Elijah’s bakery was tiny and quaint, but clearly popular with the locals since there was a line that stretched right out the door and down the sidewalk, past the antique store, the florist, and the book store. On a Sunday.
Then again, there weren’t that many places open on a Sunday during the off-season.
I approached the line, considered it, then moved toward the front doors.
“Hey!” The shout had come from a woman near the back. She hugged two children in sweaters to her sides. “Hey, excuse me. You can’t just cut in. That’s not how this works.”
“I’m not cutting in,” I said. “I’m here to talk business with the owner.”
The woman muttered under her breath, and I took that as an acknowledgement that she was OK with my excuse for cutting in. Her gaze followed me right up until I opened the door and entered the bakery.
It had a cute interior, like many of the other restaurants and establishments in Star Lake, with wooden floors, wrought iron tables, and an antique cash register. Two women stood behind the counter at the back, serving up breads of every kind, while a few customers had sat down at tables to eat from an a la carte menu that was printed along the back wall. Sandwiches, burgers, and anything involving bread. Even bread pudding.
I soaked in the smells and sounds, scanning the interior in search of Elijah.
“May I help you, Miss?” A server wearing an apron with a dancing baguette cartoon printed on the pocket stopped beside me. “There’s a line you can join? Unless you’re going to sit down for breakfast?”
“Actually, I was hoping to talk to Elijah? Is he here today?”
“Oh, sure, he’s in the office.” She pointed to a door to the left.
“Thanks.” I dipped away from the conversation and knocked on the office door.
“Yeah?” The irritable reply came from within.
Whoops. Looked like I had caught Elijah at a bad time. That might make this more difficult than I’d anticipated.
I entered the office. “Hi, Mr. Hanson,” I said. “I hope not interrupting you.”
Elijah’s lips parted into a huge smile. “No problem. You’re saving me from an online consultation with my tax consultant. And I’m always willing to talk to a customer in need. What can I help you with today?”
I shut the door and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. It was wrought iron, just like the ones in the bakery, and it was pretty uncomfortable. Elijah’s chair was leather and high-backed.
“Actually, I’m not here to talk to you about your bakery. Technically. I wanted to ask you some advice.”
“Advice? About what?”
“About joining the Bakers group,” I said.
“Yeah?” Elijah’s eyebrows drew inward. “Why?”
“My name’s Milly Pepper, and I own the Starlight Cafe around the corner? On Main Street.”
“Right, Frank’s place.”
I nodded. “Nora Jensen asked me to join, but I was kind of holding out, and now I’m thinking maybe I should join. It seems like there are a lot of benefits. Trouble is, I can’t get hold of Ms. Jensen on her cellphone.”
“Goodness,” Elijah said. “No offense, Milly, but have you been living under a rock?” Another of those impossible wide grins followed that statement.
“I’m not sure what you mean?” I was very sure what he meant, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Nora’s dead,” he said, with not a hint of sorrow in his voice. “Like, she was murdered a few days ago.”
I gasped, clapping a hand to my mouth and hoping my performance was as Oscar-worthy as it felt. “Really? But… how? Why?”
“That’s what the police are trying to work out.” Elijah gave the tiniest of eye rolls. “And if I’m honest, I can’t advise you to join the Bakers group.”
“You can’t? But you’re one of the members. I heard you were really important in the group? Isn’t that true?”
Elijah puffed out his chest. “Sure. You could say that. But joining the Bakers is a lifetime commitment, and people get pretty serious about it. Mean too.”
“Mean?”
“Take Nora for instance,” Elijah said. “She was in the habit of making enemies on behalf of the group because she was in charge. Mad with power, you might say. And, uh, all those threats… Anyway. That doesn’t matter now.”
“She seemed nice to me.”
“Nice?”
“I was the one who catered her party recently,” I said.
“Then you must’ve been there when she was murdered.”
“Was I? I had no idea. I had to leave that night to look after my pet bunny, so I wasn’t there. I can’t believe it,” I said, affecting a conspiratorial tone. “She was murdered that night?”
Elijah nodded enthusiastically. “Right under our noses. Can you believe that? I wish I knew who’d done it,” he said. “I’d like to give him an award, but obviously don’t tell anyone I said that. Nora was such a piece of work but everyone’s acting like the sun shone out of her nether region now that she’s gone.”
“Did you stay there overnight?” I asked.
“I did.”
