Seventeen

“What do you think that means?” Mel demanded of her fiancé later that day. “Uncle Stan wouldn’t elaborate at all.”

“It means Sarah isn’t the killer, or at least she didn’t kill him with the mallet,” Joe said. They were sitting outside on their wicker loveseat, enjoying the cool evening while Peanut sniffed her way around the yard and Captain Jack lounged on his cat tree in the window behind them.

Mel frowned at the darkening sky.

“What happened after he said that?” Joe asked.

“I called Steve to meet Sarah at the station,” Mel said. Joe made a face as if he’d bit into a cupcake made out of brussels sprouts. Steve Wolfmeier was not one of his favorite people. “Then I helped Sam clean up the kitchen before going to the bakery, where I baked a ridiculous amount of cupcakes with Oz, who seemed very relieved that Sarah wasn’t the murderer but also worried about what that means for him.”

“Rightly so,” Joe said. “Without another viable suspect, it pushes Oz front and center again. Does he have any ideas about who might have been in the kitchen at that time?”

“None.” Mel shook her head. “But it had to be someone, right? If Sarah is telling the truth, and I believe she is, that she clobbered Miles and ran for it, then someone came upon Miles and finished him off. But who and why?”

“And Uncle Stan said nothing other than the mallet was not the murder weapon?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she confirmed. “He told me I need to concentrate on our wedding.”

“He does have a point. We’re to be married in four days—”

“More like three.”

“Three days.” He smiled.

It was the same smile that had caused Mel to fall for him when she was just twelve years old. There was a hint of mischief in his warm brown eyes and his lips curved up on one side just a little bit higher than the other. She was going to spend her life looking at that smile, and she couldn’t be happier about it, but how could she be happy when Oz might get jailed for a crime he didn’t commit? She started to fret.

“All right, what happened there? You were happy and then not. What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“We have two days to figure out who murdered Miles Gallway and clear Oz’s name,” she said.

“Ugh.” Joe tipped his head back in defeat. “And here I thought I’d gotten you to think about us.”

“I am thinking about us. How can we be happy if one of our own is wrongly incarcerated for murder?”

Joe took her hand in his. “We’ll just have to use all of our resources to help Oz. We won’t let him go to jail.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mel leaned against Joe. This. This was exactly what she’d hoped her marriage would be. The two of them, in it together, for better or for worse, no matter the obstacles, because as everyone knows, love conquers all.

---

“Mel, come quick,” Marty skidded into the kitchen from the front of the bakery, where he and Oz had been manning the counter.

Mel and Angie were hip-deep in cupcakes and frosting with a huge batch of cupcakes in the oven, the industrial mixer was working up the batter for the next run, and her frosting mixer was churning up a decadent buttercream. Mel was trying to get ahead of things for when she was gone. In short, she was a little busy.

“Is it really important?” she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Only if you care that Oz is going back to the resort and will likely get himself killed or arrested,” he said.

Mel jerked upright and then strode into the bakery with Angie right behind her. There were customers standing there, watching Oz tug off his apron.

“Oz!” Mel said. “What are you doing?”

“I have to go,” he said. Freed from his apron, he balled it up in one hand while striding past them and back into the kitchen. Mel glanced at Marty and he raised his hands in the air as if to say, See?

Mel followed Oz into the kitchen, again with Angie right behind her and asked, “Where, Oz? Where do you have to go?”

“To get my stuff,” he said. “Sam just called me and they’re going to break the lock on my locker and toss all of my stuff in the garbage. I have some of my best cookbooks, with my notes in the margins, in there.”

Mel put her hand to her chest. She felt exactly the punch to the gut this would be. Oz couldn’t lose his notes.

“All right, fine, but I’m coming with you,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Yes,” Angie said. “She’s your cover. She’s having her reception there in two days. It would be reasonable for her to be on site, but you not so much unless you’re with her.”

“Listen to her,” Mel said. “It makes sense.”

Oz rolled his eyes as if seeking patience.

“What?” Mel insisted. “It just makes sense for me to go.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why don’t you want me to go?”

“Because nothing is ever easy when you’re around,” he said. “I want to get in and out with my stuff with no drama.”

“There won’t be any drama,” Mel said.

“Riiight,” he said.

Mel turned to Angie. “Back me up.”

In a shocking display of treachery, Angie said, “He does have a point.”

“Ah,” Mel gasped.

“I’m just saying that bad things sometimes happen to you that might not happen to other people,” Angie said. She hugged her belly. “Sorry.”

Mel decided to ignore her. It was clearly the pregnancy hormones making her perception of things wonky.

“Can you handle things here?” Mel gestured to the kitchen.

