for all.”

  “Patience, sweetheart,” he growled, turning and flashing her another blood-curdling smile. “All in good time.”

  10

  It was hard work keeping his face calm, but Freddie Lindemann managed to keep up the pretense until he was safely hidden in his office with the door locked and the blinds pulled down. It didn’t matter that he had sent all of his staff home, even though the fire chief had declared the restaurant safe.

  He sat in his office chair and leaned his head back. Guilt shot through him. He had thought about exactly these circumstances many times over the years, but he had never imagined feeling like this.

  He opened the top drawer of his desk, which he kept locked at all times, and rummaged in its packed confines for a few moments until he found what he was looking for.

  He pulled out a sheet of paper, slightly thicker than what he used in the printer in his office. He stared at it. He’d spent a lot of time staring at it since he renewed his policy, though he was always careful to use a paper napkin to hold the paper lest he leave fingerprints or marks. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know how often he’d stared at that sheet of paper and dreamed of his future.

  That was the thing, wasn’t it? One could never be too careful. He didn’t want them coming in here and finding that certificate and noticing how warped and damaged the edges of the paper were. Keeping it between two books wouldn’t matter: nothing could get rid of that subtle damage.

  And that was the last thing he wanted. He managed a smile at the thought of Chief Charles Daly searching this office and finding an insurance policy worth millions that had clearly been well-handled.

  No, Freddie knew he needed to give the impression that he was barely aware of the policy; that it was something he had signed up to purely because he was a conscientious businessman and that was the kind of thing that conscientious businesspeople did.

  He sighed and carefully replaced the page in the drawer where he had found it. Then he locked the drawer and put the key back into his jacket pocket. It wasn’t unusual to keep it in a locked drawer, he knew. He should know: he had spent hours, possibly even days pondering over the logistics of something like this. No detail was too small for Freddie; no aspect too trivial. It was how he had run Lindemann’s and it was how he took care of every aspect of his life.

  He was careful; meticulous; measured.

  He cursed aloud and pulled open the second drawer. This one didn’t have a lock; nor did it contain any paperwork. The only thing inside was a bottle of eighteen-year-old whiskey. Freddie rarely touched alcohol but this was one of those times that called for a drink.

  He had spent years thinking about this and one silly mistake had ruined everything for him. It was enough to make him want to run screaming from the place and never look back. He clenched his fists and reached for his water glass. Then he poured liberally until it was three quarters full of amber liquid.

  11

  “It’s probably an amateur job,” Tony, the chief’s friend in forensics, said. He’d been helicoptered in that morning, no matter that it was a Sunday. Chief Daly’s colleagues in the lab were eager to find out what happened in case there was a threat to the chief. Jessie felt unbelievable grateful that they were so focused on the case.

  “What else would it be?” Jessie whispered, not liking the image that had just popped up in her mind.

  Chief Daly and Tony whipped their heads around to stare at her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “That just freaked me out. How could it be anything other than amateur? That would mean…”

  Jessie shivered as her mind filled up with images of guys in black combat clothing sneaking around in the dead of night with high-tech equipment capable of wholesale destruction. It was just her luck that she and Melanie had gotten into the habit of watching thrillers—she couldn’t stop the conspiracy theories that were racing around in her mind.

  “Stop,” Mike said, grabbing her by the elbows and all but forcing her from the room.

  “But I want to know what we’re dealing with.”

  “So do I, but I can see you’re going to all kinds of places in your imagination.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Jessie protested. “What did he mean when he said it looks amateur? Of course it is! What else could it be? If it was professional then that would mean somebody had set a hitman on Freddie or Aunt Bee or the chief and tha
t’s just absurd!”

  It was absurd, wasn’t it? She stood there blinking up at Mike and willing him to burst out laughing. He didn’t. That did nothing to curtail the images that were rolling around in her mind; of big scary guys with British accents arriving in Springdale with elaborate toolkits and murderous intentions.

  Mike squeezed her shoulders. “Look. Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”

  She shook her head. “Against a professional killer?”

