That afternoon, Kate and Maxi sat in folding chairs in front of Sam’s cell and watched the baker devour a healthy portion of enchiladas de mariscos—seafood stew. Along with several large wedges of skillet corn bread.
Life behind bars was giving the man an appetite, Kate noted approvingly.
Earlier Ben had confessed to Maxi that they were getting Sam out for walks once or twice a day.
“The backyard of the station house isn’t exactly the beach,” the detective had admitted. “But at least it’s green, and it gives him a little fresh air and exercise.”
A stack of books and magazines occupied half of Sam’s metal bench. And a crossword puzzle book was open next to him, adjacent to a thick new dictionary. Barb.
There were a couple of fat pillows and a plush plaid blanket on the second bench. Gifts from other visitors, Kate speculated.
A navy throw rug carpeted the previously bare tile floor. Kate was guessing that was from the Kims. Or possibly Rosie and Andre.
Dorm room chic aside, the biggest change was in the baker himself. The hollows and creases in his face were filling out. He had a kiss of sun on his forehead and cheeks. And his attitude was downright upbeat.
“How’s the bakery?” was the first thing out of his mouth when he saw them. “Open yet?”
“Not quite,” Kate said. “I gave it a good scrubbing this morning. Now we’re trying to schedule a health inspection. And we have to order supplies.”
“Gold Coast Supply. Got an account. You call ’em, they’ll come. Ask for Roberta. Had the account since we opened.”
Kate pulled a small pad from her pocket and dutifully scrawled “Gold Coast Supply” and “Roberta.”
“Is there an account number or PIN code I need to give her?” she asked.
“Don’t need that foolishness. Tell her you’re my assistant. Running the place for a bit. She’ll send what you need. Knows the right amounts, too.” To Maxi he asked, “How are the kids?”
“Well, they miss their Tio Sam,” Maxi said. “We didn’t tell them—”
“Course not. Too young to understand.”
“Looks like you’ve had some visitors,” Kate said lightly.
“Whether I want ’em or not,” Sam said. “Won’t let me out. But they’ll let anybody in. Sunny Eisenberg and some pal of hers in here this morning. Yakkin’ about some consarned TV show. Genuine housekeepers of somewhere or other.”
He sighed. “But they did bring some of Bridget’s egg-and-cheese biscuits. From the pub,” he said, shaking his head. “Worth it.”
Maxi looked at Kate, who was straining not to smile.
From what Kate learned this week, Sam had always helped others when they needed it. Usually on the Q.T.
Clearly, receiving help in return was sheer torture.
“Heard anything more about who killed that snake Lord?” he said between bites.
Kate looked at Maxi, each thinking the same thing: Inside the jail, what had he heard? What should they say?
“The police are following up on a new lead,” Maxi said. “But it’s too soon to know anything for sure.”
“We’re looking at a few things, too,” Kate admitted. “Just to be sure the police don’t miss anything.”
Sam nodded.
“No one can find any record of Lord before he came to the U.S.,” Kate admitted. “You ever hear anything about his private life? If he had a family, or where he lived?”
“Didn’t know anything about him. Didn’t want to. Seemed like he knew a lot about me, though. And what he didn’t know he made up.”
“What do you mean?” Kate asked.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Samuel Hepplewhite, it very much does matter,” Maxi scolded. “Everyone in this town is trying to figure out who killed Stewart Lord. Because whoever did it made it look like you’re the culprit. So if you know anything, mister, you spill it!”
Kate stared at her friend in amazement. Sam looked up and blinked, a surprised expression on his face. He was quiet for a long moment.
“Run a small business, some months are better than others,” he started haltingly. “You know.”
Maxi nodded encouragingly.
“The lean times. Lord would show up. Make an offer.”
“Always a lowball offer?” Kate asked gently.
Sam nodded. “Don’t know how he knew. But he always did.”
“If you wanted to sell the bakery, you could have sold it for more than he was offering,” Kate said.
“Won’t sell. Never.”
“But why did he think you’d take less?” Kate asked. “I mean, he was wrong about you wanting to sell. But if he hadn’t been, you still could have gone somewhere else and gotten a better deal. Why did he think you’d ever say yes to him?”
“Fast cash.”
“Actual cash?” Maxi asked, her eyes wide. “Like greenbacks? Benjamins? Bills in a suitcase?”
“Yup. And the weasel would show up when … things were bad,” the baker said slowly. “Wave money around. Promise to solve my problems. Or make them worse.”
“Worse how?” Kate asked.
Sam shook his head. “Never said. Kept sayin’ that the business was only worth the ground it was sittin’ on. Saying he could make that go down. Then he’d laugh. Some kinda inside joke. Said if I was smart, I’d get out quick. While I could.”
Kate nodded. It was pretty much a replay of the conversation she’d overheard at the bakery. “Was he going after any other businesses?”
Sam’s spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. He returned it to the bowl.
“Who?” Maxi asked.
Sam exhaled deeply. “Harp. Heard he talked to Harp.”
“That makes sense,” Maxi said. “When Caroline gets back, they’re probably going to have to sell the wine store or turn it into something else. If Lord heard about that, he’s the kind who’d swoop in to try to take advantage.”
Sam nodded. “Don’t know what Harp said. Can’t think he’d be fool enough to take that blowhard seriously.”
“There could be a few others around town, too,” Maxi said thoughtfully. “When you run a small business, things can go from great to awful like the blink of an eye. Even the time of year, that can make a difference.”
The baker nodded, picked up his spoon, and resumed eating. “Also get a few things from Sand Dollar Foods,” he said, glancing up between bites. “Ask for Betty. Don’t tell Roberta.”
“Well, of course not,” Kate said, nonplussed.
“Cleaning supplies from Casey’s Industrial Supply. Talk to Junior. If you get Eddie, hang up. Too slick for his own good.”
“We’ve been getting a few things from Amos Tully’s store,” Kate said.
“OK to start. But you don’t buy retail to sell retail. Won’t work. Not for long.”
“Truth,” Maxi said as she watched Sam mop up the spicy sauce from his bowl with the corn bread.
“Moist. Nice crust.”
“Honey instead of sugar,” Kate said, smiling.
The baker nodded.
“Um, I hate to mention it, but we’re going to have to replace your sourdough starter,” she said softly.
“Not Francine?”
“Uh, yeah. The police took everything food related. And apparently that included, um, Francine.”
Sam stopped eating and stared at the floor. Kate could see him working his jaw.
“Maybe the place you got it originally could give us another bit?” she prompted. “And if you added anything or grew it a certain way, I can try to replicate that same formula.”
“Didn’t do anything. Just set her aside every day. Francine did the rest.”
He studied the carpet. But unlike the other day, this wasn’t dejection or depression. Kate could see the wheels turning in Sam’s brain.
“Marco’s Bakery,” the baker said finally, like he’d made a decision. “In San Francisco. Castro Street. Talk to Marco or Sean. They’ll help. Won’t be exactly the same. But close.”
“I’ll call them this afternoon,” Kate said. “At this rate, the Cookie House will be reopened for business by the end of the week. Now, if you saved room for dessert, how about a few ginger snaps? I baked a fresh batch.”