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“Afternoon, Kat,” Sam Easton said, holding the glass door open.
“Hey.” Kat inhaled the delicious aroma of grease and sugar as she entered the small shop. “I never knew you had a bakery here.”
Sam closed the door. “Yeah, well, catering alone doesn’t pay the bills.”
“You don’t look like you’re open,” she commented, noting how the only lights turned on were coming from the back.
“I’m never open.”
Kat’s surprise must have shown on her face. Sam laughed as he led her toward the rear of the shop.
“Everything baked here is shipped elsewhere for sale,” he informed her. “Or used on catering jobs, obviously. I supply a few different restaurants and delis around town with pastries and desserts.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize.”
“It’s the only way I can afford to keep a commercial kitchen open.”
The kitchen in question was breathtaking. With two long, metal counters stretching down the middle and mixers and convection ovens lining opposite sides of the room, the place looked efficient and modern.
Sam stood by the end of one counter. “I could probably do a decent business if I ever decided to open up the front, but that would mean hiring more staff and establishing regular hours. This way, I’m open on my own terms. It suits my temperament better.”
“Whatever works for you,” Kat said, smiling.
He straightened. “So, Imogene said she was sending you to deliver me a check?”
“Yes.” Kat fished it out of her jeans pocket. “She’s sorry she didn’t pay you last night, when the party dispersed.”
“No worries.” Sam took the check from her. He gave it a cursory scan before tucking it into his breast pocket. “I’m sure she would have paid me if I had stuck around. But after what happened . . .”
“Right.” Kat experienced an unwelcome bout of dizziness as an image of Imogene’s blood-stained carpet popped into her head.
“Whoa.” Sam grabbed her arm. “You okay?”
Kat drew in a breath, managing to bob her head.
“Here, sit down.” He guided her over to a waist-high canister of flour, plopping her onto the lid. “Rest here for a moment while I write out Imogene’s receipt.”
“Okay.”
Sam walked down the aisle between the two counters. When he reached the end, a short young man with close-cropped black hair emerged from a nearby walk-in cooler, a box of apples in his hands. He carried the full box effortlessly, although his muscles bulged underneath his thin, black T-shirt.
“Rich,” Sam said, stopping to greet the young man. “Still working on the apple tarts, I see.”
“The first batch is in the oven,” Rich replied, setting the box on the counter.
“Good, good. I’ll be out to help in a minute.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Sam gave him a nod before disappearing through a doorway on the far side of the room. Kat could see a desk and filing cabinets inside.
Rich started in Kat’s direction, but he came to a dead halt when he spotted her.
She smiled at him. “Hi. I’m Kat.”
Rich looked around as if something in the kitchen might explain her presence.
“I’m just waiting for Sam,” she told him.
He aimed a finger in her direction. “I need to get some flour.”
“Oh.” Kat scrambled off her perch, grateful that her dizzy spell had passed.
Rich flipped the lid to the flour container open. Although he didn’t make eye contact, Kat could tell he was still watching her as he reached for one of the glass measuring cups lined up along the back of the counter and dipped it into the flour.
Kat observed his movements, trying to work out why his name sounded familiar. Then it clicked. While she was waiting to be interviewed by Raoul, Sam Easton had mentioned a Rich had called in sick right before Imogene’s party. Except, with his rosy cheeks and bright eyes, this Rich certainly didn’t look sick.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
Rich’s head jerked up, a bemused slant to his lips. “Okay, I guess.”
“Sam mentioned you were under the weather. He said you called in sick yesterday.”
“Oh.” Rich flushed crimson. He turned his back to her and dragged an industrial-sized mixing bowl closer. “Yeah, I wasn’t feeling well. But I’m okay now.”
Kat studied him as he dumped the contents of the measuring cup into the bowl. His movements were jerky, and flour sprayed everywhere, coating the counter with a circle of white dust. It was clear he was nervous about something, but what? Had he called in sick simply because he hadn’t wanted to spend his Saturday working? Maybe Sam had yet to notice his curious overnight recovery, and he was worried she’d say something to him.
Rich paused to glance at her as he bent down to refill his measuring cup. She must have looked as suspicious as she felt because he quickly averted his eyes again.
“It must have been one of those twenty-four-hour things,” he said. “Or maybe allergies.”
“Or,” Kat said, measuring her words, “maybe you weren’t really sick at all.”
His hand froze inside the flour container.
Kat took a step closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Sam’s going to be back any minute now. I don’t want him to overhear us if it will get you in trouble, so if you want to come clean, now’s your chance to do so without having to answer to your boss.”
A muscle in Rich’s jaw twitched as he appeared to mull over her words. Then he released a long, slow breath, straightening away from the flour container.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” he said, his eyes darting toward the doorway where Sam had disappeared. “I wasn’t really sick. Deirdre called me up yesterday morning and asked if I’d let her work my shift.”
Kat conjured up an image of the brunette server. “Did she say why?”
“She needed the money. And I’m doing okay right now, so I figured why not help her out a little.”
“Why didn’t you just explain that to Sam?”
“Because he wouldn’t have agreed to switch us out. Working the party put Deirdre on overtime. He hates that.”
Kat nodded. Limiting overtime hours seemed like a valid goal for a small business owner.
“Don’t tell Sam, okay?” Rich whispered. “I don’t want him thinking I’m the type of guy who calls in sick when he’s not. This is a good job. I don’t want to lose it.”
Kat made a motion of zipping her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
Rich looked relieved, offering her a soft smile.
“Here we are!” Sam called out.
The tension that had drained from Rich’s posture returned just as quickly. He twisted away from Kat, busying himself with measuring out more flour.
Sam waved a sheet of paper in front of Kat. “Here’s Imogene’s receipt, fresh off the printer.”
Kat took it from him. “Thanks.”
He headed toward the front. “I’ll show you out.”
Kat waited until they were at the door before she said, “I was wondering if you could help me reach one of your caterers.”
Sam paused with his hand on the door’s bar handle. “One of my caterers?”
“The brunette woman who was working Chief Kenny’s birthday party.”
“You mean Deirdre Solomon?”
Kat felt a frisson of electricity shoot through her. “Solomon?”
Sam looked at her funny. “Yeah.”
She thought back to Belinda and Colin’s exchange at Jessie’s Diner. Hadn’t they mentioned a Rita Solomon attending high school with them way back when? Was there a chance Deirdre was related to Rita?
“Do you know how I can reach her?” she asked Sam.
“I do.” He paused. “But, Kat, I’m not quite sure what you want with her. You don’t think she had anything to do with what happened to Chief Kenny’s brother-in-law, do you?”
“I’m not sure at this point,” Kat hedged, not wanting to reveal too much. “But with her circling through the crowd, she likely saw more than most of the guests. I was hoping maybe she noticed someone slipping inside Imogene’s office.”
“Wouldn’t she have told the police?”
“Maybe not.” Kat thought fast. “She seemed so distraught yesterday I doubt she could think straight. And Officer Leon can be a little intimidating. She might have been afraid to admit to anything for fear he would hold her there longer.”
Sam rubbed his chin. “You have a point there. Well, if you think it will help, Deirdre lives on Bermuda Avenue, in the apartment complex near the library. Just look for the unit with the green curtains.”
Kat grinned. “Thank you.”
She tried not to hurry as she exited the shop. Still, by the time she reached her car her heart was racing so fast she felt as though she’d run a marathon.
