Croissants and Corruption: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Page 4

  “Mayor Penberthy, good to see you.”

  “And who is this lovely lady? Surely not your sister?”

  Taylor shifted nervously next to her, but Margot laughed off his comment. “You charmer. This is my niece Taylor.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “But, Margot, you must tell me the secret to what makes your croissants so amazing.”

  “Now, Mayor,” she laughed, shaking her head. “If I told you that, then you’d have no reason to come by the shop as often as you do.”

  He placed a hand on his ample stomach and gave a hearty laugh. “You’ve got me dead to rights there.”

  “Excuse me,” Taylor said, fumbling with her purse while pushing the chair back from the table. “Restroom.”

  Margot watched her go, concern flashing through her mind.

  “You enjoy your dinner now, all right?” The mayor patted her arm and then moved to the next table. He was no doubt garnering votes for the upcoming election. She’d seen him at every community hosted event over the last several months. And when not there, he was often stopping by the Pâtisserie for one—or more—of her croissants.

  “See you were chatting with Mayor Penberthy.” Bentley set their plates of food down with a scowl.

  “Have a seat, Bentley. I have a feeling there’s a story behind that scowl.”

  “Where’s the kid?”

  Margot looked around again, her gaze traveling to the bathrooms on the other side of the room. “Restroom.”

  He nodded and took a seat next to her. “Remember I was talking about the lodge funds at the shop today?”

  “Of course. You were saying it was something political. Surely you don’t mean…”

  “Before you go getting yourself up in arms, let me give it to you straight. We’re missing money.”

  Margot blinked. “Missing…you mean for the lodge?”

  “Yeah.” He looked around, rubbing his jaw, the sound of scraping whiskers matching his irritation. “We’ve got a young whippersnapper handling the funds for us and he say’s I’ve lost my marbles—granted, he’s not the first to say that—but I’ve kept track of the money we’ve gotten and I know what he’s showing us for totals is not accurate.”

  “You’re taking into account food costs and—”

  “Most of it’s donated.”

  He had a point there. Margot frowned, her mind racing to catch up to the full extent of what he was telling her. “You think… Wait, what does this have to do with the mayor?”

  Bentley looked at the mayor then back at her. He was quiet so long she almost wasn’t sure he was going to answer. “Mayor Penberthy’s campaign has exploded over the last few months. He’s raised more support than I thought was possible, considering not a whole lot of folks like him in this town, and it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

  “You think he’s stealing money from the senior center.”

  “I don’t have any proof, mind you.” Bentley leaned closer. “They think I’m some old man off his rocker, but I aim to get to the bottom of this.”

  Margot’s mind reeled at what Bentley had said. He rushed off to take care of another table, but her thoughts stuck on his words. If Mayor Penberthy was taking some of the senior center money, how was he doing that? Who was the young man in charge of the accounts? And how did the mayor think he could get away with it? Per campaign rules, he would have to divulge where his backing was coming from. He couldn’t simply claim an extra twenty thousand dollars had just appeared in his account.

  If it was possible, maybe she could get together with Bentley and they could comprise a list of what he remembered from their donations from the last several months. She’d been there at many of them and they could easily guess how many had attended, multiply it by what was charged per head, and come up with a tentative number.

  Then again, no one kept good track at these events. Having Lynellen and Sally at the front desk was helpful, but they weren’t the kind to keep track. Bentley seemed to be the only one who’d noticed the missing money. Though, how no one noticed a large sum of money missing boggled her mind. Then again, if it hadn’t happened all at once, it could explain a gradual decrease that didn’t alarm anyone.

  She trailed her finger over her napkin, lost in thought, until she realized just how long Taylor had been gone.

  Frowning, she stood and made her way toward the bathrooms. An image of the night before rushed into her mind. But no, Marco Rossario wouldn’t be cornering her niece; he was dead.

  A chill rushed through her at the same time as a wave of sadness. If he really had been stabbed, that meant a murder in North Bank and that meant there was a murderer on the loose. How would she explain this to Taylor—let alone her sister?

  At the women’s restroom door, she knocked and called out. “Taylor, honey, are you in there?”

  There was no response.

  Margot’s heart began to beat more loudly and she called out to her niece again without response. She was just about to try the handle when a commotion at the front of the center drew her attention.

  There, surrounded by several uniformed officers, stood Adam. His gaze was fixed on Margot and she felt the air leave her lungs as he paced toward her, the determination in his steps. The look on his face betrayed any hope she’d had of his visit bearing good news.

  “Margot,” he said, the strain in his words sending off red warning lights in her mind. “Where’s Taylor?”

  “T-Taylor?” Her mind suddenly felt sluggish and she blinked to clear it. “I—I don't know. She came to the bathroom, but I’ve called out to her and she hasn’t answered. I was about to go in…”

  “Please, stand back.” She watched in horror as Adam instructed a female officer to come forward. She knocked once and then, trying the handle, found it locked.

  “Sir?” she asked.

  Adam nodded and she stepped back as one of the other officers strode forward and kicked at the door. After a few kicks, the frame cracked and the door swung inward to reveal an empty bathroom, curtains blowing in the wind through the open window.