“Then you were under the same roof as a murderer,” I said, and rubbed the arms of my coat. “That’s spine chilling.”
“Not really,” Elijah said. “I went to bed early, so it’s not like I was under any threat.”
I opened my mouth, hoping to press him more—I’d gotten a lot of character information, but nothing that proved anything about his connection to Willow or the scene—but the door flew open.
“Mr. Hanson!” The server who’d helped me stood framed in the doorway. “Mr. Hanson, you have to come quick, oven 2 and 4 are broken again.”
“You’re kidding,” Elijah said. “Ugh. Sorry about this, Milly. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. These old ovens, sometimes they just need a good kick and a shake.” He got up and left the office, shutting the door.
I raised both eyebrows.
This was interesting. There was a laptop on Elijah’s desk. And I was alone with it.
I cast a cursory glance at the closed door then jumped out of my chair, circled the desk, and tapped on the trackpad. The screen lit up, providing me a view of what was on it. I opened his email inbox, but there wasn’t anything of note other than stuff related to the running of the bakery. Interestingly, the sent mail folder was empty, as were Elijah’s drafts.
Why would he have erased that mail?
I closed his email then clicked through to his folders. Sue had been right about Elijah being a perfectionist. His drive was miraculously organized, everything had its place, and there was nothing interesting there either.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, exiting back to the desktop once again.
The little wastepaper basket icon was half-full. I clicked on it, and a rush of triumph followed.
Elijah had recently deleted a document titled “Dear, Nora.”
I restored it to the desktop and opened it, quickly, then whipped out my phone and took a picture of the screen, before deleting it again and returning to my side of the desk.
Elijah didn’t return for another five minutes, but I waited, patiently, without reading the letter.
“Sorry,” Elijah said, taking his seat behind the desk. “That took a little longer than I anticipated.”
“It’s no problem. I just really wanted to know if you think joining the Bakers group is a good idea.”
“Honestly,” he said, and I noted that he’d used the word “honest” a lot during our conversation, “the Bakers group is in chaos at the moment. Nobody knows whether they’re coming or going or who’s going to be the head of the organization. I’d wait if I were you. Give it a couple of months, and if you still want to join, then talk to me again. I’m sure there will be someone in charge by then who can process applications.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate your time today, Mr. Hanson.”
“Any time, Milly. Any time at all.”
Dear Nora,
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
I wanted to thank you for all the years of assistance you’ve provided as the head of the Bakers group. You have been a good friend and asset to the group.
However, I must insist that you remove yourself from my personal business. I believe that interfering in both my bakery and my personal life, goes against the founding principles of the Bakers group. The level of interference, the random drop-ins at my place of work and my home, the constant questions and text messages, could all be considered harassment in a court of law.
As a result, I am writing to you to formally request you cease and desist your actions immediately. If you continue, I will be seeking legal representation.
I don’t want this issue to progress that far, but I will do what is necessary to keep myself and my business safe. Please respect my wishes so that we can continue working together amicably in the Bakers group.
Regards,
Elijah H. Hanson.
“Wow.” I read through the letter two times more while I stroked Waffle who had laid himself in my lap.
We were on the floor in my tiny living room, watching another nature documentary while I considered the evidence in the case. The picture I’d snapped of the letter Elijah had typed out on his laptop was marred by black and white streaks—the result of having taken an image rather than a screenshot of the laptop’s screen—but it was still readable.
And pretty damning.
If Elijah had been desperate enough to go to a lawyer to stop Nora from harassing him, could he be capable of taking things into his own hands?
What if Elijah had found out from his lawyer that Nora’s actions weren’t harassment and there was no legal recourse? Would he have been desperate enough to, say, murder his harasser in cold blood?
It was an interesting concept, but I had no idea how bad Nora’s harassment had been. Of course, any form of harassment was bad, but what had she done?
How had she interfered?
I read the letter a last time then locked my phone and set it aside.
Waffle dozed in my lap, his cute nose occasionally twitching when I stroked his velvety soft rabbit ears. It was late and bed time was on the horizon, but I had no idea how I would sleep after reading this letter.
There were so many suspects to consider, and I had to be up early for another day in the Starlight Cafe tomorrow. All I wanted was to stay up late, doing research, going over the case notes I’d made so far, and snacking on potato chips.
Waffle gave a fantastic yawn.
“All right,” I said, “we can sleep.”
But in the morning? It was game on.