Miraculously, I manage to get a good night’s sleep. Most likely because the events of my first day as my own boss wound up being so completely, emotionally draining. I’m trying not to complain too much because a man is dead. My predicament isn’t nearly as bad. Once the autopsy is done, my name will be cleared. Sure, my business will suffer for a little bit, but I should be able to rebuild after that. Of course, most businesses don’t have to rebuild already after one morning.
I park and pay the meter before walking up to Cup of Jo to unlock the door, but Quentin is already there. I open my mouth, and he cuts me off immediately.
“Hold on. Before you start, I have a search warrant.” He holds up a piece of paper in his right hand.
I can’t believe he actually got a warrant. If he wasn’t acting like such a jerk, I would have willingly let the police search the place. “Why are you doing this to me? I can’t believe you’d actually think I’d be capable of such a thing.”
“You said shellfish. On camera, Jo. What do you expect me to do? You named the exact thing that killed Sherman Cromwell, and you did it on TV.”
“Please tell me you’re joking. I was just throwing out the name of something a lot of people are allergic to.”
“You know I wouldn’t joke about this. The cause of death is officially fatal food-induced anaphylaxis brought on by his shellfish allergy. My hands are tied, Jo. I have no choice but to search the premises and take samples to the lab to be tested.”
I stare at Quentin, wondering where it all went wrong. There was a time when he would have defended me even if he’d caught me injecting poison right into Sherman Cromwell’s veins. Or maybe I was wrong about that, too. Maybe he never cared about me the way I thought he did.
“Here.” I toss him the key since I have another at home. “You don’t need your warrant. I give you permission to search the premises because I have nothing to hide. I didn’t do anything to Sherman Cromwell. We talked, and I served him. That’s all.”
“You’re willingly allowing me to search the place?” He stares at the key in his hand.
“The sooner this is over, the sooner I can get back to my business. So do what you have to do.” I turn and walk down the side street that leads to Cam’s kitchen. He doesn’t have a bakery or anything like that. He rents the space and operates a huge kitchen out of it. Then he sells his products to local bakeries, food stores, and now me.
I know Mo will give me hell for going to Cam and not her, but she’s my little sister and I don’t want her involved in this. Cam was right when he said we make a good team. And right now, that’s what I need because it’s clear Quentin isn’t going to help me. Even if they don’t—when they don’t find anything incriminating in my shop, they’re still going to assume I did it somehow because it was my coffee cup in his hand. I have to prove my own innocence, and I’m really not sure how to do that.
I knock on the door before opening it, not wanting to startle Cam, who’s most likely been up for hours baking. “You busy?”
“Never too busy for you. Come in,” he says, putting a tray of cookies into the oven and shutting the door.
“They’re searching my shop now.”
“Oh. Are they pressing charges against you?” He moves toward me.
“Not yet but I figure if I want to prove I didn’t kill Sherman Cromwell, I need to find out who did.”
“You mean you don’t think this was an accident?” he asks.
“The police aren’t saying, but it sure doesn’t seem like they’re leaning toward accidental poisoning anymore.” And given my relationship with Quentin, finding out what the police know isn’t an option. Maybe I should befriend Samantha again just to see if she’ll spill what she knows. Except I’m not cruel enough to do that to someone. Not even someone like her.
He wipes his hands on a dish towel. “You need a partner to help you figure out who the killer is.”
“You know me so well.”
He turns to the stove behind him. “Cookies will be ready in four minutes. We’ll box some up and bring them to the grieving widow.”
“Why Gwendolyn Cromwell? Do you think she poisoned her husband?”
“Well, the way I see it, she might have sent him to Cup of Jo to begin with.”
“You’re right. He was bringing home a dozen cream puffs for her.”
“So she could have poisoned him before he left the house.”
“I’m not sure how long it would take the shellfish to affect him, but that seems like too long.”
Cam furrows his brow. “Shellfish?”
“Yeah, that’s what Sherman’s allergic to. If it’s really a food allergy, that’s what the police believe it was.”
He rubs his forehead. “Didn’t you tell Monica you didn’t put shellfish in the macchiatos?”
“I did. And yes, that makes me look guilty. At least in Quentin’s eyes.”
“If I didn’t know you, I’d probably agree with Quentin. The problem is Mrs. Cromwell might as well.”
I didn’t think of that. If everyone in town thinks I really did kill Sherman Cromwell, no one is going to want to talk to me. How will I possibly find the killer if I can’t interrogate anyone who might have had reason to harm him?
“What am I going to do?”
