“Kyle! You don’t have to handcuff Sam!” Maxi said, confronting the baby-faced officer. “You know him. He’s not going to run.”
“Procedure, Mrs. Más-Buchanan,” Kyle said briskly. “He may have had a good reason, but he killed a man.”
“But he didn’t,” Maxi insisted. “You know him. You know he didn’t do it.”
“That’s not what the evidence says. And we have to follow the evidence. You’re married to an assistant state attorney. You of all people know that,” he said, marching a mute Sam Hepplewhite out to the squad car.
Maxi and Kate followed them down the walkway. Oliver hopped off the bench and trotted after them. The breeze had picked up, and Kate could smell ozone on the salt air. Off in the distance, she glimpsed dark clouds. A storm was coming.
“Your evidence is wrong,” Sam rasped. “I didn’t do it!”
“I’m gonna lock up the place, Sam,” Kyle said quietly when they reached the curb. “Where’re the keys?”
“My pocket,” Sam replied, his voice like gravel.
“Sam, don’t worry about a thing!” Maxi called, running up to Sam. “We’ll get you a lawyer. And I’ll meet you at the station.”
Hepplewhite nodded.
Kyle gently retrieved a ring of keys from the baker’s baggy jeans pocket, tucked him into the car, and firmly shut the door.
Oliver, sitting on his haunches on the grass near the curb, watched the car and whined softly. The little noises went up in pitch at the end. A question?
Kate saw Kyle fish something out of the front seat and sprint past her back up the walk. When he got to the porch, he shut the door firmly and locked it. Then he peeled off strips of yellow and black, pasting them across the doorframe.
Crime scene tape.
Kate looked at the police car and saw Hepplewhite’s face collapse. The baker crumbled forward in his seat. She was afraid he might have fainted.
She bounded up the walkway behind the cop.
“Kyle, is that really necessary?” Kate asked quietly. “This is going to kill Sam. And his business. Look at him. You’re hurting him.”
He turned and stared at her. His face was bright pink, his crew cut like mown straw.
“You want to confess, Little Miss Pastry Chef? Because I don’t for one minute believe you’re innocent. As sure as I’m standing here, you had a hand in this.”
“I didn’t. I don’t even know Steward Lord.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. Here’s what I do know: It was you, or it was Sam. Or maybe it was the two of you together. Maybe you lured a lonely old guy into doing your dirty work for you. Right now, as of this minute, I have enough evidence to haul him in and close the bakery. But don’t get too comfortable. With any luck, I’ll be back for you soon.”
“Isn’t this the part where you tell me not to leave town?” Kate said deadpan.
“I was kinda hoping you would,” he said, looking at her through slitted eyes before lowering the Ray-Bans back onto his face. “Because that would give me probable cause to arrest you, too.”
Kyle Hardy turned his back on Kate, strode to the edge of the porch, planted his feet, and put his hands on his hips. “This place is a crime scene,” he announced loudly to no one in particular. “Until our investigators are done with it, no one goes in or out. The Cookie House is closed until further notice!”