  Margot looked to Adam. “She’s gone.”

  The cool night air rushed over Margot’s skin as she raced outside behind Adam. Her heart thudded in her chest and she felt a sickening knot tighten in her stomach. Not only was Adam—a police detective—looking for her niece, but her niece wasn’t where she said she was going to be.

  What was going on?

  “Harver, Jackson, you search that way. Collier and Smith, you go to the left.” The officers nodded and broke off in unison.

  “You should stay here, Margot.” Adam’s expression could have been carved in granite.

  “No, I can help you find her.”

  He looked as if he were ready to argue with her, but then nodded instead. “Stay right behind me.”

  She nodded and followed as they went toward the parking lot. Where would Taylor go? Why had she run in the first place? Better yet, why was Adam looking for her?

  Margot wanted to ask all of her questions at once, but she knew now was not the time. Adam was focused and she remembered when Julian had gotten that way. The last thing he wanted to do was talk. Just like her late husband, Adam was a man of action—it was what made them both such talented detectives. They thought things through, but then they acted on those thoughts.

  She followed as he ran through the parking lot, then he skidded to a halt and she nearly ran into him.

  “Where did you park?”

  “Down the street—I never park in the lot if I can help it.”

  He nodded. “Show me.”

  Adrenaline coursing through her, she nodded and turned toward the street. They jogged down a block and she spotted her car ahead, at least one more block away. Another car was double parked next to it, facing away from them. What was going on?

  “Margot—” Adam said, his tone warning. “Get behind me.”

  “That's my—”

  “I see it.” His words
were as sharp as steel. “Get behind.”

  She did and he picked up his pace. They were still five car-lengths away when the person standing at the second car’s window stood up.

  Taylor.

  Margot gasped just as the car’s brake lights disappeared and the back tires squealed in protest at being forced into movement without warning.

  “No!” Adam yelled before kicking up into a fast run.

  Taylor flattened herself against Margot’s car, looking frightened as Adam chased through the burning tire smoke after the car. He returned almost immediately, jaw clenched.

  “They got away.” Then his gaze nailed Taylor. “Who was that?”

  “I—I don’t know. Just s-someone asking for directions.”

  He leaned closer, as if daring her to lie to his face. But was she lying? Margot had the uneasy feeling she was, but she couldn’t be sure. And wasn’t she supposed to be on her niece’s side?

  Adam radioed in to the other officers to give them their location, then he pulled out handcuffs from his pocket.

  Margot felt the blood drain from her face. “What is this about?”

  “It’s a precaution.”

  “She’s not dangerous, Adam,” Margot snapped.

  His eyes shifted and he seemed suddenly uneasy. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Something about Taylor.

  “What is going on?” Margot demanded.

  He met her gaze. “I’m sorry, Margot, but…” He ran a hand through his hair, glancing to Taylor with narrowed eyes. “We found the murder weapon.”

  Cold dread spread through Margot.

  “Taylor’s prints were on the knife.”

  “What? You’ve got to be kidding! You think I killed Marco? No way! I just got here. Why would I kill him?”

  Margot shot Adam a look and wrapped her arm around Taylor’s shoulders. “Quiet, honey. This has to be some mistake.”

  Three officers arrived on the scene and another drove a squad car up the next moment, the blue and red lights flashing and bringing Margot back to that night.

  No. She closed her eyes. She would not allow this to take her back—not to that night. Besides, her niece was frightened and needed her to be strong.

  “This is ridiculous. She’s nineteen, Adam. She is not a killer.”

  His eyes reflected what she knew to be true. He and her husband had both seen terrible things in their line of work. Unfortunately, no one was too young to be capable of murder. But surely not Taylor.

  She looked down at her niece and saw that she was trembling. Her fear was real enough, but she had lied about the man in the car. Margot had seen that much in her expression. And she’d escaped from the bathroom at the senior center. And she’d had that fight with Marco.

  Margot clenched her eyes for a moment, trying to drown out all of the things that seemed to lead to Taylor’s guilt. She was innocent until proven guilty—though that wouldn’t happen because she hadn’t done this awful thing.

  “It’s okay, honey. You go with them and do what they say. I’ll call your mom and we’ll figure this out.”

  “No!” Taylor’s reply was so sharp that Adam turned to look at her from where he was briefing an officer. “I mean…can you please wait—just a day or something—to tell Renee. This will literally kill our relationship or…whatever it is. Please, Aunt Margot, don’t call her. Not tonight at least.”

  It went against everything in Margot’s makeup as a sister to agree. “I…I can’t do that.”

  “I’m an adult,” Taylor said, drilling her gaze into Margot. “Just…give me a day to figure this out.”

  Margot bit her lip and looked between the young girl and Adam, who now stood nearby. He was waiting to take Taylor.

  “Please—promise me, Aunt Margot.” Now Taylor was crying, real tears that burned trails down her cheeks. It was the first thing she’d actually gotten worked up about.

  “All right,” Margot heard the words come from her mouth but she hardly believed she’d said them.

  “Th-thank you,” Taylor said as Adam reached out toward her.

