“Well, do we know what the Cause of Death is yet?” I asked, as soon as I answered Vance’s call. No doubt, he was wondering where I was.
I should backtrack just a bit. Twenty minutes ago I had picked up the dogs with the intent to head towards the third crime scene to befall PV in as many days. Jillian elected to stay with Taylor, which I thought was a good idea, and I had taken off not long after to pick up the Dynamic Duo. Now, in case you’re wondering, no, I won’t be able to investigate the crime scene until the team of crime techs has finished processing the scene. However, since this makes the third murder in less than 72 hours, Captain Nelson had called in every single officer that had any type of crime scene experience whatsoever. The captain tasked them with processing the evidence just as fast as humanly possible.
I personally think Captain Nelson was anxious for the dogs to get inside the house to see if anything worthwhile could be found. I knew Vance had filled him in on what we had found thus far. It wasn’t much, mind you, but we were making progress. We had a new lead, one that the Pomme Valley PD hadn’t explored yet, only that lead led straight to Taylor. I was convinced she had nothing to do with any of the murders, and that it was a freak coincidence. However, that didn’t explain the dogs’ behavior. Both Sherlock and Watson had zeroed in on the trash can almost immediately. Yes, coffee cups from Wired Coffee & Café had been found at the first two, but so had those muffin wrappers. Baking cups. Whatever. Anyway, that had to account for something. However, I still hadn’t told Vance yet, and it was really starting to trouble me.
“The CoD has not been identified yet,” Vance told me. “We won’t have the official word until the ME has conducted an autopsy.”
“Any guesses?” I warily asked.
“Yeah. Theories are running rampant at the moment. But for the time being, they’re saying that our VIC died as a result from anaphylactic reactions.”
“English, please.”
“Umm, severe allergic reactions.”
“Allergic reactions? Really? To what?”
“We won’t know until the autopsy has been completed.”
“Ah. Okay, so how soon before we’ll be able to get in the house? I’m assuming it’ll be quick, ‘cause you already asked me to grab the dogs and head over.”
“It’ll be within the hour, Zack. Captain Nelson is pulling out all the stops and is dedicating every available officer into processing this crime scene. He seems to think you and the dogs are on to something, and he’s anxious to see what they can find.”
“Roger that. We’ll be on scene in about ten minutes, if I can find the friggin’ place.”
“For the love of God, use your damn cell phone! Ask the vocal assistant to give you directions. You’ll probably save a thousand barrels of oil a year if you cut down all your useless wandering in that gas guzzler of yours.”
“Bite me, dude.”
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled up to yet another house decorated with the familiar yellow crime scene tape stretching from one end of the house to the other. Police cars were pretty much parked everywhere. Even fire trucks and ambulances were present.
It would appear that when Captain Nelson got pissed, everyone felt his wrath. I can only assume the good captain got his ass reamed by the mayor. Three deaths in a single week didn’t look good, no matter how low your crime rates were. I wouldn’t be surprised if the governor himself had reached out to the captain to inquire just what the hell was going on. It might explain why Captain Nelson was acting like he now had a fire under his ass.
When we were finally allowed in, which was actually an hour and a half later, we were told that the home owner, one Mr. Paul Timmons, was actually something of a celebrity. Well, that may have been a stretch. Apparently Mr. Timmons was a freelance sports columnist. He was responsible for several columns in the Portland Tribune.
Paul Timmons – according to his biography on the Tribune’s staff page – was a health and fitness nut. He ate only organic food (why would anyone put that in their biography???), exercised five days a week (seriously, why put yourself through that?), and enjoyed hiking. He was a nature buff, and had hiked all over the state. It even said he had competed in at least a dozen marathons over the past five years.
“Nut job,” I crossly muttered to myself.
“What was that?” Vance asked, as he walked through the open front door.
He spotted Sherlock and Watson and immediately dug into his pockets, looking for biscuits.
