Desserts and Deception: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Read online

  “Looks like my guy has a solid lock on the car.”

  Margot swallowed. Hopefully the worker would return to the safety of this side of the cliff soon.

  “Great. Can you start pulling it up?”

  The man nodded. “Yep. Wanted to get your OK first.”

  “You have it.”

  The man nodded and turned back toward his team. “Haul her up!”

  A terrible scraping sound ensued as the winch worked overtime to pull the heavy car up from the cliff. Margot kept her arms wrapped around her, the wind coming from the river chillier than normal despite the warm, humid day.

  “You really should hire him,” Adam said out of the blue. They had been standing, mesmerized by the slow process to bring the car up, when he broke into her thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Dex. He’s a good kid. A little too creative at times,” he said, smirking to himself, “but a good kid. I’ll vouch for him.”

  “So he’s as talented as his resume says he is.”

  “More than,” Adam said. Something in the way he said it caused her to file that piece of information away for later.

  “I have to admit that it’s tempting. He’s got a good resume and, once I see how he does in the kitchen, I could use a break every now and again. It’ll be slow going though—to make sure he’s up for it.”

  “He will be.”

  She shook her head and her silence drew his attention.

  “What?”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Hey,” he said, turning to face her, his hands sliding onto his hips, “I see how hard you work. I know you’re there every morning before the sun is even up. You barely have any time for yourself. In fact, I actually saw you more when Taylor was here than I have in the past few years—and that was just for a few months.”

  She smiled at the memory of her niece and the great help she’d turned out to be. But her smile faded at the look in Adam’s eyes. Why was this so important to him?

  “It’s just the life of a baker—”

  “No, it’s not. You work harder than anyone I know and I think you deserve to take a break every now and again.” He shrugged. “Maybe go out to dinner. With me.”

  Suddenly the shift in the wind wasn’t the only thing that had changed. This conversation had gone from banter to seriousness within the span of a moment.

  “We’ve had dinner lots of times,” she said, trying to defend her tendency to overwork.

  “I’m not talking about me bringing you Chinese at the bakery because I know you haven’t eaten. I'm talking about…dinner.” He cleared his throat and his eyes skipped to the men still working to bring up the car. “Like, a dinner date.”

  Margot felt everything slow down for a moment. Was Detective Adam Eastwood asking her on a date? She opened her mouth then closed it, unsure if she knew what to say or not. The look in his eye pleaded with her to say something, and she knew he deserved that much, but she was struck utterly speechless.

  “Margot, I—” he began but a shout from the crew drew their attention.

  “The car is up,” she said, too much relief sinking into her words.

  They rushed to the car and the first thing Adam did was check the front license plate.

  “Collier, take down this plate number. I want you to run it ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir,” the young deputy said, rushing to his side. Once he had it, he ran off to his squad car with the plate number and Adam stood by as one of the workers pried open the passenger side door. When it stood wide open, though leaning toward the ground unnaturally, Adam ducked inside to the glove box.

  Margot couldn’t help her curiosity and slipped up next to him to peer over his shoulder. She may have been somewhat blindsided by his request but her attention was back on the case as she knew his was.

  “Is that the registration card?”

  “Yes, and it looks like the car is registered to…” He squinted. “A Christina Jordan. It’s a D.C. address.”

  “But, Adam, who is Christina Jordan?”

  He looked down at her, tapping the paper against the mangled roof of the car. “I don't know, but I aim to find out.”

  Chapter 7

  It had taken all of her convincing and a sheer bit of luck, she was sure, but Margot had convinced Adam to let her come along to D.C. while they questioned Christina. Thankfully, he hadn’t brought up his mention of dinner again.

  Part of Margot knew she wanted to say yes to him. What she’d said was true, they had had dinner on multiple occasions, but what he was asking was more than dinner and she still wasn’t sure she was ready for that. Besides, if the current situation was any indication, they would be busy for quite some time solving this case.

  Correction. Adam would be busy solving the case. She would merely be busy keeping George out of jail.

  They took the 4th Street exit into Washington, D.C. and Adam maneuvered them through the light day traffic. She was surprised, expecting it to be more congested, but it was still early. They turned up Independence Avenue and Margot saw the Capitol building, the dome shining and bright after its recent construction. The tall House and Senate buildings gave way to the Library of Congress and the Jefferson Building.

  Paused at a stoplight, Adam turned to look at her. “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”

  “Oh, Adam,” she said, giving him a look that said he was being foolish. “You called and talked with this woman. She’s a librarian at Georgetown. How dangerous can this be?”

  He smirked and shook his head. “You do have a point there. Though something’s been bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “According to his file, Mark lives down the street from Christina.”

  “And?”

  “Well, the dates are funny to me. As is the fact that she—a librarian at Georgetown as you’ve so nicely pointed out—lives in Capital Hill.”

  Margot followed his logic. “When did she move in?”

  “January.”

  “And Mark—”

  “Moved in last June, right before the trial.”

  “You think she could be involved in all of this? Really? A librarian?”

  He smirked. “I’m not in the business of making guesses. Librarian or not, she could be dangerous. She could be a plant from Victor’s gang. I should have done more research before coming.” He said the last part to himself, but Margot reached over and rested her hand on his arm.

  “I know how to take care of myself.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to—not if I’ve done my job well.”

  They were maneuvering through the one-way streets, Adam checking each street sign until he saw 7th Street. Taking a left, he went two and a half blocks then he pulled into a spot in front of a white and green row house. Turning off the car, he paused and looked toward Margot.