Angie nodded. “Madison is coming in shortly.”

“Perfect.” Mel took off her apron and said to Oz, “Let’s go. I’ll drive.”

Looking aggrieved, Oz led the way out of the back door to the small lot where Mel had parked her car.

“Why do you suppose they’re tossing your things?” Mel asked on the drive. “I mean, were you officially fired?”

“No, or at least not that I’ve been told,” Oz said. “Sam said it was Ashley’s call and she said my stuff had to go to make room for whoever they hired to take my place.”

“You think she just wants you out of there because Simon favored you for the television gig?” Mel asked.

Oz shrugged. “I have no idea. This is not exactly how I envisioned the end of my job at the Sun Dial.”

“I know,” Mel said. “I’m so sorry. But you’re crazy talented and there will be other jobs.”

Oz shrugged. His expression was blank, as if the current events didn’t hurt, but Mel knew that he had to be crushed. He’d really seemed to enjoy having his own kitchen.

She parked in her usual spot, realizing that in two days she and Joe would be arriving in their hired limo for their wedding reception. She was at once full of anticipation but also just the littlest bit nervous. Marriage. It was hard to believe the big day was almost here.

They crossed the parking lot. They smiled at the parking attendant but when Oz made to walk past him, the man, with a name tag that read Larry, held out his arm.

“Sorry, Oz,” Larry said. “You’re not allowed in.”

“Since when?” Oz asked.

“Mrs. Perry said that you aren’t allowed on the resort premises anymore,” Larry said. He looked apologetic, as if it were left to him, he’d let Oz go.

“Well, this is a problem,” Oz said. “My stuff is in my locker and I’ve been told I have to get it before they toss it.”

“Who said that?”

“Sa . . . Mr. Perry,” Oz lied. Mel glanced at him. She’d never been more proud.

“Oh.” Larry scratched his chin where he had a thin coating of beard sprouting. “How long do you think it will take?”

“Not more than fifteen minutes,” Oz said.

“Okay, cool,” Larry said. He waved his hand at the front door. “Go, but if you run into Mrs. Perry, I never saw you.”

“Understood,” Oz said.

They headed inside the resort with Mel scanning the area for a glimpse of Mrs. Perry. She was usually hard to miss, a flash of skin, high heels, and a smile. Mel didn’t see her.

They hurried through the resort, not slowing down in the dining room but trotting right on through until they got to the hallway where the kitchens were located.

Oz was going to charge right ahead into the staff-only area, but Mel grabbed his arm. “Do you think you should be the one to go in there? What if the other staff have been told to have you removed from the premises, like Larry?”

Oz paused. “I need my stuff.”

“I can go in for you,” Mel said.

He shook his head. “I don’t like it. How are you going to explain being there?”

“I’m your friend and I’m here for your stuff,” she said.

“Maybe I can have Sam do it,” he said. “Come on, let’s see if we can find him.”

He turned away from the Staff Only door and pushed through to the pastry kitchen. It was empty. Oz stared around the room and frowned.

“What’s wrong?” Mel asked.

“Why is it empty?” he wondered aloud. “Marcus should be here making the dinner rolls, and has nobody fed the Beast?”

Oz bolted for the walk-in cooler. He ducked inside and brought an enormous glass jar over to the counter. He thunked it down and then pried off the lid. Mel peered over his shoulder into the jar.

“Oof, that doesn’t smell so good,” she said. “It has an alcohol tang. Also, it’s not so much a Beast as a house cat that isn’t litter box trained.”

“Yeah, someone forgot to feed it,” Oz said. He went to the pantry to retrieve the flour.

“Tomas, the bread guy, is on vacation. Sam was supposed to keep an eye on it. He’s usually more responsible than this.”

“Sam, your assistant, the one who was struggling to make a crust for a tart?” Mel asked. “The one who said your locker was getting cleaned out.”

“Yeah,” Oz said. “I imagine running the show by himself was more work than he bargained on.”

Mel stared at the jar. She frowned. “Remind me again, on the day that Miles was murdered, who knew you went back inside to feed the Beast?”

“Sam, Marcus, a few others from my staff,” he said. He began to mix equal amounts of flour and water in to the jar. Mel watched him as he added it.

“Just your crew. Anyone else?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “We were out on the loading dock helping to unload the supply truck when I got a text from Tomas asking me to feed the Beast. He’d used the starter to prep some loaves of bread that were already on the counter but then forgot to feed the starter. You can’t ignore the Beast otherwise . . .”

“You get that,” Mel said. She glanced at the jar. Oz frowned.

“Can you walk me through it?” Mel asked. “Not just the moment you found Gallway, but give me an idea of what was happening in here before you all left.”