“This guy was a fitness freak. He walked, ran, jogged, competed in marathons, ate only organic food, and so on. Why in the hell would anyone do that to themselves?”
“What if it was medically necessary?” Vance asked.
My mouth closed with a snap, “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that angle. You’re right. What if he had some sort of medical scare, and now wanted to do what was best for his body?”
“The autopsy should tell us if anything was out of the ordinary. If he did die from an allergic reaction, then I want to know from what.”
“You and me both.”
Once the dogs had finished crunching through their treats, Vance stood and beckoned to me, indicating I should follow him. The dogs and I fell into step behind him as he led us through the three bedroom, three bathroom ranch house. The dogs didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything in that house. I was beginning to think that maybe we might be in the wrong house when we started to walk by the kitchen to check the dining room. Sherlock almost immediately applied the brakes. His nose swung back to my left and he instantly tugged on the leash. Yep, you guessed it. He wanted to check out the kitchen.
“Twenty bucks says he goes straight to the trash can first,” I said, giving Vance a friendly nudge on the shoulder.
“Nuh uh. No bet unless you’d like to wager Sherlock won’t go to the trash can first.”
“No bet,” I laughed.
“Where is the trash can?” Vance wanted to know. He approached the kitchen sink, checked the cabinets underneath, and when he didn’t find the garbage receptacle, dubiously looked back at me.
I pointed at the end of the counter, “Its right there.”
“It’s right where?” Vance demanded. “I don’t see any trash cans here.”
“How about the big cabinet that says, ‘Trash’?”
“Why would people want to put their trash inside a cabinet?” Vance asked, in a bewildered tone. “It’s messy, smells bad, and is hard to clean.”
“Hey, you just described my trash can. I have one of these things, too.”
Vance grunted once and pointed in the opposite direction.
“You check things out in here. I’m going that way to look around the rest of the house. Remember, if you or the dogs spot anything, let me know. I don’t have to remind you that the eyes of everyone in Oregon happen to be on us right now. No one likes to hear of a murder spree, especially in a small town like this. No, the only thing the general public wants to hear is that the bad guy has been caught.”
“Roger that. Sherlock? Watson? It’s time to do your thing. Come on. Do you two want to check out the trash can or not?”
Sherlock practically yanked my arm out of its socket as he pulled me over to the garbage receptacle. He reared up on his hind legs and scratched at the door. Almost immediately, Vance poked his head back into the room. He took one look at Sherlock pawing at the trash can and grinned.
“Damn. You called it. So, what’s in the trash can?”
“Nothing the crime scene techs haven’t already seen,” I assured my detective friend.
“Be that as it may, they purposely left it behind to see if either of those two take any notice of it.”
I pointed at Sherlock, who was still standing upright on his comically short hind legs, “Well, I’d say that definitely qualifies as catching his interest. Okay, let’s see what we’ve got here.”
I waited for Vance to snap on a pair of latex gloves and pull out the plastic bin full of trash. He began to gently poke around the insides of the can. “Coffee grounds. That’s nasty. One empty package of pizza rolls. Interesting. I wouldn’t have thought our fitness nut would willingly eat those.”
“A secret obsession?” I guessed. “You have to admit, those little boogers are tasty as hell.”
“But seriously bad for you,” Vance returned. “I don’t see any coffee cups. I guess that means Daryl would appear to be off the hook. Damn it! There’s gotta be something in here that’ll tie Daryl Benson to this scene. Do you see anything?”
I wrinkled my nose at the smell of days-old garbage. I didn’t see anything from Wired Coffee & Café, but unfortunately, I did see something worth mentioning. There, next to the empty pizza rolls wrapper, was what looked like another crumpled muffin cup, complete with a wadded up brown paper bag with Farmhouse Bakery emblazoned on the side.
“I don’t see anything about coffee in there,” I slowly began.
“Shit,” Vance swore. “I was really hoping we were on to something. Well, so much for that theory. We’ve got squat.”