The oven timer goes off, and Cam removes the cookies. He turns off the oven and then puts the cookies onto a cooling rack. “We’ll try using the cookies to get in the door. Play it off as you’d just spoken with him and it’s so horrible what happened because he was such a great man.”
“But I didn’t really know him. Maybe that’s the way to go so she won’t think I had a reason to poison him.”
“That still keeps the door open for this being accidental.”
“Why is everyone forgetting a coffee shop wouldn’t have any shellfish? It’s absurd.”
“You’re right. That means it can’t be accidental.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sink. “And you think she’ll realize that, so that’s why you want her to think I thought he was a great man.”
He nods.
“Worth a shot, I guess. Are you sure you can leave right now to come help me?”
“Yeah, I worked late last night. I just had a sneaking suspicion that you’d need me today.” He brings the rack of cookies to the walk-in cooler. “Let’s speed up this cooling process a bit.”
“I’m eager to get moving on this as well. I don’t want to be near Cup of Jo while the police are searching it. It’s too heartbreaking to think of them trashing my brand-new café. I’ve always hated that the police don’t have to return the premises to the way they found it.
Twenty minutes later, the cookies are boxed and Cam is driving us to the Cromwells’ house. They live in a huge estate on an old farm that isn’t a farm anymore. It’s right on the outskirts of Bennett Falls. They have a horse stable with what appears to be five horses. Since there’s also a six-car garage, there are no cars parked out front other than Cam’s SUV, which looks very out of place here. It’s not in the most pristine condition considering he uses it as a work vehicle to transport all his baked goods. It has a few scratches and dings in the black paint from loading and unloading with the handcart.
I’m squeezing my hands together as we walk up to the front door.
“It’s going to be okay. Just try to relax. You didn’t do anything wrong, so there’s no need to look guilty.”
“Her husband is dead, though. And I was the last person he talked to.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“It’s the story Mickey Baldwin told Quentin and everyone else in Cup of Jo after it happened.”
“Here.” He hands me the box of cookies. “Hold these to keep your hands from shaking. Then let me do most of the talking until you feel calmer. Okay?”
I take a deep breath and release it. “Okay. I can do this.”
Cam rings the doorbell. It takes about two minutes for Mrs. Cromwell to answer the door. She’s dressed in an all-black designer pantsuit.
“Can I help you?” Her voice is devoid of all emotion, which could mean she’s still in a state of shock.
“Mrs. Cromwell, I’m Cam Turner, and this is Joanna Coffee. We wanted to come by to express our condolences and see if there is anything we can do for you during this difficult time.”
“Anything to do?” She gives one short burst of laughter. “There are so many things to do. I’m canceling business meetings, making funeral arrangements, calling family members. What exactly are you looking to assist me with?”
“We brought you some cookies,” I say, holding the box out to her.
“Cookies?” She says it like the word has no meaning at all to her. “Are you the caterers for the memorial service? I thought you were bringing the sample menu later today. Come in.” She steps aside.
I know I should correct her, but instead I say, “Thank you,” and walk into the house.
Cam follows me and whispers, “What are you doing?”
“I have no idea. Just go with it.” I look around. “You have a lovely home. Will you be hosting the memorial service here?”
“Yes. Did your assistant not explain that to you? I’ve gone through this already.”
“Yes, sorry. I’m just firming up the details.”
Cam shakes his head at me. “Actually, Mrs. Cromwell, the caterers are considering using my baking service, but we aren’t from the catering company ourselves.”
“I see. So you want me to try the cookies to approve them for the menu?”
I can’t do this anymore. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cromwell, but I’m Joanna Coffee. I own Cup of Jo on Main Street.”
Her brows pull together. “Cup of what? I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”
“You didn’t send your husband to Cup of Jo yesterday?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Are you sure? He was buying a dozen cream puffs to bring home to you.”
She clutches the cookie box in both hands. “He always brought me cream puffs when he went by a bakery.” She carries the box to the couch and sits down.
“I’m sorry if this is difficult for you. Your husband seemed like a very nice man. He even gave me some pointers on running my new business.”
“New business.” She raises her head to look at me. “You’re the woman they interviewed on the news.”
I was hoping she hadn’t watched the news since she didn’t seem to know who I was. “Yes, that was me. I’m afraid I didn’t come across looking very good in that interview. The truth is, I talked to your husband while I made his macchiato and boxed up the cream puffs. I didn’t know him well at all, and I certainly did not know about his shellfish allergy.”
“Come now, Ms. Coffee, is it?”
I nod.
