A Freshly Baked Cozy Mystery Box Set Page 7

  I sat back and turned my thoughts to a new blog article. I needed to get one done, and I didn’t seem to have any new ideas. I had been writing on grief for so long that sometimes it did feel like I might be living too close to the memories. I had tried to come up with ideas to start a new blog, but I always came up empty-handed. Besides, I felt like I handled the subject of grief sensitively. And from my reader responses, they all seemed to have various family members that didn’t handle their grief sensitively and I felt like I filled a place in their lives.

  I opened another tab and went to my blog. There was a notification of new comments. I began reading through them. Three were spam. Another was a grandmother that wrote me frequently. She had lost her son three years ago, and it felt like she was lonely and needed someone to talk to. Another young mother had lost her husband almost a year ago and she was coming up on the first anniversary of his death. I sighed. If I stopped blogging on grief where would these people turn?

  My breath caught in my throat as I read the last comment.

  I know what you did. You may have the police fooled, but I’m not fooled. You murdered Henry Hoffer. You won’t get away with it. I’ll make sure of that. Sweet dreams.

  When my heart finally started beating again, I took a deep breath. The comments didn’t go live unless I approved them, so thankfully no one else had seen it. Somebody was trying to set me up to take the fall for Henry’s murder! Only the killer would leave a message like that. And the killer knew who I was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After reading the comment on my blog from the murderer, I lay down to take a nap. But my mind churned with worry, so all I accomplished was messing up my hair and wrinkling my clothes. After nearly an hour, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed and stared at my feet. I needed a pedicure. Running was hard on the toes.

  Then it hit me. RH was Ralph Henderson. The RH from the betting slips we had found in Henry’s office. Only that didn’t make sense because Ralph was a gardener and not a bookie. Unless Henry was the bookie. But if Henry had been a bookie why not do that full-time? It seemed like in the movies bookies always had money and Henry would have made more money being a bookie than he did running the restaurant.

  Dixie jumped up on the bed and rubbed his head against my arm. I scratched his forehead, thinking. I needed to have another chat with Ralph. How do we know he was really fishing? It was convenient that he was by himself.

  I picked up my cell phone from the bedside table and searched for Henderson Gardening Service. In less than five minutes, I had an appointment for gardening service for that afternoon. I had already used the weed eater on my tiny front yard two days earlier, but I needed to speak to Ralph right away and didn’t have time to let the grass grow taller. He hadn’t been friendly or forthcoming when Lucy and I had spoken to him previously, but maybe he would be a bit more forthcoming if there was the prospect of earning some money. I hadn’t given him my last name when I set up the appointment so I was sure he would show.

  ***

  Ralph pulled up to the curb with his enclosed trailer full of gardening equipment behind his truck. I stood on the steps waiting for him. My yard was fairly spotless and weed free. The cooler weather had brought on less lawn growth, but a couple of my trees had already begun to drop their orange colored leaves. He could break out the leaf blower and tidy up for me.

  “Afternoon,” he said getting out of his truck. His forced smile turned to a frown when he recognized me.

  I smiled really big. “Good afternoon, Ralph. I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice.”

  “Yeah, I had a cancellation,” he said and slammed the truck door harder than was necessary. He glanced around at my yard. “Don’t seem like you need much done here.”

  “Well, there are all these leaves!” I said, motioning toward the obvious. “Oh and you know, I think I’d like some nice fall flowers in the planter in front of the house.” The weather would soon take a cold turn and the flowers wouldn’t last long, but maybe they would survive until mid-October. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care about flowers, anyway. I wouldn’t argue with him about flower colors, either. That may have been Henry’s downfall.

  He made a snorting noise and swung open my little gate and walked into the yard. My yard was enclosed with a darling white picket fence that had scallops along the top. It set off my creamy yellow cottage perfectly.

  “I guess I could do that. You got much of a backyard?”

  “Just a tiny one, but that probably needs some work, too. Follow me,” I said and led him around the side and reached over the gate and unlatched it.

  He followed me into the backyard. The grass was still green and closely cropped. I had put in new rose bushes the previous spring and they were still blooming.

  He snorted. “Looks like whoever has been doing your yard has done a pretty good job. I don’t know why you called me.”

  “Well that would be me, but I’m really not a yard person, so that’s why I called you. I would love to be relieved of yard duty,” I said and laughed, trying to keep things light and friendly. He stared blankly back at me. That Ralph was a card, I tell ya.

  “I’ll write up a proposal,” he said and turned back toward the gate.

  “Ralph, I have a question for you,” I said. Then I realized that I was with a possible killer in my backyard. A backyard that had a solid eight-foot tall wood fence that no one could see over.

  He turned slowly toward me and looked at me without saying a word.

  I swallowed. “Let’s go out front, shall we?” It would have been far too easy for him to pull out a knife and do to me what he may have done to Henry.