“No, not exactly.”
Vance turned to give me a sidelong glance, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Our original theory was that Daryl Benson is somehow involved,” I recalled.
Vance nodded, “Right. What about it?”
“There’s another theory, and it, er, is still holding strong.”
“What? Are you working another angle to this case? Damn it, Zack! What the hell are you doing that for? Have I not made it clear that you report to me on these cases?”
“Before you blow a gasket,” I hastily replied, “let me show you something.” I brought up the pictures of the baking cups from the first two crime scenes on my phone and showed them to my friend. “Remember these? From that duplex and then the second crime scene?”
“Yeah. Isn’t this what Sherlock was playing with the first time?”
“Right. Turns out that’s a muffin cup.”
“Ok. What about it?”
“And this one? See the wrapper next to the energy drink can? It’s another muffin wrapper.”
Vance frowned as he studied the picture. He switched between the two pictures a few times before he handed my cell back to me. He slowly turned to look down at the trash can. There, right on top in plain view, was a third muffin cup wrapper. He pointed at it.
“That’s another one of those muffin cup things, isn’t it?”
I nodded, “It’s one of Taylor Adam’s, from Farmhouse Bakery.”
“Is it, now?” Vance straightened and began pacing around the confines of the kitchen. “How long have you known about this?”
“The muffin cups? Since dinner last night.”
“That was over 12 hours ago, buddy. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Oh, this gets worse, I’m afraid,” I sullenly added. “Jillian and I went to Taylor’s this morning.”
“What?! Without me?”
“I was determined to prove Taylor had nothing to do with it. I’m still convinced she’s innocent, but…”
“But what?” Vance demanded. “Now’s not the time to be holding out on me, Zack.”
“When we confronted Taylor, I…”
“We?” Vance interrupted. “Who was with you? Oh. It was Jillian, wasn’t it?”
I nodded, “Yes. I’m sorry, I should have let you know. It’s just that…”
“Finish your thought from earlier. You said you’re still convinced Taylor has nothing to do with this, but… but what?”
“Oh. When Jillian and Taylor were talking – Taylor was very upset – I had a chance to look around the store. I noticed a security system.”
For the first time since I’ve seen him today, Vance smiled.
“Good. There’s a piece of good news.”
“No, that isn’t good news. The security system had been tampered with. Someone reset the configuration settings on it, so it hadn’t been recording anything for over a week.”
“What? Taylor erased the data?”
“I watched her closely. She was absolutely shocked by what she found. She admitted to me that she rarely has to open that desk up. The recorder saves everything on interchangeable hard drives, which she says she changes out every six weeks or so.”
“Do you believe her?” Vance suddenly asked.
“About not knowing anything about her security system being tampered with? Actually, yes, I do.”
“Only, there’s no proof, is there? It’s her word against ours.”
I groaned and thought of Jillian’s friend, struggling with mounting financial problems, failing appliances at her bakery, and now this.
“This doesn’t look good for Taylor, does it?”
“No, it does not. Zack, I’m sorry. I have to call this in. I’m under strict orders from the captain.”
While Vance briefed his captain about the discovery in the trash, I walked the dogs through the house a final time, just to see if there was anything we might have missed the first time around. There wasn’t. The corgis only perked up whenever we neared the kitchen.
By the time we made it back to Vance, he had finished his phone call and had a grim look on his face.
“What’d the captain have to say?”
“He wants us down at the bakery, like yesterday. We need to have a little chat with Taylor Adams.”
“Stay here, guys. I’ll be right back.”
Sherlock had stepped up onto the armrest and was staring through the windows, at the front of the bakery. Watson decided whatever her packmate was looking at was good enough for her, so a few minutes later, she was also looking through the window.
