That night, Kate turned in early. If Ball Cap Man tried to break in again, he was in for a surprise. Thanks to Carl Ivers, that back door was beefed up with a dead bolt.
And, for the first time in her life, Kate owned a landline phone. A fire-engine-red slimline that magically appeared on a shelf in her storeroom-slash-bedroom.
One of Hepplewhite’s “errands.”
And the light in the closet worked, too. Now that someone had installed a pink bulb in the socket.
Still, she slept fitfully. And it wasn’t the cot.
When Hepplewhite showed up in the bakery again at 2:00 a.m.—whistling loudly, slamming cupboard doors, and banging pans—Kate finally relaxed.
The next morning, armed with her own key and a workday that didn’t begin until noon, she vowed to get out and explore Coral Cay. She made it as far as next door when she spied Oliver.
Maxi was planting some kind of bush out front, and Oliver was, literally, running circles around her.
“Did he at least help you dig the hole?” Kate called from the curb.
“He’s super good at digging,” she said, laughing. “He’s not so good at stopping.”
Oliver bounded over to Kate, raced around her several times, then planted his front paws, ducking his head, and wagging his tail. Clearly, a game. Even if the clueless humans didn’t know how to play.
Maxi tenderly patted the ground under the bush, then leaned back and peeled off her garden gloves. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee. And it’s nice and cool on the porch. Wanna join me?”
The front yard of Flowers Maximus was a marvel. Kate had never seen most of the colorful flowers that filled the wide beds ringing the shop.
But some blooms she recognized. Like the purple bougainvillea overflowing from hanging baskets that rimmed the porch. And the two lemon trees, thriving in oversized clay planters on either side of the door.
Kate was mesmerized. It smelled like a tropical paradise.
Oliver ignored all of it, in favor of the yellow water bowl on the far end of the porch. And the pup splashed almost as much as he drank.
“This is incredible,” she said when Maxi reappeared with a tray. “It’s like an explosion of color. How do you do it?”
“Time and patience,” Maxi replied with a smile, setting the tray on a table between two wicker rockers. “And the weather doesn’t hurt. It’s warm and humid—like a jungle. The challenge is to keep them from taking over.”
Oliver trotted over, spun around a few times, and stretched out next to the table between them, looking up hopefully. Kate guessed she wasn’t the only one who smelled the platter of lemon cookies on the tray.
Kate helped herself to a cookie and nibbled thoughtfully. “Wow, these are wonderful,” she said, savoring the lemony flavor, sharp and sweet at the same time.
Maxi beamed. “My abuela’s secret recipe. So ‘secret’ that she only shared it with anyone who asked her for it.”
“If you ever give up gardening, you could give the Girl Scouts a run for their money.”
“The garden is what makes them good,” Maxi confessed. “The lemon syrup comes from these two trees,” she said, pointing to the container pots. “Last year’s harvest. Along with some herbs from my garden.”
“Too bad Mr. Hepplewhite won’t sell cookies in the bakery,” Kate said, taking two more from the tray and slipping one to Oliver. “These are amazing.”
“Gracias,” she said, smiling widely. “Coming from you, that’s a very big compliment. So you’re from New York? What made you decide to come to Coral Cay?”
“I got voted off the island,” Kate deadpanned. “Unfortunately, the island was Manhattan.”
Maxi giggled.
“The restaurant I was working for folded. Turns out the owner had been embezzling. My apartment building went condo. And I called off my wedding.”
“Sounds like a rough year,” Maxi said.
“All in the same day,” Kate said sheepishly.
“No!”
“A month before the wedding,” Kate said, grinning.
“¡Arroz con mango!” Maxi said, her black eyes wide.
“Exactly. So I decided, what the heck—time for a change.”
“That is super gutsy.”
“Or super stupid. Jury’s still out on that one. So tell me, what should I know about Coral Cay?”
“Ay, where to start. Right now the big news in town is Stewart Lord. I saw his limo in front of the bakery yesterday. You met him, right?”
“Briefly,” Kate said, wincing at the memory. “Apparently, he wanted to buy the place. What did he do for a living?”
“He called himself an ‘entrepreneur,’” Maxi said, carefully pouring coffee into two tiny china cups. “Which, for him, meant making lots of noise and throwing around lots of money. Bought up blocks of property cheap, cheap, cheap. Then he would either build something and sell it off quick or flip the land. The locals used to call him Lord Stewart Lord. But only behind his back.”
“Because it would have ticked him off?” Kate asked.
“Because he would have loved it,” Maxi said, shaking her head. “He craved attention, that one. Good or bad. And it was usually bad.”
“Yeah, he seemed like a real charmer. So what do you know about him?”
“Not much,” Maxi said. “He was originally from London, of course. You could hear it in his voice. Just like you hear a tiny bit of Santiago de Cuba in mine,” she said, smiling. “He became a big shot in South Florida after the hurricanes a few years ago. Blew in with cash when people were so desperate. He made a fortune.”
“So basically a total slimeball?”
“He wanted downtown Coral Cay,” she said quietly.
“Which part?”
“All of it,” Maxi said. “Every bit. He had some kind of big plan to ‘re-energize downtown,’” she said, forming air quotes with her hands. “The rumor was he really wanted to level it to expand the resort area. More hotels. Condos, casinos, maybe even a private airport. Is it horrible to think that it’s not so bad he’s gone?” She quickly crossed herself.
Kate took a sip of the inky black liquid in her cup. Hot and bitter, it numbed her tongue.
“Oh, corazón, no! You can’t drink it like that. It needs sugar,” Maxi said, laughing as she ladled a few teaspoons of large brown crystals into the cup.
Oliver, on the alert, raised his head.
