Desserts and Deception: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Read online

  She tossed up her hands. “I knew next to nothing before the class, just that he was going to be coming from Washington, D.C. and said he was happy the class was later so he could avoid traffic.”

  “Then during the class?”

  “It was more than a year ago.”

  “Think back. You have an exceptional memory.”

  She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling in thought. “I always have us do introductions. Just fun things. If I remember correctly, he said he was from D.C., a lawyer, and widowed.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What? Why is that interesting?”

  “It’s not much. Most people share something else, right?”

  “Not exactly.” She thought back to the class. “Tamera shared even less.”

  “What was your take on him? In the class specifically.”

  Margot didn’t like the way Adam was all but interrogating her, but she reminded herself he was merely doing his job.

  “Honestly? I thought he was a good guy. A guy I would be happy to see my friend date—should he ask.”

  “And what made you think that would be a possibility.”

  “Chemistry,” she said, smirking, “and not just with regards to the baking.”

  He rolled his eyes and dropped his hands, leaning back in the chair. Inquisitive Adam was gone for the moment.

  “I trust him, Adam. You’ve got the wrong man for this.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t trust him. He’s hiding—” Adam cut off, his eyes flicking to her.

  He swallowed and shook his head, returning his gaze to the ceiling even as his pointer finger tapped lightly on a file on his desk. “Just trust me when I say there are things you may not know about the man.” His finger pounded the folder one more time.

  Margot’s thoughts flew to what Tamera had admitted. Was she bound to tell Adam that George hadn’t come back for work? Opening her mouth to say something, she was interrupted by Adam’s phone.

  “Sorry,” he said, standing. “I’ll only be a minute.”

  He stepped from the room, closing the door behind him, and she slumped back into her chair. She should tell Adam, he needed to know everything, but they hadn’t even proven that George hadn’t come back for a good reason. Maybe to surprise Tamera? Though it seemed counterintuitive to leave one’s honeymoon to surprise the one you left.

  Something about Adam’s tapping drew her focus to the file folder on his desk. It had a label from the computer forensics team across the top. Standing, she extended one finger and popped the top of the folder over.

  Her heart beat more soundly in her chest as she read upside down. It looked like a printout of an email. Frowning, she scanned the address. It had George’s name at the top but the “sent to” line seemed like a made up email address: [email protected].

  She skipped down to the body of the email. The first line simply read: It’s time.

  She was about to walk around the desk to more easily read the rest of the email when she heard footsteps coming back down the hall. Flicking the file closed, she resumed her seat and tried to act interested in her phone as Adam stepped back inside.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s all right,” she said, slipping the phone into her bag. “I really should be going. I assume Tamera is about out of time anyway.”

  He nodded, his shoulders drooping again. “I’m really sorry about this, Margie. You know that I’ll do my very best to figure out what’s going on here, no matter what, right?”

  She stood, nodding and reminding herself to keep her gaze from slipping to the file folder. “I know that, Adam. You’re just doing your job.” And I’m doing mine—helping a friend.

  Her thoughts buzzed with the email as she walked down the hall. It was only when she and Tamera were back in the car and heading back to Tamera’s house that she realized she hadn’t told Adam about George coming back early.

  “How was your conversation with George?”

  They were almost back to Tamera’s house and her friend had been quiet for so long, she’d wondered if she’d fallen asleep after the rush of adrenaline had left her.

  Tamera let out a huge sigh just as Margot pulled into a parking space.

  “That man,” she said, though her tone wasn’t angry or as devastated anymore.

  “What? What did he say? What happened?”

  She hefted another sigh and turned to look at Margot. “He says that he went to the shop to get glue.”

  Margot frowned. “Glue? What?”

  “I know.” Tamera shook her head. “He said he was making me something, trying to be ‘crafty’ like me, and that the one thing he was missing was a glue stick. He says he knew I had a whole stack at the shop so he went there, opened the door, took a glue stick, and left. That’s it.”

  Margot leaned back in her seat, contemplating this. Walmart was closer to Tamera’s house, so why would George make the trek down to the shop? Unless he either needed to be there for something else or was in the area.

  It would make sense why he hadn’t found the body—assuming he was there during the time that Mark was killed or after the fact. But did that mean he’d been close to the killer? Interrupted them perhaps? But no, George would have seen something—unless he hadn’t relayed that part to the police or his wife. Margot felt sick to her stomach.

  “Did he turn on the lights?”

  Tamera pulled her attention from the window. “What?”

  “The lights. Did he turn them on when he went in there?”

  “I don’t know—wait, no. He said he used the flashlight on his phone. He went in the front instead of the back.”

  “Like we did.”

  “Yes.”

  She sat back in her seat, forcing herself not to jump to conclusions. “Where’s the glue now?”

  “That’s just it.” Tamera turned weighted eyes toward Margot. “He told the police this—of course, because he wanted to exonerate himself—but they can’t confirm that he actually took the glue and they can’t find it.”

  Margot frowned. “Where did he say it was?”