Oz finished mixing the flour and water with the handle of a wooden spoon and secured the lid. He pushed the jar away and washed his hands. He paced while he dried his hands and Mel said nothing, allowing him to gather his thoughts.

“Dylan and Ethan were here, working on a specialty cake for a retirement party,” he said. “I was over there.” He pointed to a counter opposite. “I was considering changing one of our dessert specialties on the menu.”

“Not the pistachio crème brûlée,” Mel said. She tried to keep the horror out of her voice.

“No.” He smiled. “Never that.”

“Sam was over at the main counter working on filling a batch of cannoli,” he said. “We got a call that they needed help unloading a delivery truck. The truck arrived late and they wanted all hands available so it didn’t mess up the prep schedule for dinner. I left the menu and went out there with the rest of my guys, but then I got the text from Tomas.” He gestured to the door that led out to the loading dock. “I came in through the back door to the kitchen to take care of the starter. I fed the Beast and then checked on the dough Tomas had set out to rise. Two of the loaves were fine but one was a mess. I mixed up a new one and left it in a bowl, figuring it might rise in time.”

He frowned and stared at the counter as if trying to remember something that was just slipping out of his grasp.

Mel watched him work through it. He picked up the Beast and took the glass jar back to the walk-in refrigerator. He gestured between it and the pantry and said, “I went back and forth getting supplies, feeding it, fixing the wonky dough, and then I went to the sink to wash my hands so I could go back out to the loading dock.” Oz moved to the sink. It was the only spot in the kitchen where a person could see around the counter. “I was here, washing up, when I saw his feet. I dropped the towel and came around the counter, where I found Gallway on the floor.”

Oz paled as he stood there, recalling the moment. Mel waited. She knew he was seeing Gallway in his mind’s eye and it was not the easiest thing to recall.

“I crouched down beside him and called his name, but he didn’t respond,” he said. He grimaced. “His eyes were so bloodshot that I thought he’d gotten drunk, slipped, and cracked his head on the counter.”

“Did he get drunk often?” Mel asked.

“He seemed to maintain a steady buzz during his shift,” Oz said. “It rarely got away from him, but there were a few incidents where Ashley had to step in and finish the night for him.”

Mel remembered Uncle Stan asking Sarah if Miles had been drunk when he assaulted her. She’d said no.

“How long do you think you were out on the loading dock before coming back to tend to the Beast?”

“Ten, maybe, fifteen minutes,” he said.

Mel nodded. That was definitely long enough for someone to have followed Gallway from the banquet kitchen and have finished him off. But if the murder weapon wasn’t the wooden mallet, then how had they done it? She thought about his bloodshot eyes. If he hadn’t been drunk, they might mean something else entirely.

“Was anything missing from your kitchen?” Mel asked. “Maybe you didn’t notice at the time but its disappearance has left you looking for it.”

Oz shook his head. “Not that I can think of, but things were pretty chaotic with everyone running from the loading dock to the larder and back.”

Well, that didn’t help at all. Mel watched as Oz moved around the kitchen that had been his. He straightened work stations, wiped down a counter, fussed with dishcloths, and rearranged the pastry bags and specialty tips. He was sorting them when he tossed a handful back into a drawer and slammed it shut.

“Never could get anyone to keep those organized,” he muttered. The kitchen remained empty and Oz said, “I have no idea where anyone is. Maybe they’re having a meeting. Either way, I need to get my stuff and get out of here.”

“Agreed,” Mel said. Oz looked reluctant. “You hate leaving.”

He ran his hand over the granite countertop. “It was the first kitchen that was all mine.”

“I understand,” Mel said. And she did. “Having your own kitchen is a chef’s dream come true.”

“Yeah,” he said.

He knocked on the counter twice, as if testing its strength, and then led the way out of the room without looking back.

They went back down the hallway to the door marked Staff Only. Oz didn’t hesitate but pushed his way in. This was where the kitchen staff stowed their personal belongings while they worked. It was a utilitarian room with a wall of lockers, a bench, and two unisex restrooms at the far end of the room. Oz crossed the black-and-white tile floor to a locker on the upper half of the two rows that lined the wall. He took his key ring out of his pocket and deftly inserted the key. It opened with a click and he pulled the round lock off the door handle. He handed it to Mel. It filled her palm and was surprisingly heavy.

He pulled the handle down and with a squeak of protest the door swung open. The bottom of the locker looked like a Little Free Library. It was stuffed with cookbooks, notebooks, and miscellaneous papers, all of which filled the bottom half. Two white chef’s coats hung on hooks above the mess. In the cubby above was what looked like a white chef’s hat, a traditional white toque with many pleats. It was also covered in blood.