It was now closer to 11am and there was a steady line of foot traffic going through the bakery. The lunch crowd had arrived and were eagerly snapping up leftover bagels from the breakfast hours and turning them into sandwiches. Cookies, cupcakes, pound cake, and just about anything else in Taylor’s primary display case was quickly emptied. One of the young employees, a skinny boy with dark curly hair and thicker than usual eyebrows, was kept busy restocking the case.
I noticed Jillian was still here, and was chatting quietly with Taylor at one of the tables. She saw the two of us enter the bakery and immediately laid a hand on her friend’s arm. Taylor quickly looked over at us and her eyes filled.
“Go easy on her,” I quietly whispered to Vance. “Something is wrong, here. None of this makes sense. I’m starting to get the feeling someone is setting her up.”
“It’s okay, Zack. I’m just here to talk to her.”
We arrived at the table, where Jillian immediately slid over so that I could sit next to her. After a few moments, Taylor did the same so that Vance could sit. Taylor’s eyes dropped to the table and refused to move.
“Taylor, I can tell you’re not having a good day,” Vance gently began, “but I do have to ask you a few questions, okay?”
Taylor nodded sullenly.
Vance placed a small plastic baggie on the table. I could see that it held the used baking cup wrapper from crime scene #3. Vance slid it over to Taylor and tapped the table to get her attention.
“Is this one of yours?”
Taylor’s red eyes flicked over to the evidence bag and she sobbed. After a few moments, she sadly nodded. Vance slid the bag back over to him and returned it to a pocket. He pulled out his notebook and uncapped his pen.
“Okay. As you may or may not know, there have now been three murders that have happened in the last couple of days.”
Taylor sobbed quietly and wiped the corners of her eyes with the napkin Jillian quietly offered.
“Zack told me there had been two,” Taylor softly said.
“The count is up to three, I’m sorry to say. Zack told me he has already informed you that two of your wrappers have been found at the other two crime scenes.”
“Baking cups, and yes. He told me.”
“That one I showed you makes number three.”
“W-who was it? Who died this time?”
“A guy by the name of Paul Timmons. He was…”
“The reporter!” Taylor exclaimed, letting out a small cry. “Oh, no! Not him!”
I glanced over at Jillian. She was born and raised in this town. She has gone on record many times stating she practically knew everyone in PV. Was this someone she knew?
As if she was reading my mind, Jillian suddenly looked my way and gave a small nod of her head, confirming she did. Then she gently lifted her hand from where she had been resting it on the table and gently waggled it, suggesting she only knew him marginally. I was about ready to ask Jillian what she knew of him when I saw that the young boy from before, the one that filled the case earlier, was now heading in the direction of our table with a concerned look on his face. Then, to my astonishment, I saw Jillian make eye contact with the boy, gently shake her head no, and pointedly look back at the counter. The kid immediately reversed course and disappeared behind the counter.
I’ll have to inquire about that later.
“How did you know Mr. Timmons?” Vance was asking Taylor. “When was the last time you saw him alive?”
“Oh, Paul,” Taylor sobbed. “I am so sorry. What? What did you ask me?”
“When did you see him last?” Vance repeated, although this time he used a gentler tone. It might have had something to do with the frown Jillian was now wearing.
“Four days ago,” Taylor answered.
Vance grunted once, pulled out his notebook, and started taking notes.
“Was it before or after you saw Mrs. Malone hit on one of your employees?” I asked Taylor.
“Not long after. Perhaps… perhaps an hour? An hour and a half? I’m not sure.”
“Taylor, why do you remember Mr. Timmons coming in here?” Jillian asked. “Based on your reaction, I can only assume you knew him a lot better than the rest of us.”
“He asked me out,” Taylor softly replied. “He was so nice. He was polite. He was genuinely interested in me. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had anyone look at me like that?”
Vance and I shared a look. Both of us had the same deer-in-the-headlights look on our faces. This was a subject that neither of us wanted to participate in.
“What did you tell him?” Jillian asked.
“I said that I would think about it.”
“After four days, that answer must’ve been no,” Vance guessed.
