As the squad car crawled away from the curb, Kate’s eyes followed it down the street. When she finally turned back and faced the front door of the Cookie House, bandaged in yellow and black tape, another thought struck: She was homeless.
All of the belongings that were most dear to her—from her toothbrush to her recipe journals—were locked in that upstairs room. All she had were the clothes on her back.
As if reading her mind, Oliver was standing next to her, his shoulder to her leg. He leaned against her and looked up. She reached down and stroked his soft, silky flank.
Across the yard, Maxi was pacing with a cell phone to her ear. She gestured with her left hand as she spoke. Kate couldn’t hear the words. But whatever the florist was saying, she was emphatic.
She clicked off, fast-walking toward Kate and Oliver.
“One of the few places I can sometimes get a signal,” Maxi explained with a shrug. “I think it’s the tree.”
“More bad news?” Kate asked tentatively.
“No, I called Peter. Mi amor is an assistant state attorney. And he likes Sam. He’s calling in a lawyer he knows to meet mi padrino at the police station. Still, I want to be there, too. Want to ride with me?”
“Yeah, that might be a good idea,” Kate said, remembering the steaming wreck that was now her most valuable worldly possession.
Three hours later, they were still sitting in the lobby of the Coral Cay police department. Kate was just happy she wasn’t in an interrogation room. But she could feel Kyle Hardy’s laser gaze every time he walked into the room.
With its stucco façade and terra-cotta tile roof, the Coral Cay police station could have passed for a smaller, slightly more worn guesthouse. Which it kind of was, Kate reasoned.
No one would let her or Maxi speak with Sam. Or even tell them what was happening. But they knew Sam’s lawyer was with him. Somewhere in the bowels of the building.
Kate remembered the notebook full of her work references from his kitchen. Sam didn’t care if she could bake. But it mattered to him that she was honest. Someone planning a murder wouldn’t care. A killer would just as soon have someone who was a little shady to take the blame.
And she remembered something else. The look of relief on Sam’s face when he came into the bakery after the robbery. At that point, he hadn’t known if anything had been taken from his shop. Only that she was OK. And he’d stayed in the bakery that night—and come in early the next—just so she’d feel safe.
Whatever else was going on, Kate was rock-solid certain of one thing: Sam Hepplewhite was no killer.