Kate was awakened by the sound of someone banging on the front door. Followed by a dog barking. Loudly.
“Wake up, baker-girls! Big day ahead!”
“That’s Peter!” Maxi said, rubbing her eyes. “And Oliver! Ay, what time is it?”
Kate sat up from the kitchen table where she’d inadvertently dozed off. “Six a.m.! Oh my gosh, it’s six a.m.! I have to get yeast rolls in the oven for Sunny! And we have to open in two hours! I’m so not ready.”
Maxi stretched like a cat as she headed for the front door. “It’s like Christmas. It comes whether you’re ready or not. But in this case, we’re ready.”
“I don’t have any sourdough yet. Lots of cookies and plenty of other breads. But no sourdough. That’s Sam’s signature. I’ve been too freaked out to even attempt it.”
“So we go without sourdough,” the florist said, smiling. “Look at this place. We’ve got enough stuff to open a bakery.”
Kate looked around, amazed. There were racks lined up cooling. And almost every available inch of counter space was covered with breads, rolls, and cookies. It had taken the two of them working flat out all night. But Maxi was right. Except for the sourdough—and Sunny’s rolls—they were all set.
“How’s my girl holding up?” Peter asked, handing Maxi a large paper cup as Oliver rushed past them.
“I think I slept sitting up,” Maxi confessed. “I haven’t done that since Elena was teething. Oh, is this what I think it is?”
“Esperanza’s special double-strong mocha espresso with lots of cream and sugar. Brought one for each of you. Figured you could probably use it. Along with some bacon and egg sandwiches. Got a suitcase with fresh clothes in the car.”
“Mi amor, right now I’d marry you all over again.”
“That’s just the caffeine rush talking. Oh, and I promised Javie I’d relay a message. ‘What does a baker have in common with his dough?’”
“Mmmmm, I don’t know,” she said, sipping happily. “What does a baker have in common with his dough?”
“Both have to rise early in the morning,” he finished, shrugging. “I swore to him I’d tell you that, so message delivered.”
“That’s awful, truly awful,” she said, “but this coffee is wonderful.”
“So are the sandwiches. Made ’em myself. The secret is extra butter on the toast.”
Kate slid two trays with Sunny’s yeast rolls into the small oven. As she turned from closing the door, Oliver jumped up and put his front paws on her knees. His curved, fluffy tail seemed to have a mind—and rhythm—of its own.
“I missed you, too,” she told the puppy softly, stroking his flanks and scratching him under the chin. “But I know you had fun with Michael and Javie and Elena. Yeah, that’s my guy!”
She grabbed a ginger snap from the counter, placed it on her palm, and held it in front of him. Nimbly, he lifted the cookie gently into his mouth and crunched it. Kate could have sworn his black eyes twinkled. She palmed another ginger snap and presented it.
The puppy took it carefully from her hand, leaving nary a crumb. Or even a drop of moisture.
Strolling out from the kitchen with Oliver, Kate reached into the brown lunch bag on the bakery counter and pulled out a small parcel wrapped in wax paper. “I love the idea of eating something I didn’t actually have to make first.”
“Got some news that might improve your appetite, too,” Peter said, grinning at Maxi.
Kate held her breath.
“Sam gets to stay in the Coral Cay jail,” he announced. “At least for the time being.”
“Oh, Peter!” Maxi said, kissing his cheek. “That’s wonderful. How did you do it?”
“I can’t take the credit. This was Doc Patel. And Annie Kim.”
“How?” Maxi asked.
“Doc evaluated Sam late yesterday. And submitted his recommendation that Sam Hepplewhite needs to stay where he is. For medical reasons. And Annie let us review the pharmacy records for Sam and Ginger without a subpoena. Practically begged us to, in fact. She even helped Ben and one of the investigators from our office sort through the records most of the night, just so they’d understand what they were reading. Basically, Sam didn’t have access to the drug that killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. It’s not something he or Ginger had ever taken. And it’s not exactly easy to get, lemme tell you. You need a prescription, and it’s pretty tightly controlled. Granted, that isn’t much. We still have to figure out if Sam could have picked it up online or through the black market or from a less-than-scrupulous pharmacy. But this is the first thing that’s broken in Sam’s favor. And his lack of access to that drug—together with the medical eval—was enough to convince a judge to issue an emergency injunction. So, for now at least, he stays put.”
Maxi kissed him again. “You’re brilliant.”
“Much as I’d like to take credit for it, it wasn’t me. Well, the medical eval was. But don’t tell anyone. The assistant state attorney is hopping mad. The official story is that Sam’s lawyer demanded it. And that’s true. Even if I might have dropped a bug in his ear. But Annie? She called us. Persistent as all get-out. Wouldn’t get off the phone until someone agreed to look at what she’d discovered. No idea how she found out exactly which drug killed Lord and Hopkins. But she’s Sam’s pharmacist, and she really did the legwork.”
Kate smiled and polished off what was left of her sandwich, surreptitiously slipping a slice of crispy bacon to Oliver.
Maxi had never mentioned the name of the drug that had killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. But she had written it down. Out of habit, the florist jotted down names and numbers from phone conversations—usually floral orders—in case she needed to refer to them later.
But Maxi had been in such a state after Peter’s call yesterday that she’d never even realized she’d done it. Much less that Kate had pocketed that little piece of pink paper.