  “You have the right to remain silent…”

  Margot watched as if she were part of a bad dream while her niece was placed in the squad car and the door closed. Her empty eyes stared back at Margot, Taylor’s complexion as white as whipped cream. The car drove away and Margot promised herself that she would do whatever it took to clear Taylor’s name because, if she knew one thing, it was the fact that Taylor had not killed Marco Rossario.

  What she didn’t know was why her niece’s fingerprints were on the murder weapon. Or how the police knew the fingerprints were Taylor’s.

  Chapter 6

  Margot tried her best to focus on the task at hand, but it was nearly impossible. Watching the squad car holding her niece drive away had felt like a band of iron slowly cinching around her heart. Tighter and tighter until she wasn’t sure she could feel, let alone breathe, anymore.

  She’d wobbled on her feet but Adam had been there, wrapping his arm securely around her shoulder and directing her onto the sidewalk next to her car so she could calm down. He wouldn’t even let her get in the car, let alone think about driving, until he was sure she was somewhat settled.

  Then she’d snatched the keys from his grasp and leveled her gaze at him. Even in the dim light she knew he saw every emotion written in her eyes. He was a lot like Julian in that way. She told him in no uncertain terms he was coming to see her and they were going to have a conversation.

  But now, as she glanced at the clock and then the door for the millionth time in the span of an hour, she wasn’t sure he’d agreed so much as said whatever it would take for her to let go of his arm in the vice like grip she’d had it in.

  It was nearing seven o’clock—still early, but she knew Adam was on a case and that meant little sleep and lots to deal with.

  Her heart sank at the thought of Taylor in a jail cell, cold and alone. She had wanted to see her immediately, but she knew she had to bake in the morning if Rosie was going to have anything to sell when she took over later that day.

  Margot glanced up again, but this time her gaze collided with Adam’s. He stood on the sidewalk in front of the glass-fronted door, hands lazily in his pockets. But she wasn’t fooled. Inside, Adam was like a highly-strung dog ready to attack the next lead he got or any new information in the case.

  She wiped the flour dust from her fingers and unlocked the front door. He held her gaze for a moment, his eyes whispering an apology for arresting her niece, but she turned her back on him. She wasn’t mad at him exactly, but she knew he was wrong.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  She poured him a cup of strong Ethiopian coffee and refilled her half-empty mug as well. Handing it over, she pushed a plate of Oopses in front of him. They were what she called any baked goods that didn’t meet her satisfaction of looking professional. She often boxed them up and either took them to the senior center or down the street to her friend Tamera’s shop.

  “This is the best mistake I’ve tasted,” he said, savoring the end of a caramel pecan cinnamon roll.

  She couldn’t help the half-smile that slipped into place, but even that felt like a betrayal.

  He’s not your enemy, Marg, she reminded herself.

  “Adam—” she began but he held up a hand, his eyes still closed as he popped in the last bite and then followed it up with a swig of coffee.

  “Perfection.” He let out a contented sigh then opened his eyes. “Okay, now we can get down to business.”

  She crossed her arms looking up at him. “My nineteen-year-old niece is in custody for a murder. One she didn’t commit, by the way. I’d hardy call that business.”

  “I'm sorry, poor choice of words.” He grimaced. “I just mean that you’re full steam ahead and I haven’t even finished my coffee yet,” he said, holding up the cup as if it were the proof she needed.

  “But Taylor—”

  “Is innocent unti
l proven guilty.”

  “Which is something you will be trying to do!” She felt her cheeks heat.

  “Hold on there.” A deep V appeared in the middle of his forehead. “I don’t want Taylor to be the murderer. Don’t make it sound as if I’ll be finding ways to pin this on her.” He huffed out a breath. “I will do everything in my power to prove her innocent if that’s true. But I won’t ignore facts. You know me better than that.”

  The look of hurt in Adam’s hazel eyes pierced her conscience and she dropped her arms. “I'm sorry. You’re right. I do know you better than that.” It was the truth and she felt foolish for doubting him in first place. Of course he would want to see Taylor proved innocent—if she were. Margot shivered, not able to believe her niece was capable of murder.

  “What do you know?” she asked tentatively.

  He sighed and took another sip of coffee first. “There isn’t much yet. Forensics only linked the fingerprint to Taylor, but—” He paused as if considering how much he could tell her. In all reality, he had probably told her too much already—maybe even being here was too much—but she was thankful he had come anyway. “We haven’t found any other evidence linking her to the crime scene.”

  Margo frowned, picking at a piece of deformed macaroon. “Why, Adam?” She met his gaze and knew he understood she wasn’t asking about the evidence at the crime scene.

  “We’ve tossed out ideas like crime of passion, something stemming from the moment of their altercation at Antonio’s, but there’s nothing solid yet.”

  “Not to mention the fact she was in my house when this crime was supposed to have been committed.”

  “Right,” he said, sounding unconvinced.

  “But…what? What aren’t you saying?”

  “Obviously, from her stunt last night, she is adept at climbing out of windows. I—” He hesitated, looking down. “—checked out the window from her room. Since your house is up against the hillside, it wouldn’t have been hard for her to slip out unnoticed while you slept.”