  He followed me around front without a word. At the front walk, I turned toward him. “Were you really out fishing the night of Henry’s murder?”

  His face clouded over in anger. “Is that what this is about? You’re wasting my time when I could be working and earning money for my kids?”

  “Oh no, not at all. I really do want to hire a gardener and you were the first one I thought of,” I said trying to smooth things over. “It’s just that the police are having such a hard time finding the killer.”

  “And you think it’s me?” he said, his voice getting louder. “Lady, you are crazy! I don’t have time for this.”

  I’ve been called that before.

  “Am I, Ralph?” I said and whipped out the piece of paper I had tucked into my hoodie pocket earlier. I held it out to him so he could see it. “You owed Henry Hoffer money and I think you killed him when he tried to collect.” My heart was pounding in my chest and I glanced around to see if there were any witnesses just in case Ralph decided to shut me up permanently. The street was empty, and I silently cursed my timing.

  Ralph took three steps toward me and grabbed the paper out of my hand. He looked it over and his face turned the color of beets. “Listen, you don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I already told you where I was.”

  He tossed the paper on the ground and stormed back to his truck. Jumping into his truck, he slammed the door nearly off the hinges. He shot one last angry look at me and started the engine. His tires left rubber on the street when he pulled away.

  He didn’t even give me an estimate.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I think there’s someone you should investigate,” I said, sitting across from Detective Blanchard. He had a small office at the police station that was nearly empty. A small desk sat facing the door and there were two folding metal visitors’ chairs in front of the desk. I guess the Sandy Harbor police department wasn’t fancy.

  He sat and looked at me without saying a word. He had the prettiest blue eyes framed in long dark lashes that I had ever seen. I couldn’t tell if he was mad or if he just wanted me to disappear. After a few moments had passed, I decided he really just wanted me to disappear.

  “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me who?” I asked when he remained silent.

  I hurried right over
to the police station after Ralph left my house. I didn’t want to waste any time in case he had gone home to plan my murder and would be back this evening to carry it out.

  “Sure. Go ahead and tell me who you suspect,” the detective said much too calmly, folding his hands on the desk in front of him.

  I sat up straighter and leaned forward. “Ralph Henderson.”

  He didn’t blink an eye, only continued looking at me.

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why I suspect him?” I asked.

  “Why do you suspect him?” he asked.

  He was really beginning to bug me. “Because Henry Hoffer was a bookie and Ralph Henderson made a bad bet he didn’t have the money to pay for. I think.”

  “Where did you get this information?” he asked, still not looking interested.

  I pulled out the file I had taken from Henry’s restaurant and laid it on the desk. It’s funny, but until that moment, I hadn’t thought about the fact that I had stolen the file the night Lucy and I had broken into the restaurant. The same break-in I had denied had ever occurred. I had just laid the evidence of that little crime on his desk in front of him. I forced myself to smile and looked him in the eye like nothing was amiss.

  He slowly reached for the file and opened it up and began leafing through the papers. Then he looked at me again. “How did you come by this file?”

  I looked at a picture hanging on the wall behind him. “My, that is a nice picture of a sunset.”

  “Allie, I asked you where you got this file,” he said not even looking at the picture.

  “A little bird gave it to me.”

  He sighed, closing the file folder. “Well, you might tell that little bird that breaking and entering and burglary are very serious crimes.”

  “I did not burgle anything!” I protested.

  “Taking something that doesn’t belong to you is burglary when you break and enter,” he informed me, opening the file again and looking through it.

  “Well, I didn’t do it,” I said. “But I think you need to investigate Ralph.”

  “I’m not seeing anything that points to Ralph Henderson,” he said.

  I reached over and pulled out the paper that had the initials RH on it. “See? Those are his initials!”

  “Those could be anyone’s initials,” he pointed out. “This really doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Plus he has a very bad temper,” I said, grasping at proverbial straws. “I mean, he loses it super fast. Within seconds.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Many people have short fuses and I would imagine having someone accuse them of a crime they probably didn’t commit would make anyone angry. Did you accuse Ralph Henderson of a crime?”

  “Well, he said he was fishing, but of course he was fishing by himself, so he has no alibi,” I pointed out.

  “Fishing by oneself is not a crime. Not like some other crimes I can think of.”

  I stared at him. Was he trying to be difficult, or did it just come naturally?

  “And besides, these are receipts. Henry Hoffer was the one making the bets,” he explained. “Ralph is a gardener. If he were a bookie, he wouldn’t need to garden.”

  “Well, you won’t really know everything until you go and talk to him,” I sputtered, beginning to feel flustered. I had been so sure that Henry was the bookie. “But how do you know for sure that Henry wasn’t the bookie?”

  “I just explained that to you. And I want to warn you, Allie. You are treading on dangerous ground. You committed a crime to get this information and then you stole it. There’s no way this would ever hold up in court now,” he said leveling his gaze at me.

