When Maxi walked into the bakery kitchen, four meat pies were cooling on a rack.
“Oh, this smells delicious! But how come this one has a little hole punched in the middle? And what’s with the little baby one on the end?”
“That’s a single serving for Sam. And the one with the hole is for Oliver and me. No garlic or onions because they’re bad for dogs. Instead, I substituted grated carrots and added extra rosemary, thyme, and basil. I made it look a little different so I wouldn’t get them mixed up.”
“If you want, I can take Sam his dinner on my way home. The news I mentioned? I finally counted the donations from Saturday and got the money to Sam’s bank. His lawyer had to stop by and sign off so they could drop the money into Sam’s account.”
“I never understood that. I mean, signing off to take money out, sure,” Kate said, vigorously washing her hands to remove all traces of icing. “But if any stranger wants to put a few dollars in my account, I say let them.”
“Ay, but this was more than just a few dollars. Between the checks and the cash, nine thousand, six hundred, and fifty-three dollars.”
“Oh my gosh! What did Sam say?” Kate asked.
“I haven’t told him yet. But I think he’ll be pleased. Even if he doesn’t admit it. It means people believe in him”
“In a big way. That’s fantastic.”
“And that’s not all,” Maxi said, bouncing in her chair. “While we were waiting on the bank manager to get everything signed, his lawyer—Bob Gifford—told me the assistant state attorney is having trouble linking Sam to the drug that killed Muriel Hopkins and Stewart Lord. So he wants to play Let’s Make a Deal again. If Sam pleads guilty to two counts of involuntary manslaughter, he’ll recommend ten to fifteen years in prison. And this time, he’s not asking for any of the details. Just sign the paper and say he did it. Bob said that Sam could be out in seven years. Or maybe even less.”
“What did Sam say?” Kate asked, tensing.
“Sam said ‘no way!’ Mi padrino won’t confess to something he didn’t do.”
“Thank goodness.”
“But the assistant state attorney making another offer?” Maxi said. “That’s a very good sign.”
“It is. It really is. What did Bob Gifford say?”
“They still have a long way to go to clear Sam. But it’s looking better.”
“Wow, that is good news.”
“So what’s your gossip? Or am I s’posed to take my meat pies and go home?”
“The bracelet was Muriel’s.”
“No! Who told you that?”
“Rosie. Muriel bought it from their shop the last time she visited Coral Cay. About two weeks before she died.”
“How did that slimy toad Lord get it?”
“That’s the puzzle. I guess he could have found it in the office after she died. Or when they were clearing out her desk someone might have discovered it and turned it over to him. But none of that explains the rum. Oh, and there’s one other weird thing. The bracelet and most of the charms are sterling silver and old. Edwardian, Rosie said. But the bright-colored plastic charms? They weren’t on the bracelet when Muriel bought it. Someone added them later. And Rosie is convinced it wasn’t Muriel.”
“That is super strange.”
“I know, right? A lot of little, nagging details that don’t seem important. Like the bits of stray dough trimmed from a piecrust. So why can’t I shake the feeling that they actually mean something?”