That afternoon, as Maxi carried a late lunch—and the good news about the reopening plans—over to Sam at the jail, Kate kept an eye on Flowers Maximus and the Cookie House.
Pressed for time, they’d opted for one of Bridget’s chicken pot pies with strawberry shortcake for dessert.
Before Maxi left, Kate handed her two cookie boxes, both without the new Cookie House labels. “This one’s for Sam. So he can enjoy a snack later. And this one’s for Ben, if you see him. Apparently, Ball Cap Man and I cost him dessert.”
“Ay, you definitely don’t want to do that. You know that phrase ‘the long arm of the law’? When I hear that, I always see Ben at Thanksgiving dinner, reaching across our table for the cherry pie. That man loves his sweets.”
An hour later, Kate didn’t see how Maxi managed it. Even without the health department crisis, the florist’s phone rang almost nonstop. While most of the calls were fairly simple—people who wanted to see if she had a favorite flower in stock or to get prices for plants or landscaping—many were big last-minute floral orders. Or changes to big last-minute floral orders.
One bride-to-be needed an estimate on flowers for her wedding. But she wanted native seasonal plants only. The date of the wedding? Either next weekend or Halloween. They were still working on that. (Kate promised Maxi would call as soon as she returned from “another event.”)
A second bride confessed her father had pronounced the florist’s estimate for pink and white roses “too bloody high.” What else could Ms. Más-Buchanan recommend that would be stylish and still fit their budget? (“Not to worry, Ms. Más-Buchanan can suggest some lovely alternatives, and she’ll be in touch this afternoon.”)
And two of the resort hotels phoned. One had a guest planning a last-minute wedding, another needed flowers for an impromptu baby shower this weekend: Could she accommodate them? (Definitely, Kate informed both. And her “boss, Ms. Más-Buchanan, would call for the details and handle the arrangements personally.”)
All between taking deliveries for the bakery and the flower shop. And shuttling cookies, cold water, and lemonade to the painting crew.
When she spotted the UPS truck pulling up in front of the Cookie House, Kate opened the door and flew across the lawn to the bakery.
She met the deliveryman just as he was hiking up the walkway carrying a white box with “Marco’s” printed on the sides in heavy black letters.
“Hi, I’m Kate McGuire,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I think that one’s for me.”
“Kate McGuire, care of the Cookie House,” the young guy said, smiling. “Just take this and sign there,” he said, handing her the box with an electronic tablet stacked on top. “Hey, do you guys really make cookies?”
“All kinds. Come back on Saturday. We’re having a grand reopening. To celebrate, we’re giving away everything we bake. To the community.”
She paused for a beat. And focused. “And the peanut butter cookies are outstanding. Salty and sweet.”
“With those fork hashtags in the top? Oh man, those are my favorite. My mom hasn’t made those in years. OK, you’re on. I’ll be back here Saturday. Might bring a few friends, too.”
“The more the merrier,” Kate said, wondering if they might need more supplies.
With ladders forming a virtual cage across the front of the bakery, she headed to the back door. As she rounded the corner of the house, she spied Carl Ivers sitting on the back stoop. Smoking a cigarette.
“Don’t tell Minette,” he said, inhaling deeply and casting a long glance across the backyard.
Kate’s mind worked double-time. A locksmith (and ex-cop) would know how to pick a lock. She remembered Carl installing a dead bolt the morning after the break-in—how safe that had made her feel. Now she suddenly realized it also meant he could have a key to the bakery. And with the painting project, who’d think twice if they saw him going into the place at any hour? He was going to be here tonight. Late. Painting the storerooms. How hard would it be for him to take a “smoke break” to finish searching the place for whatever it was the burglar wanted?
She snuck a glance at his shoes. Work boots. With hard soles.
“I don’t really smoke anymore,” he explained. “Quite a long time ago. I just bum one now and then. To relax.”
Carl finally looked up and met her eyes. “So what’s in the box?”
“New shoes,” Kate said quickly. “Ordered them online.”