The girl handed Kate a paper cup full of milky hot liquid. It smelled of bergamot. Earl Grey tea.
“Tea makes everything better,” she explained. “Maybe not completely, but it certainly helps. And I put some sugar in it, too.”
Kate felt like an idiot. She’d ruined the detective’s lunch. And made a fool of herself in the process. She sounded like a hysterical ninny. And at this rate, everyone in Coral Cay was going to hear about it. Small-town secrets, indeed.
“I’m sorry. I feel so stupid. A man’s been following me. Since I arrived in town…”
“A stalker? That’s awful. You’ll be safe here. Besides,” she said, smiling, “we have Oliver to protect us.”
“I’m Kate McGuire,” she said, putting out her hand. “I’m helping out with the Cookie House.”
“Clarissa St. John. Claire. My boyfriend mentioned you. Gabe Louden?”
“Gabe saved my life when I first got to town. My car broke down on Main Street. And I was on my way to a job interview at Fish-a-Palooza.”
“Nasty place. You dodged a bullet there. So how’s Sam doing?”
“Better. Although we’re still trying to figure out what really happened, so he can come home.”
“Gabe mentioned that. I wanted to come to the book club meeting, but I had too much to do here. Stewart Lord was a vile pig. Whoever killed him probably had an excellent reason.”
With a clear grudge and a British background, did Claire know more about Stewart Lord than she was letting on? Something about his hidden past?
Then again, anyone who ever met the developer seemed to feel the same way.
“So you sell bicycles?” Kate asked, glancing around.
“Sell, lease, and rent. I also repair them. And I have the grunge on my smock to prove it,” Claire said, grinning. “You may not have noticed, but for the locals, bikes are quite a popular way to traverse the town. No noise, no pollution, no petrol. And you can go pretty much anywhere you like. Including over to the beach. Tourists rent them for an afternoon. Makes them feel like they’ve gone native. And I have those big three-wheeled trikes that the retirees seem to favor. Even a few fat-wheeled ones that they can ride on the wet sand, just above the water.”
Kate had seen the racks full of bikes around town. And people zipping here and there on two wheels. But somehow, she’d never made the connection.
“Just out of curiosity, what would it cost to buy a bike? I mean, I was thinking of something with baskets to deliver orders from the bakery.”
“I have a couple of models in stock that should be just your size. You’re about five-eight?”
“Exactly. How did you know?”
“Bike mechanics are like tailors,” Claire said, shrugging. “And if your bike isn’t a good fit, you’re better off walking. Too small, and you work too hard. Too large, and it’s out of balance. Right, Oliver?”
The pup looked up but wisely said nothing.
“The one I’d recommend is practically new,” Claire continued. “It came in a few months ago, and I’ve been using it occasionally for rentals. But I could retrofit it with baskets, or braces for baskets. That way, you could add and remove them as needed. It’s not quite how you want to deliver a wedding cake. But for anything else it should be perfect.”
A minute later, Claire wheeled a baby-blue ladies’ bike from the storeroom.
“The style is retro cool, but it also has five speeds, so you’ll have some versatility.”
“This is gorgeous,” Kate said. “It looks brand new.”
“Very low mileage, as the used-car salesmen say. I could put click-in brackets here, on the back carrier, to accommodate different-sized baskets or trays. And it already has the basket in the front.”
“I hate to ask, but how much?”
The door opened and Ben Abrams stepped inside the shop. “Ladies,” he said with a tip of his Panama hat. “Good news, bad news. The guy slithered away again.”
Kate’s face fell. Claire, who looked almost as upset as Kate, patted her on the shoulder.
“The good news is, several of the store owners got a nice look at him,” the detective said. “I talked with them. And if they spot him again, they’re gonna call me. Quietly. And the more eyes and ears we have, the better.”
The detective paused, pulling out a small spiral pad. “I have a general description of this guy. About five-five, five-six. Late forties. Deep tan. Kind of burly,” he shrugged. “Lot of that going around. And one of the witnesses mentioned a New York accent. Maybe Brooklyn. Could be the Bronx. Heck, for all Phyllis knows about New York, it could be Yonkers or Bean Town. What I’m trying to say is, you got a couple of ganders at this guy. Is there any chance you might know who he is? Or is there any reason someone might have had to follow you here from New York?”
“No, none,” Kate said plainly. “I broke off an engagement. But he’s already moved on to someone else. That’s why we broke up. I have a sister and brother-in-law in New Jersey. It definitely wasn’t my brother-in-law. And besides, they have their own lives. My ex-landlord just sold her apartment building for a small fortune, so she’s happy. The last restaurant I worked for went under, so everyone there is scrambling for a job. And that sums up my life in New York. I was working sixteen-hour days. I didn’t have time to make enemies. Besides, I have a pretty good memory for faces. You kind of have to in my business. And I’ve never seen that guy before I arrived in Coral Cay.”
Ben nodded. “OK, I had to ask. And you were right to call. Do it again if you see him. Doesn’t matter if I’m at lunch or mowing my lawn, the operators will patch you through.”
Kate nodded, shaking his hand. “Thank you. And I really am sorry about your lunch.”
“No big deal,” the detective said, bending to give Oliver’s neck a friendly scratch. “I was just finishing up. Only thing I missed was dessert. Strawberry shortcake. And Doc Patel would probably pin a medal on you for that. Oh, I meant to tell you, the crime lab’s finished with your cell phone and those books of yours we collected from the bakery. You can stop by the station and pick them up anytime.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
“Take care, ladies, Oliver,” Ben said, tipping his hat as he turned to leave. “Just keep an eye out. We’ve got the whole town watching for this clown. We’re gonna get him.”
Kate nodded, her smile tight. When the door closed after him, she sagged against the counter.
“I’m so sorry they didn’t catch your villain,” Claire said earnestly. “But Ben’s right. If everyone’s looking for him, they’re either going to collect him or scare him away. Win-win, as you Yanks say.”
Kate smiled in spite of herself. And gazed longingly at the sky-blue bike. “You’re right. And I’m going to put it out of my mind. Now, how much is this beautiful thing?”
“Rent it first. That’s what I always recommend. That way, you can test whether it’s a good fit—for you and the bakery. How about we say seventy-five dollars for the week for the bike and a new helmet? If you like it, we’ll consider that a down payment. And you could pay off the remaining three hundred dollars in installments.”
Kate did some math in her head. Three hundred and seventy-five dollars was a chunk. Especially when she didn’t know when or how Sam would be able to pay her. But she could put the first seventy-five dollars on her card. Even her overworked plastic could handle that. A bike would enable her to get those early morning deliveries to the yoga studio. The revenue from that alone would practically pay for it. And if she didn’t have the money next week, she’d just have to bring it back.
She fished the plastic card out of her jeans pocket and presented it to Claire, grinning. “OK, you’ve got yourself a deal!”