  “That’s just it. He can’t remember either.”

  “I’m confused…” Margot was beginning to doubt this whole story. He was a trial lawyer, he wouldn’t just misplace a glue stick. Had George fabricated all of this to get out of telling the truth? Then again, wouldn’t he come up with a better story?

  But no, she couldn’t think like that. He was innocent until proven guilty—which, hopefully, he wouldn’t be.

  “What he says happened is that he went in, got the glue, then came back to the house. He’d left Mr. Puggles inside and apparently that silly dog had chewed up one of his favorite pairs of slippers while he was out. I think he was mad that we left him with Abby for the two weeks we were gone.” Tamera shrugged but continued. “So he had to clean up that whole mess and by the time he was done, I called him and he went right back down to the shop where the rest of this all takes place.”

  Margot began to nod. “And the slipper?”

  “The—what?”

  “Is it in the back trash?”

  “Yes, I saw it there yesterday.”

  So one part of his story could be verified. “So then we have to find the missing glue stick—a brand new one—to corroborate his story.”

  “Yes. As soon as I get home I’m going to tear the house apart looking for it.”

  “But…why a glue stick? What was he doing?”

  She blushed and looked down. “He made me a card. Said he’d looked up tutorials online and wanted to have it done by the time I got back.”

  Again, it seemed to fit. “Do you have the card?”

  “He told me not to look at it yet—even in jail, he’s still playing the romantic—but he told me where it is.”

  “I’ll need to look at it.”

  Tamera nodded. “Margot, I know it sounds farfetched. But with Mrs. Henderson seeing him go into the shop and then the body being found…it just looks
bad. But it’s all circumstantial—so George says.”

  It was, but the email Adam had apparently found made it more than that…but she couldn’t divulge that information to her friend. At least not yet.

  “Well, let’s go look.”

  “What?”

  She reached over and grabbed her friend’s hand, squeezing lightly. “We’ll look for the glue stick and maybe come across something else that will help too.”

  “I won’t give up,” Tamera said. “You remember all those years that I complained to you about being single. All those terrible first dates I went on. All the tears I cried.” She rested her head back against the headrest. “It all faded when I met George. He’s not perfect and sometimes he drives me nuts—as I’m sure I do to him too—but he’s the one, Marg. He’s the one meant for me. The one that completes me. I just can’t— I can’t imagine him doing anything like this. Besides, it makes no sense.”

  “I know. None of it makes sense.”

  “No, I mean, why in the world would George kill Mark? That makes no sense.”

  “Because he was a witness?”

  “No, because he was the witness. I remember the day George came home saying they had finally found someone to testify. It was nothing short of a miracle. George believes in ending what Victor Carow does. He wouldn’t jeopardize the trial like that.”

  Margot nodded and they went into Tamera’s house to look for the elusive glue stick, but her thoughts stayed with Victor Carow and the now-dead star witness in the case against him. Was it possible that the emails George had gotten were from him—or someone associated with him?

  Had George’s loyalty been bought?

  Chapter 6

  The feeling of stiff dough beneath her hands made Margot pull back, blinking. She’d gotten lost in thought again and had almost overworked her dough. That was happening more and more. The puzzle of the murder of Mark Jennings was too mind-bending for her to let go. Though, calling it merely a puzzle seemed to lessen what it really was. A murder of a man who had just stepped up to do the right thing.

  The front door opened and, looking through her view window, she saw a young man step into the light streaming in from the front window. He had short-cropped blonde hair and a medium build that reminded her of a runner. He looked athletic, but not a gym junkie.

  She took all of this in in the moment it took for him to come to the counter and lean down to look through the pass-through.

  “Hello.” His voice was smooth, probably a tenor if he sang, and he offered her a kind smile. Not over the top or egotistical, but decidedly confident.

  Dusting off her hands, she came through the door and stood behind the counter. “How can I help you?” She didn’t ask if he wanted a pastry because she had a sense he wasn’t here for that.

  “I heard that you had an opening for an assistant. I wanted to apply for the job.”

  “An—an assistant?” Margot wracked her brain. How had this young man heard that? She hadn’t fully admitted to herself that she was interested in hiring, let alone placed an ad anywhere.

  “I have a certificate from The Art of Pastry program associated with Kingston College in Vermont. I am a hard worker, and my specialty was in French pastry making. I think I would be a valuable asset to your business.”

  She blinked. For being so young, she’d guess somewhere in his early twenties, he carried himself well and put forth a compelling argument for hiring him. But there was the matter of him having information she hadn’t given to anyone. Well, almost anyone…

  “Adam,” she said, shaking her head.

  The young man tried to hide his grin. “My name is Dexter. Dexter Ross.”

  “But you know Adam Eastwood, don’t you?”

  He looked back at her, good-natured guilt written on his features. “I’m originally from New York and knew Adam when I was younger.”

  “And now you’re in North Bank, Virginia. Why is that?”

  “I needed a change of scenery.”

  “And you know French pastry making?”