  “He didn’t say professional killer. He was talking about a professional…”

  “Arsonist?” Jessie wrinkled up her nose. “Because I bet they’re cute and cuddly and not in the slightest bit unhinged.”

  “Jessie. Jessie! He said it’s probably not the work of a professional.”

  “Probably,” she scoffed. “If you went to the garage and they said the brakes on your truck were probably working properly, you’d be okay with it?”

  When he didn’t respond, she pulled away and returned to the little meeting room. As terrifying as the situation was, she knew it was better to know as much as possible about what they were dealing with.

  “See this?”

  Jessie nodded. It was difficult to tell what it had looked like before because it was a mess of melted plastic.

  “This is our trigger. I’ll take a closer look back at the lab, but it looks pretty rudimentary. You can just about make out the timer here.” He pointed to part of the device with his pencil. Jessie couldn’t see how it was different to the rest of the melted mess.

  “Isn’t that a pretty high-tech thing to put together?”

  “Yes and no,” Tony said. “It’s frightening what you can find on the internet these days. But just looking at this, I know it’s not the work of a professional.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because a professional would have done a better job of making it look like an accident.”

  “So you’re sure it’s an amateur job?” Jessie asked, having to work hard to stop herself from heaving a great sigh of relief.

  “I can’t say that with certainty, of course,” Tony said. “But that’s what it looks like to me. Of course, the thing that’s most significant is that somebody set out to burn that building and succeeded. This may be amateur, but you’re still looking at somebody with the capability to create a timer that set off a spark at a certain time.”

  “So this rules out our victim as the arsonist.”

  “Not necessarily. I can only speak to the facts as I’ve seen them. It would seem to rule him out, though, unless he did a remarkably poor job of setting the timer and getting away.”

  Jessie glanced at the chief, who appeared remarkably calm. “How does it work in cases like this? I’m assuming that device is too damaged to provide fingerprints…”

  Tony nodded. “I’m no expert on the latest fingerprint technology, but I can tell you for sure that any organic matter on there won’t have survived. This thing would have gotten incredibly hot. Our killer may have left a fingerprint somewhere else, but even the most distinctive prints will have long since been burned off this.”

  “So I guess that leaves us with CCTV. We’ve already established that there are no witnesses.”

  “I’m afraid not, Jessie,” Chief Daly said, shaking his head. “You see, I’ve already checked. The feeds went down. There are twenty cameras in this building and not one of them recorded what happened.”

  “Surely they were operating before the fire?”

  Chief Daly shook his head. “It turns out they weren’t. Well, there’s no footage anyway.”

  The blood rushed to Jessie’s head. “I… I don’t feel right pointing this out but I feel like I have no choice. It’s glaringly obvious to me but I—”

  “Freddie,” the chief finished.

  She nodded. “Even before you mentioned the cameras, it seemed suspicious. The way he stopped me going in there. The way he stared at the flames… It was as if he knew it was going to happen. I couldn’t help but think of that. When I worked in insurance we came across a few cases of business owners torching their own premises. I told myself I was jumping to conclusions, but now…”

  “Now there’s an issue with the cameras.”

  “Exactly. Unless whoever did it got in there and disabled the cameras.”

  “That could be it, Jessie. Come on, let’s go talk to Freddie. It was one of his staff who told me about the cameras so we can have a chat to see how he reacts to the news.”

  Jessie nodded, feeling thoroughly miserable. After all, Freddie had just lost his livelihood, at least for the next several months. Rebuilds didn’t come cheap, especially not for a historic building like Lindemann’s. It didn’t seem right to kick a man when he was down like that, no matter how suspicious the circumstances.

  12

  Jessie didn’t know how she’d expected Freddie Lindemann to behave, but it wasn’t like this. She could tell he’d been drinking, but that wasn’t it. There was an edge to him, like he was getting ready to jump out of his skin at any moment. Not only that, but he was smiling at them with the sort of false, happy grin that made her certain he was hiding something.