  “Well, if I hadn’t done that, then we wouldn’t have this information,” I protested.

  “We might have had this information if you had left the file alone so that I could have had access to it. I think we might be able to add obstruction of justice to the list of crimes you’ve committed.”

  I swallowed hard. “I was only trying to help,” I whimpered.

  “We’re dealing with a murderer,” he said a little more softly. “You’re putting yourself in danger.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t need to do that if you weren’t trying to hang this murder on me,” I defended.

  “I assure you, I am not trying to hang a murder on anyone. I’m simply trying to do my job and take a murderer off the streets,” he said, closing the file again.

  “Well, I’m not a murderer,” I said, clutching my handbag tightly to my chest.

  “Probably not. But I still have to do my job,” he pointed out.

  “Fine. Do your job then,” I answered, sticking my lower lip out a little.

  He sighed again. I knew I was trying his patience, but I couldn’t help it. I needed to clear my name.

  “I will certainly do my best,” he said.

  “And you’ll talk to Ralph Henderson?”

  He eyed me. “Only if you promise not to interfere with the case and that you won’t steal any more evidence.”

  I smiled. “Deal.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “This. Seriously. Sucks.” Lucy gasped out each word.

  “You’ll get used to it,” I said evenly as we jogged slowly along the running path. I had finally talked her into coming along with me. It was the raisin apple sour cream pie that finally did it. She had over-indulged and gained four pounds overnight. I was going to point out it was impossible to gain that much in one night but thought better of it when she volunteered to run with me. At the pace we were going, I would have to run again after I dropped her off at her house so I could get a real run in. It was fine though. I was happy to have the company.

  “Well, it seriously sucks,” she said slowing to a walk and breathing hard.

  “It takes a while to get used to it, but it will get easier,” I said. “The benefits are so worth it.”

  “Do you think Detective Blanchard will interrogate Ralph?” she asked through gasps. I had filled her in on my findings on the way to the running trail.

  “I certainly hope so. He has such a bad temper, I’m sure he’s the murderer,” I said, taking a swig from my water bottle.

  “You should have had me there for backup. That was really dangerous.”

  “I know, but I wanted to get the information as soon as possible and I knew you were working at the time.” I also thought she might get a little wild with the accusations once Ralph got there. I had wanted to try to get information out of Ralph, not that it turned out that way. But with Ralph’s temper, it was a risk to do what I did. I agreed with her on that.

  “Hey, is that that handsome detective over there?” she said pointing to a lone figure coming toward us. He was running along at what looked like a good clip, head held high with good form.

  “Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t sure if Detective Blanchard was a runner.

  We walked along so Lucy could catch her breath and the runner headed toward us. As he got closer, I thought it did look like the detective.

  When he got close to us, he slowed to a walk.

  “Good morning, Detective,” Lucy sang out.

  I rolled my eyes. She seemed to be overlooking the fact that this man was still trying to hang a murder on me and if he felt like it, he could also charge me with the laundry list of crimes he had accused me of the previous day.

  “Good morning,” he replied. I noticed he wasn’t breathing very hard and that he appeared to be in good shape. He looked at me and nodded his greeting.

  “Good morning. Did you get a chance to speak to Ralph Henderson?” I asked. No use beating around the bush, we all knew it was the question I wanted answered.

  He glanced at Lucy and then turned back to me. “Indeed I did. Turns out he wasn’t fishing at all.”

  “I knew it!” I gloated.

  “Turns out he was at the hospital, watching his baby being born,” he said.

  “What? That doesn’t make sense.” I said, my face falling at the news. “Why would he lie and say he was
fishing?”

  “Wait a minute, I know Ralph’s wife from the bank. She’s older than I am. No way was she having a baby,” Lucy said, pointing at the detective. “He’s lying! He has no alibi, and he committed the murder!” She looked at me, nodding.

  “Yeah, it’s just like I said!” I told him, returning to my gloating. I wanted justice, and I wanted it now.

  “That’s correct. Ralph Henderson’s wife did not have a baby,” he said just as seriously as he said everything else. I wondered if this guy even had a sense of humor. He certainly never showed it if he did.

  “What do you mean?” I asked. And then it dawned on me. “Seriously?”

  He nodded. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but Ralph was not the killer.”

  “Well, do you know this for sure? He could be lying,” I said, feeling dejected.

  “I know this for sure,” he said confidently.

  “I don’t get it,” Lucy said, eyebrows furrowed.

  “So that’s why he left his gardening equipment in front of the restaurant?” I asked.

  He nodded smugly. “He was in a hurry. He didn’t want to miss the birth.”

  “Well, what other leads do you have?” I asked. “Is there a person of interest?” I had to know that I wasn’t that person of interest. I wasn’t sure if he would tell me or not though. He wasn’t one to talk much.