“Anyone who has been at a social gathering with my husband knew about his shellfish allergy.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I’ve never been at a social gathering with your husband. Why would I be? I just opened my business yesterday, and it closed right after your husband died.”
She opens the box of cookies. “I suppose I should worry these are poisoned, but if I’m being honest, I don’t think you had any reason to kill my husband. Nor do I think you knew him. I think it was an unfortunate thing that he died outside your place of business. I mean, what coffee shop has shellfish?”
“Exactly!” I blurt out. My eyes widen to the size of saucers at my outburst. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just that everyone seems to be missing that key piece of information.”
“It’s absurd, really. Why would anyone think you were the guilty party?”
“He was holding the macchiato I’d made him, and he’d already consumed most of it.”
“I see.”
“Mrs. Cromwell, you said your husband’s shellfish allergy was well-known in your circle of friends,” Cam said.
“Yes.”
“Would any of those friends have any reason to want to harm your husband?” he adds.
She shakes her head. “Everyone loved Sherman. They had no reason not to. I mean, the man was a millionaire and donated money to causes left and right.”
“Donated? I thought he invested in businesses,” I say.
“All start-ups. Charity case kind of people with no money to otherwise open a business. Yes, Sherman profited from them. He was a wise investor and wouldn’t back anything that didn’t promise to turn a profit. He even got the businessmen to change their direction when need be, and they always did because, like I said, my husband knew what he was doing.”
“Have any of those businessmen ever resented having to change their vision for your husband’s?” I ask.
“If they did, they didn’t show it.”
Of course not, because that would have been an actual lead to follow. Still, with a little digging, we could find out who Sherman Cromwell’s business partners were. Mo works in social media advertising, so she knows her way around computers. As much as I don’t want to involve her in a possible murder case, I might not have any other choice.
“Mrs. Cromwell, I just have one other question for you,” I say. “When your husband left the house yesterday, where did you think he was going?” Since he obviously never mentioned my coffee shop.
“He likes to walk around town and scout out businesses. He says it helps him figure out who to invest in. He determines what locals need and where they like to frequent. He calls it research in the best possible form.”
“And that’s what he was doing?”
She nods. “I guess your coffee shop was on his list of places to check out. He must have thought highly of either you or the location you chose.” She leans forward. “You say you didn’t know my husband, Ms. Coffee, but I’m willing to wager he knew you.”
“How would he know me?”
“Did you take out a loan?”
“Yes, I had to.”
“And you’re leasing a prime commercial property, I presume.”
“I’m located on Main Street, yes.”
She nods. “As I said, my husband does his research.”
“I’m just curious, but if he felt that way and knew I was applying for a loan, why would he come see me after my business was open.”
“Are you asking me why he didn’t invest in your business?”
“I suppose I am. Not that I would have taken him up on the offer. I don’t know him well enough to accept an offer like that. I’m just curious based on what you’ve said.”
“You aren’t a charity case, Ms. Coffee. That’s the only explanation I can see. He must have felt that you didn’t need him.”
I don’t know what to make of any of this. Finding out some millionaire knew me and believed in my business is a little surreal.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Cromwell. We’ll let you get back to all the arrangements you need to make.” I stand up, and Cam follows.
“Ms. Coffee, the next time those police detectives come by, I’ll be sure to tell them I do not believe you had anything to do with my husband’s death.”
“Thank you.”
Once we’re back in Cam’s SUV, he turns to face me. “Did that strike you as odd?”
“That Sherman Cromwell knew me? Yeah.”
“Do you think it’s because he knew your parents?”
“I guess so, but it’s not like they were close friends. I would have thought he’d know my parents had kids but not our actual names or anything about us.”
“We don’t know that he did know Mo. She’s not a small business owner.”
My phone rings, and the last name I want to see appears on the screen. “It’s Quentin.”
“Put it on speaker. If you don’t mind,” Cam adds.
I answer, putting it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Jo, I need you to come down to the station.”
What could he possibly have found that would merit bringing me into the station? “What for?”
“I’d rather discuss this down here.”
“Tell me what it is, Quentin.”
He lets out a loud huff. “We found something on the floor of your coffee shop. It’s a fish oil capsule. We just confirmed with Mr. Cromwell’s doctor that dissolving one of these in a hot beverage would have caused the allergic reaction Sherman had before his asthma kicked in.”
“Quentin—”
“There’s a fingerprint on this capsule. We need to fingerprint you right away.” He lowers his voice. “This is most likely the murder weapon. Or one of its kind at least. You need to get down here now, Jo.” He ends the call.
“They’re going to charge me with murder, aren’t they?” I ask Cam.