  Stop it, Jessie, she told herself. He’s innocent until proven guilty. Besides, why would he stay in his office if he was responsible for the fire? This area is fine but the smell of smoke is almost overpowering even with all of the windows open.

  But no matter how much she chastised herself for judging him, that niggling insistence remained. The more she watched him, the more she became convinced that he was going to great efforts to seem calm and untroubled.

  “Freddie, I’m sorry to have to ask you questions after what just happened here,” Chief Daly said, solemnly.

  Freddie shook his head. “Come on, Charles. I’ll admit it’s far from ideal for me, but I’m not the only one who’s been put out by this. I’m so very sorry about your wedding day. Of course I’ll refund your down payment or I can help find you another venue.”

  The chief shook his head. “I think Beatrice has it in mind to wait until you’ve finished the renovations.”

  Jessie sighed. It was so sweet of her aunt to think like that when everybody in town knew how much she’d been looking forward to marrying the chief.

  Freddie’s next statement astonished her. “That may be quite some time. I’ll need to weigh up my options.”

  “What do you mean? You mean you’ll use this as an opportunity to remodel?” Lindemann’s had always been classy and elegant, but there was no way it could be described as modern. Jessie could see Freddie’s point: younger customers might not be as keen on the old fashioned décor as older generations.

  “I’m not sure,” Freddie said, sounding wary. “I’ll have to weigh up my options, like I said.”

  “But…” Jessie shook her head as a thought struck her. “You’re insured, right?”

  Freddie blanched. “What are you implying?”

  “Nothing. I… Nothing, Freddie. I just wanted to make sure you were covered.”

  “Yes I am,” he said. “Luckily.”

  “So there’s a possibility you won’t reopen this place? It’d be a shame: I loved those function rooms. And the front restaurant is pretty much unaffected, according to the technical report. We wouldn’t be sitting here if they hadn’t signed off this part of the building as sound.”

  Freddie flushed even pinker than the booze had made him. “You can’t just say things like that! It’s not fine. There’s a smell of smoke throughout the building—even in here and we’re in a different area to where the fire happened. I hope you haven’t made any claims like that in the police report, Charles? Honestly, if you’ve said something that might prevent—” Freddie stopped talking and plastered a smile onto his face. He cleared his throat and all of a sudden they were faced with the amiable restauranteur they knew so well.

  “I know you don’t know much about running a fine dining establishment. I, on the other hand, know a lot. And I’ll te
ll you this: some genius from your forensics team might very well think that the rest of the building is usable, but I guarantee you my customers will not dine in a room that stinks of smoke. The cuisine doesn’t matter: that smell is permanently embedded in my deep pile carpets and in the velvet drapes I imported from Italy. This place is no more a going concern than that video store on Main Street.”

  Jessie stared at him in disbelief. There was such spite in his words. No, it was something else. She couldn’t figure it out. What was going on here? Freddie always spoke of how the place was his life. Maybe he was in shock?

  Chief Daly cleared his throat. “I’m sure it is, Freddie. Anyway, like you say, neither Jessie nor I are experts in running your particular type of establishment. So I’ll stick to questions that are more firmly in my domain.”

  Freddie nodded.

  “Maybe you can clarify a little on the cameras. When we asked your head of security in to show us the footage, he said there was none available in the time leading up to the fire. Is that correct?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “I see. And are you in the habit of turning off the camera?”

  Freddie bit his lip. Jessie stared into his eyes, trying to understand the conflict in them. Because her friend seemed conflicted by that most basic question. No, there was something else there too.

  Freddie looked scared.

  “Sometimes. It depends. If we have a foreign dignitary, they often like to guard their privacy and—”

  Chief Daly held up his hand. “Wait a moment. How often are we talking? I take it foreign dignitaries would have flag-flying limousines and heavy security, that sort of thing, yes?”

  Freddie nodded.

  “Isn’t that the sort of thing that would get a place like Springdale talking? Don’t you remember the hoopla that happened when Malek Carew came to visit?”