Bread Over Troubled Water

Chapter 25

Part of me wanted to tell Emmaline everything, but she was very much about distribution of leadership. Captain York was in charge of criminal investigations within the department. If I had something substantial to present to her, she’d listen. But if I came to her with unsubstantiated theories, I was afraid she’d refer me to Captain York. I felt like maybe we’d had a breakthrough at the funeral, but would it last, or would he go back to taking anything I said with a hefty dose of salt? Presenting him with a half-developed theory that he could easily dismantle or disregard felt like the wrong move. Risky since, while he hadn’t told Mrs. Branford and me to butt out, he also hadn’t given us the green light to proceed. No, I needed more.

I’d added the new information I had to my notebook, filling several pages with information on the booster breakfasts, those who’d been present, the food served, and Nina’s story about seeing two spreadsheets for the same booster year open on Josh’s computer.

I also added Sean Fitzwilliam’s name with a big, bold question mark next to it. He’d probably been at the booster breakfast. He could have poisoned Josh, then followed him to make sure the job was done.

I headed across the street to Yeast of Eden instead. The bread shop wasn’t up to normal customer busyness, but the line was six people deep, and the low buzz of normal conversation filled the shop. Mae, done with the morning bake shift, sat at a table. Half-moons darkened the skin under her eyes, more evidence she wasn’t adjusting her bedtime to give herself enough sleep. Her lids drooped. Meanwhile, Zula manned the register. “Do you need help?” I mouthed to her.

She flashed me her white-toothed smile and shook her head. “I am fine!” she called.

I heard one of the men in line murmur, “You sure are.” I waffled between being offended on her behalf and nodding along with him in appreciation of Zula’s extraordinary beauty. In the end, I left it alone and scooted into the kitchen.

“Ivy,” Olaya said the moment she spotted me. She had just slid a baking tray into one of the commercial ovens set to LOW BAKE, and now directed her full attention on me. “Come.”

She led me to her office, where she immediately picked up several sheets of paper with sketches she’d done. “We have not had time to plan the engagement party for you and Miguel, but I have been thinking about it. This is my plan.”

The first sketch was of the bread display she had described to me. Seeing it drawn out allowed me to visualize it so much better. Basically, old crates were stacked vertically and horizontally to create a puzzle effect. Within each crate and in baskets were stacks of different types of artisan breads, all small, manageable choices appropriate for a party. Each type of bread was labeled with a beautiful, hand-drawn sign: CROISSANTS; MULTIGRAIN ROLLS; SOURDOUGH ROLLS; CARDAMON BUNS; CIABATTA SQUARES; and BRIOCHE. The display looked rustic and inviting. The backdrop of the Pacific Ocean in the distance would enhance it all the more.

“It’s gorgeous! But, Olaya, you don’t have to—”

She waved her hand as if it were a magic wand, stopping my words on my lips. “Basta. This is what I do. This is what I need to do.”

I knew she was being completely honest. She’d gone through her funk, and now the best way she knew how to move forward, rather than being sucked down into some dismal abyss in which Martina slipped away, was to bake. I wouldn’t let Olaya lose Martina—or let Martina lose Olaya, for that matter—but I could keep searching for answers, and Olaya could bake. It’s what she did best. “Okay,” I said.

I caught a glimpse of another set of sketches. “What are those?” I asked, reaching for the page.

She pulled it back. “This is a festive project. Do not worry about it.”

My nose prickled, and my eyes turned glassy. I had had no expectations about all the bread at the party, but here she was, even amid all the unrest in her life, planning something special. The gesture helped me understand the depth of the love she felt for me.

If I had to choose a word to describe Olaya, it would be sanguine. She smiled, but not in a toothy way like Zula, and not with an enthusiastic burst of a grin like Nina. Her lips curved upward, and the sides of her eyes crinkled. She looked pleased in a way that was self-assured and wise. I would return that love in the best way I knew how—by proving Martina innocent and absolving the bread shop of any connection to the murder of Josh Prentiss.

I sat at a table in the bread shop, sipping on a glass of unsweetened iced tea. The more I thought about the booster breakfast, the more likely I thought it was that Josh had actually ingested the poison before he arrived at Yeast of Eden the day he died.

I flipped to the page in my notebook where I’d written the effects on a person if Angel’s Trumpet was ingested.

• Difficulty breathing

• Memory loss

• Paralysis

• Coma

A few things struck me. He’d guzzled the water from a disposable bottle that morning . . . and he’d gotten an extra cup for water. I made a check mark next to excessive thirst.

I remembered him squinting, as if the light was bothering him. That was a possible check for dilated pupils.

He hadn’t seemed confused or feverish or particularly weak, but he had jumped out of his chair like he’d been spooked. He’d said he’d felt something hit the back of his head. Hallucinations? I added another check mark to the list.

He had seemed a little confused when he decided suddenly to leave. Out of sorts, anyway. Bit by bit, I became convinced I’d solved at least one part of the mystery. I couldn’t sit on this any longer. I thought about texting Emmaline, but went for a phone call instead. “Listen,” I said quietly. The last thing I wanted was to be overheard as I told her my theory that Josh was poisoned before arriving at Yeast of Eden. “I looked up the effects of Angel’s Trumpet. The dilated eyes. Thirst. Hallucinations. It fits.”

“Interesting theory,” she said. “I’ll pass it on to York.”

“Are you working the case at all?” I asked, hoping whatever I had to offer wouldn’t just be dismissed by the captain.

“Of course. I’m working the financial angle. I have people scouring his accounts. Yes, plural. York’s pursuing other leads. I’ll make sure he gets this information. Good job, really.”

“So Martina—”

“I can’t say anything else, Ivy.”

“She doesn’t have access to those flowers—”

“Anyone has access,” Em said, and, of course, she was right. Angel’s Trumpet. Trumpet vine. It didn’t matter what grew in Martina’s yard—or in anyone else’s. The deadly nightshade was in the park, poison there for the taking.

“I know, but—”

“Look. I want to cross her off the suspect list as much as you do. I’m close to being able to do that. As soon as I can, I will.”

If Em was digging into Josh’s finances, she also needed to know my theory about the boosters and Nina’s observation about the dual spreadsheets. I filled her in. “Nina Blankenship from the antiques place?” she asked, and I knew she was writing the name down.

“Yes.”

“And the treasurer, Cheryl Fitzwilliam, admitted to having an affair with Josh?”

It didn’t surprise me that Emmaline knew all the players. She didn’t need me to rattle off the names of the people on the booster board. “She did. If they were both dirty, it would have been easy to hide money.”

“This guy was too much,” Emmaline said. I could picture her shaking her head in amazement at his boldness. Scamming the single older women in the area and screwing over the football team, of which his own son was a part—that was ballsy. And heartless. “We haven’t found his laptop,” Em said.

Without that, would they be able to prove he was cooking the books? “Sean Fitzwilliam,” I said.

“Another booster,” Emmaline immediately replied.

“I saw him at the bread shop the morning Josh died.” I proceeded to tell her about my meeting with Sean, and recognizing him. “He said he wasn’t at the booster breakfast, but he might be lying—”

“He wasn’t at the meeting. We’ve checked his alibi. Aside from a stop at Yeast of Eden, Sean Fitzwilliam was at his tutoring business all day, from six AM until eight PM. He left once, at five o’clock, for a dinner run to In and Out. That’s it. Right now. we can’t connect him to the murder.” We fell into a moment of silence before she said, “A lot of people might have wanted a little revenge against Josh Prentiss. Sean Fitzwilliam might have known about his wife and Josh, but right now he’s in the clear.”