Taylor sadly shook her head, “I was planning on calling him tonight. This is Friday. Things have been so stressful in the bakery that I wanted to go out. I wanted to do something fun. And now this. Oh, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
The three of us looked helplessly at each other. Talk about a streak of bad luck! I don’t think things could get much worse for Taylor unless Vance arrested her right here, right now.
Taylor suddenly looked at me and placed a hand on mine, “Zack? Would you… would you do something for me?”
I automatically nodded, “Sure. If I can. What can I do for you?”
“You managed to get my security system up and running,” Taylor began. “Do you know anything about wireless routers?”
Surprised, I looked over at Jillian, whose shock mirrored my own.
“Some. I’m still learning. Is there something wrong with your router now?”
“I can’t get online. My customers have been saying that the password no longer allows them online, as if I changed the wireless password. I didn’t, Zack. I swear! I can’t get to the Internet, I can’t check my email, and I can’t check for orders. I can’t even pay my bills!”
Jillian smiled warmly at me and batted her eyes, “Zachary will get it up and going for you. He’s getting much better with modern technology lately, haven’t you, dear?”
“And that’s my cue to leave,” I remarked, as I felt my face flush red. “I’ll get it up and running Taylor. Where’s it at?”
Taylor stared at me for a few moments before offering me a smile, “Just behind the counter there, pretty much between Garret and Emily. Emily? Will you show Zack the router? He might be able to get it back online for us.”
The young girl nodded, “Sure thing, Ms. Adams.”
While I worked on the router, I tried to keep an eye (and ear) on the table.
“Dear?” Taylor repeated, as she turned back to her friend. “You called him ‘dear’? Is there…? Are you two…?”
Jillian smiled and nodded, “Yes, to both questions. Zachary and I have officially started seeing each other.”
Taylor might have been having the worst time of her life, and she might even be arrested for murder, but I watched her push that aside and smile at her friend. That smile spoke volumes. She was happy for us, even with her own life in the shitter.
I was determined to do whatever I could to help make things right. I stand by what I said earlier. I think she was being set up, but the question is, by whom?
This router, on the other hand, was fairly easy. And Samantha, if you could only hear me utter those words now. Back when my late wife was alive, she was the tech nerd and I was the blissfully unaware technophobe who didn’t know anything about electronics.
As for the router, all it needed was to be reset, using the handy dandy reset button. Then, while it was powering up, I power cycled the bakery’s high-speed modem. Once it came online, I did the same thing for the router, and then gave it time to reboot. Once it did, I checked the default settings on the configuration sticker on the bottom of the router and tried logging in with my phone.
Eureka. It worked perfectly.
“Your Wi-Fi network is working now,” I told Taylor, as I slid back into the booth next to Jillian. “It just needed a proverbial ‘kick in the pants’ to get its attention. I don’t know if you had any custom settings on it before, but it’s been reset so that the settings match the sticker on the bottom of the thing.”
“That’s what it was set to before,” Taylor informed me. “I’d like to know how it got changed.”
“You might have had someone that knew what they were doing in here,” I suggested. “If they logged in with a laptop, they might be able to figure out your admin password and thereby lock you out. No worries. It’s working fine now.”
Taylor gave me a grateful smile, “Thank you.”
“So, do you know of anyone who would want to set you up?” I asked Taylor, as gently as I could. “I mean, there’s no other way to put this, so I’ll just come out and say it. Do you have any enemies?”
Taylor shook her head, “No, not that I’m aware of. I may not be as popular as Jillian here in PV, but I’d like to think that I get along with most people.”
“You said ‘most people’,” Vance said, looking up. “Who don’t you get along with?”
“There’s only one person I can think of, and that’d be my ex-husband.”
It was Jillian’s turn to shake her head, “He’s been out of the picture for years now. I doubt very much it’d be him.”