“Lots of sugar—and a little coconut cream,” she said dropping two large spoonfuls of white fluff into the steaming liquid. “Now try it.”
“Ooooh, that is good. I could seriously get used to this.”
“It’s addictive,” Maxi said with a grin. “And super good with chocolate, too.”
“You’re a bad influence,” Kate said, surreptitiously slipping another cookie to Oliver and grabbing a third for herself. “Like I don’t have enough chocolate in my life. Another caffeine-laced delivery system is all I need. So what did Stewart Lord want with the Cookie House? It doesn’t seem like his kind of place.”
“He thought it was the weak link,” Maxi said, settling back into her rocker. “Because of Sam. Lord figured if he could get one piece of property downtown, he could collect the rest. Like that board game. The one with the candy-colored money.”
“Monopoly? But why would Hepplewhite be the weak link? I mean, the place is a little run-down. Outside, anyway. But he does a good business.”
Maxi shook her head, frowning. “Not the bakery so much as Sam himself. When Cookie died, he changed. I think he kind of gave up.”
“Cookie was his wife?”
“Yeah. The Cookie House was their dream. Retire to a beach town. Open a bakery. And just enjoy the heck out of life. And that’s exactly what they did. Ay, I wish you could have seen it then. The place was known for its desserts. Even the resorts bought stuff there.”
“Desserts? Hepplewhite sold desserts?”
“That was Cookie,” Maxi said. “Her real name was Ginger. She was magic. She did all kinds of cakes and tarts and pastries. So good! She really knew her pastry. And she absolutely charmed the customers. Sam baked the breads and kept the books. The place was a landmark. Everyone who visited Coral Cay stopped at the Cookie House.”
“Those must have been her things I found,” Kate said. “Packed away in the storeroom. Boxes of pastry-baking tools and books.”
Maxi nodded. “She died three years ago. And it was like the light went out of Sam. He couldn’t bring himself to make her sweets. And he didn’t want to see someone else doing it, either. It hurt too much.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t sell the place and leave.”
“The Cookie House is the one piece of her he has left. He’s not about to give it up.”
Maxi took a long sip of coffee. “Have you seen the stained-glass window upstairs?”
“In the bathroom? The red flower?”
“It’s a ginger flower. When they first bought the shop, Sam and Cookie lived over the store. And Sam had that installed as a surprise for her.”
“That is seriously romantic.”
Maxi giggled. “I know, right? You’d never know it to look at mi padrino, but he’s a real sweetheart.”
“So what’s with the metal detector on the beach?”
Maxi smiled. “That’s easy. The two of them used to love beachcombing together. Do that alone and you look like a lonely old man.”
“But carry a metal detector and you’re a treasure hunter.”
Maxi nodded.
Kate shook her head. “I had no idea.”
She looked down. Oliver was dozing. With a little smile on his face.
As Maxi refilled their cups, a police cruiser sped down the street, stopping in front of the Cookie House. Kyle Hardy climbed out of the car, straightened his belt, and marched purposefully toward the bakery.
Alarmed, Kate glanced over at Maxi, who paused mid-pour.
“Maybe I better get back,” Kate said, rising.
“I’ll go with you,” Maxi added quickly.
With Oliver at their heels, the two crossed the front lawn.
“You wait here,” Kate said to Oliver, pointing at a bench on the bakery’s front porch. “We’ll be right back.”
“Where is she, Sam?” Hardy was asking when they walked through the front door. Hands on hips, he turned sharply when he saw Kate. “Ms. McGuire, we need to talk.”
“Don’t be a donkey, Kyle. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Nothing to do with what?” Kate asked.
“Those cinnamon pastries that Stewart Lord got here,” Hardy said. “You’re a pastry chef. Did you make them?”
Kate started to answer.
But Hepplewhite cut her off. “I made them. They were for me. A snack. For the beach.”
“Don’t give me that, Sam. I know you don’t make pastries. And this one,” Hardy said, jerking his thumb at Kate, “that’s her specialty. Why are you covering for her?”
“I made them, Kyle,” Hepplewhite insisted. “Used scraps from the morning’s bread dough. She doesn’t bake here. Just minds the counter. And that’s what she did all morning. Never even came into the kitchen when I was baking them.”
“What about when you were icing them?” Hardy asked harshly.
Hepplewhite shook his head. “I was in the kitchen alone. Only came out when Lord showed up and started raising Cain. Brought the rolls with me and sent her out.”
Hardy exhaled, looking back and forth between the baker and Kate. “Whose idea was it to give the rolls to Stewart Lord?”
“His idea,” Hepplewhite said. “Lord’s.”
Kate nodded. “I was listening from the kitchen. Lord was awful. He goaded Mr. Hepplewhite into giving him the rolls. But what difference does it make?”
“Is that true, Sam?”
Hepplewhite nodded. “I packed ’em up and handed ’em over. Didn’t even charge the double-dealin’ snake.”
“Think about this very carefully, Sam,” Hardy pronounced sternly, planting his hands on his hips. “Your statement is that you made the rolls, you iced the rolls, and you were the only one who came near the rolls. And you were the one who packaged them and gave them to Stewart Lord?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying, Kyle.”
“But why does this matter?” Maxi asked. “The man had a heart attack down the street. Why does it matter who gave him sweet rolls first?”
“Stewart Lord didn’t have a heart attack,” Hardy said, reaching for the handcuffs on his belt. “Steward Lord was poisoned. And the poison was in those cinnamon rolls.”
He stepped toward the baker, deftly spun the old man around, and cuffed his hands neatly behind his back.
Hepplewhite’s eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open as his shoulders sagged. He knew what was coming but could only shake his head mutely.
“Samuel Hepplewhite, I’m arresting you for the murder of Stewart Lord. You have the right to remain silent.”