  He nodded vigorously.

  “And you have references to go along with this resume I’m assuming you have ready for me?”

  He gave her a wicked grin. “Does that mean I can interview for the job?”

  She dropped her arms to her side just as Bentley walked in. “Morning, Mar— Who are you?”

  The older man eyed Dexter as if he might be able to gain the answer to his question without the boy saying anything.

  “I'm Dexter, Mrs. Durand’s new assistant.” He turned back and winked at her.

  He was shameless.

  “Meet Dexter,” Margot said, trying to hold in her smile, “he’s hoping he’s lucky enough to prove to me he’s up to par to be my assistant.”

  Bentley eyed him again, giving him a once-over, then he nodded. “One misstep, boy, and she’ll take you out.” Dexter’s eyes widened. “She doesn’t take those Krav Maga classes for nothing.” Then Bentley turned to Margot. “The usual, dear, if you will.”

  She smiled at the older man, loving his protective nature. “I’ll get that for you in just a moment. Dexter, this way please.”

  The young man followed her back to the kitchen. “Nice setup you have here.”

  “Nice setup is exactly what I’d call this.” She faced him, arms over her chest.

  “Hey,” he said, raising his hands up in a defensive position, “Adam only mentioned that there might be a position open here. He said the rest was up to me.”

  “To charm your way in, huh?” She cracked a smile.

  “Does that mean I’m charming?” He grinned again. It was infectious. “He may have mentioned that you don’t have much help and are looking for someone who can take some of the burden of baking, not just running the shop. I have expertise in both.” Then he reached into the leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder and pulled out a manila folder. “My credentials, references, and competition stats.”

  She scanned through the work list and had to admit it was impressive. “Chef Corbett? Really?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll need to follow up on some of this—”

  “I expected as much,” he said with a congenial smile.

  “Why don't I give you a call once I’ve made my decision.”

  He inclined his head. “My number is listed at the top. I look forward to hearing from you.”

  “All right. Thank you, Dexter.”

  He flashed another confident smile then disappeared through the kitchen door. She heard him say good-bye to Bentley and then was gone. Her hands worked to cut the caramel pecan cinnamon roll for Bentley, but her mind was on the young man. If what she’d read was accurate and not a fabrication, he was more than qualified to work for her. But could she trust him?

  Once the order was delivered, she went back into the kitchen and pulled out her phone.

  Adam answered on the second ring. “What’s up, Margie?”

  He sounded distracted but she pressed on. “Do you know a Dexter—” She looked down at the sheet in front of her. “—Ross?”

  “Oh Dex,” Adam chuckled and then said something muffled before coming back to their conversation. “He’s a good kid. You really ought to give him a chance.”

  “So then his credentials are legitimate.”

  “Yep.” Someone spoke on the other side of the phone. “Are you sure about that?”

  “What?” Margot asked.

  “Right, we’ll get it up here however you need to. I need a look inside ASAP.”

  “Adam?” she tried again, knowing that he wasn’t speaking to her now.

  “Sorry,” he said, coming back to their conversation. “We think we just found the car that Mark drove down to North Bank.”

  Margot picked up her pace as she walked from where she’d parked at the small turn out down Route 1. Adam stood with his back to the sun, squinting as a large tow truck with a winch attached to the back worked at pulling up the car over the side of the ridge. />
  “Margot, what are you doing here?”

  She skirted a few officers who were taking pictures and writing notes. “You said you found the car.”

  He frowned at her. “Did you think that was an invitation to come down here?”

  “Wasn’t it?”

  He laughed. “No, but since you’re here.” He indicated the cliff face. “Take a look.”

  She walked with him to the side and they looked over the edge. The sheer rock wall dove to the river at an impressive angle that only began to lesson twenty feet from the water. It was there that the car had landed, front end down. She also saw a worker repelling down the cliff face toward the car. Even from this height they could see that the back license plate had been marred by something—was that paint?

  “Do you think the murderer took pains to paint the license plate?”

  “It would seem that way.”

  “But George—”

  “I know. We’re following up on all of this.” She pressed her lips together and he looked down at her. “Hey, I don’t want it to be George just as much as you do, but unfortunately there is still time in the timeline for him to, conceivably, have done this.”

  “How is that even possible?” she asked, looking around. “The killer had to have come here, set the car to drive off the cliff, and then somehow made it back to civilization on foot.”

  “Margie,” he said, a pained look coming onto his handsome features. “We’re not that far from where Tam and George live.”

  She blinked, looking around again. What Adam said was true. Though this area of the road was faced by sheer cliffs, there was a popular beach not more than a mile or so down the road from there. Because of that, there were many paths that led from the small communities to the river access. She could pick out the exact path that would lead to Tamera and George’s street from where she stood.

  This was not good.

  “Still—”

  “I’m not ruling anything out.”

  “Hey, Detective Eastwood,” a man called out to him.

  “Yeah, Hal, what is it?”

  Margot walked over with him, not interfering but still wanting to know what the man had to say.