Taylor nodded, “I’d have to agree. My ex-husband and I may not get along, and we probably can’t stand to be in the same room with the other for an extended period of time, but I don’t think it’s him, either. If he wanted to do something drastic like this, then I would’ve thought it would have happened earlier. Years earlier, if you ask me.”
“Where is he now?” Vance asked. “I might need to talk to him. Do you have his contact information?”
Taylor sighed, “No. I’m sorry. I really have no idea where he currently is, aside from not here in PV.”
A commotion from behind us drew all of our attention. Emily, the young girl working the counter, was trying to get Taylor’s attention.
“Would you excuse me for just a moment?”
Taylor and Emily started speaking in hushed tones. There was an older woman standing patiently in front of the display case, wearing a very noticeable frown. From the whispered conversation, we were able to glean that the order for this woman’s cake had somehow become lost and now she was here to collect it. For a birthday party, no less.
“Oh, no,” Jillian groaned. “The poor girl. She doesn’t deserve this.”
“I really need to speak with her ex-husband,” Vance quietly remarked. “I think we need to eliminate him as a suspect.”
“He’s in Utah,” Jillian softly murmured.
Vance and I looked up at her comment.
“What was that?” Vance asked.
“Taylor’s ex. He’s in Salt Lake City, Utah. At least he was when I hired a PI to track him down last year.”
“You hired a private investigator to find Taylor’s ex-husband?” Vance slowly repeated. “They aren’t cheap, Jillian. May I ask why?”
“I needed to know where he was. Taylor went through a very bad time early last year. I honestly think it was a mid-life crisis, only she is much too young for that. She became convinced that she was being stalked and her life was in danger. It took 8 months of counseling to straighten that mess out, and don’t you dare ever repeat that to anyone, including her. If Taylor knew I told you two that, then she’d never forgive me.”
“Counseling sessions are pricey,” Vance mused. “And don’t ask me how I know that. How could Taylor afford that? Was it covered under her insurance?”
“It was covered by private benefactor,” Jillian said, with a small smile on her face. “I convinced the psychologist’s office to send me the bill and then tell her that there would be no charge for her session. Any sessions.”
“That’s very generous of you,” Vance observed.
“It sure is,” I agreed. “I kinda get the impression that you’re her guardian angel.”
Jillian took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, “I like that analogy. Thank you, Zachary.”
We waited patiently for Taylor to return to the table. It’s not like she tried skipping out on us. Quite the contrary, she kept apologizing to us every ten minutes. She had a cake to make, and seeing to her customers was her number one priority. So, for thirty minutes, the three of us chatted at that table. Vance told us about his daughters’ academic achievements while Jillian regaled us with amusing stories of people not knowing how to cook and the catastrophes that were created as a result. As for me, I really didn’t have any funny stories to tell, other than me getting my new tractor stuck in the mud. Twice.
When Taylor finally rejoined us, she seemed to be in a better mood. I even brought that up the moment she looked my way.
“I think I’m better when I’m working. Losing that woman’s order turned out to be a good thing. It helped to clear my mind.”
“Have you ever lost an order like that before?” Vance wanted to know. The ever-present notebook was back in his hand.
Taylor’s face became hard, “No. Never. Not once in any job I’ve ever held have I lost someone’s order.”
“Kinda strange that all this is happening to you at the same time, isn’t it?” I asked.
Jillian nodded, “I agree. That’s what I keep telling her. This isn’t right, Taylor. No one has consistent bad luck like this. Someone is trying to set you up.”
“Whoever that is, they’re doing a great job,” I said, using a quiet voice.
Vance grunted once by way of acknowledgement.
“This has definitely been the week from hell,” Taylor confirmed. “Display cases failing, product spoiling and/or melting, and my security system going on the fritz. What am I forgetting?”
“Lost orders,” Jillian said.
“Router locking up,” I added.
“I should have known this was going to happen,” Taylor softly muttered.
The three of us turned to stare at the bakery shop owner.
“You should have known what was going to happen?” Jillian gently asked.
“That this was going to be a bad week. I always trust my instincts, and when they tell me that an experiment fails, it should be time to pull the plug and just move on. Did I? Oh, no. I had to see it through.”
“See what through?” Jillian wanted to know.
“Most Mondays, I’ll try something new in the display case,” Taylor explained. “Sometimes it’s a cookie. Sometimes it’s a brownie. This week? Well, this week was a muffin.”
Once more, the three of us fell silent as we stared at the woman who had risen from the table and had begun to pace. A muffin? That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
“All I wanted to do was to offer something different, using local ingredients. What was the result? It was a dud. Any time I have ever tried something new, and it bombs, well, that’s a sign.”
“A sign for what?” I wanted to know.
“Bad luck,” Taylor answered.
“For the record,” Vance began, as he scribbled a few notes, “what was the new offering that no one liked?”
“It was a muffin. I called it, ‘Morning Bliss’.”
“That’s a wonderful name,” Jillian remarked.
“Hardly,” Taylor scoffed. “It was more like, “Morning Bomb’. I didn’t sell many of them.”
“What kind of muffin was it?” I asked, drawing looks from my three friends. “Hey, I’m curious, that’s all.”
“I wanted to use ingredients found locally, as a nod to our small community here in Oregon. So, I decided to make something with salal berries.”
“With what berries?” I asked, confused. I had no idea what a ‘salal’ berry even was, let alone what they looked like.
“Hey, I’ve seen those on the side of the road,” Vance said. “They’re those shrubs with shiny, dark green leaves?”
Taylor nodded, “Yes. Exactly. The berries are a dull blue-black color. They’re great for recipes. They’re tart, taste wonderful, and are full of vitamins and antioxidants.”
“I use them whenever I make fruit leather,” Jillian commented.
I looked at my new girlfriend with surprise written all over my face.
“Hey, I own a kitchen store. I have a dehydrator. Making fruit leather was the first thing I used it for. Salal berries are great. I’ll make you some salal berry preserves someday, Zachary.”
I shrugged and gave Jillian a smile, “You’re on.”
Vance suddenly frowned. He looked at Taylor and then back at her display case.
“When did you say you made those muffins?”
“I made them early Monday morning,” Taylor answered. “I was really surprised. I thought they’d sell better. I only sold four. I tossed the rest after a few days before they could grow moldy.”
“I don’t suppose you remember what type of muffin those three victims ordered, do you?” I asked.
Taylor looked at me and, surprisingly, her eyes filled with tears, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
Vance suddenly gasped and hooked a thumb back at the display case, “Those muffins? They each bought one of those newfangled muffins?”
Taylor closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair, “I know Mrs. Malone did. I gave it to her for free.”
“You need to stop doing that,” Jillian quietly scolded.
“I know, but I had to shut her up. It did the job, so it was a price I was more than willing to pay.”
“What about the first victim?” Vance wanted to know. “Did she buy the same muffin?”
“That’s the one I’m not sure about,” Taylor admitted. “I think she did. I’d have to check and see if I entered the name of that muffin into my point-of-sale system, or if I just called it ‘new muffin’.”
“And this Paul character?” I asked. “He bought one of these muffins, too?”
“Buy, no. But take one when offered? Yes. Look, I’m sorry, Jillian. I know what you’re going to say. I was trying to get the word out about the muffins. I thought they were good.”
“You said four muffins,” Vance pointed out. “That’s three that you know of. Three people ate those muffins and now those three people are dead. We need to track down who bought that fourth muffin and we need to do so now. Whether there’s something in those muffins, or whether someone is targeting the people that bought them, we need to know.”
Jillian hesitantly raised a hand, “Umm, I may have the answer to that question.”
“You do?” I took Jillian’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “That’s awesome! Who is it? We need to warn them!”
“Zachary, it was me. I... I bought that muffin. Four days ago.”