  “I want you to pay attention and stay behind me.”

  “What’s she going to do? Come at us with the Dewey Decimal System?” He didn’t seem to appreciate her humor. “I will. I promise.”

  Apparently satisfied with her answer, he got out of the car. She followed as they took the steep steps up to the black front door, a cheery 4th of July-inspired wreath still hanging from a hook. Adam pressed the doorbell and they waited.

  When the door opened, the woman in front of them looked so unlike any librarian Margot had ever seen. She wore black skinny jeans, a long black t-shirt that read “Cats & Coffee” in bold white lettering, and had dyed black hair cropped at her jawline.

  “Uh, Miss Jordan?”

  “Nah, that’s my roommate. Chrissy!” the girl yelled into the house. “You’ve got company.” She stepped back, an expression of sheer indifference on her face. “You can come in.”

  “Thank you,” Adam said.

  They stepped inside into a wide-open space that held an eclectic mix of styles. From a winged back chair by the faux fireplace to a Papasan chair pushed into a corner near a toppling pile of books. The artwork
was equally as mismatched. As if the classical style had met impressionism but, like water and oil, didn’t mix.

  The sound of someone in heels descending the stairs drew their attention toward the narrow staircase. First appeared kitten heels on tiny feet, then a narrow, black pencil skirt, followed by a floral print blouse, necklace of pearls, and then a softly smiling face. The tiny, dark rimmed glasses perching on the nose of the woman before them completed the look. It was classic librarian, except…

  Margot jerked her eyes up when she realized she was staring, but the woman in front of her had all manner of tattoos on both arms peeking out just below the forearm-length blouse she wore. Was that indication of a gang affiliation? Or just an affinity for decorative skin ink?

  “Hello, can I help you?”

  “Miss Jordan, I’m detective Adam Eastwood. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

  “Oh yes, please, have a seat.” She indicated the winged back chair and small love seat. Margot took the chair, Adam the love seat, and Christina pulled over the footstool to the Papasan chair.

  “I assume you’ve heard in the news…” Adam hesitated.

  “About Mark? Yeah, I’ve heard.”

  Margot watched as she tugged at the edge of her skirt even though it was already over her knee. Was she nervous? But as Margot watched her expression, she saw something else. Sadness.

  “You were close with Mark?” Margot asked.

  Christina nodded, her lower lip trembling.

  “May I ask what the nature of your relationship was?”

  Christina met Adam’s gaze. “Why?”

  “Miss Jordan…” He softened his tone. “Christina. We found your car at the bottom of a cliff. With Mark dead and the car the one connection to how Mark came from D.C. to North Bank, it’s imperative we have your full cooperation.”

  “Look, if I’d known—” Her voice broke, but she swallowed and tried again. “I never would have lent him my car. Never.”

  “So, you were in a relationship with him?” Margot asked, hoping that gentle reminder would encourage the woman to share more.

  “Yeah. No. I mean, I thought we were moving that direction.”

  She sniffed and Margot handed her the box of tissues from the marble top, claw-footed table next to her chair. One of the tattoos poked out when Christina’s sleeve pulled up and Margot caught a glimpse of the shape of a book. Probably not gang tattoos then.

  “I met Mark at a coffee shop down the street a few years ago. We talked, he liked books, and we hit it off. At the time I was still living in Georgetown, but I liked to take the weekends to explore new parts of D.C. You know, see the sights in my own city.”

  Margot nodded, encouraging her with a smile.

  “Then this whole trial thing happened. We had to stop seeing each other for a while and I really missed him. Like really missed him. My lease was up and I’d found out from Mark where they had relocated him so I…moved.” She blushed and looked down. “Sounds desperate, right? I really cared for him and hoped we could, you know, make a go of it. Try out a relationship.”

  “So explain to me why he had your car?”

  “My car and my favorite hat,” she said with a humorless laugh.

  Margot and Adam exchanged glances.

  “He said he needed to run a few errands. I let him use my car all the time but he usually was going to the store so he wouldn't need to lug things around. And there was usually someone with him—protection, you know? He kept my keys and when I looked outside the other night, the car was gone. I figured he had to run an errand but got really worried when he didn’t show back up. Then I saw the news—” She clutched the tissue to her nose.

  “What do you mean he borrowed your hat?”

  Christina sniffed loudly. “He said he needed to borrow a fedora. I didn’t question it.” She let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  A fedora. The pieces began to fit. The makeup on the inside of the hat now made perfect sense.

  Thanking Christina and making sure she had his card in case she thought of anything else, Adam thanked her for her time. Then they left, the sounds of the busy city greeting them and Christiana’s words circulating in the air around them.

  Adam pulled back on to 395 and turned the radio down. Margot glanced to the side, trying to read him. She’d been around him enough to know that he needed time to process things. She would be surprised if he brought up the case now, because she had a feeling he needed to mull over what they had heard.

  “So, Dex,” he began.

  She huffed out a breath. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  He grinned at her, his eyes staying on the road. Part of her wondered if he’d bring up going to dinner again, but another part of her hoped he wouldn’t. Now she was the one who needed processing time.

  “He’s a good kid,” Adam said in a singsong voice.

  “I know. I just…I haven’t had time to go over his credentials and—”

  “What? A recommendation from me isn’t good enough? What if I told you I’ve already run a background check on him?”

  “You did?”

  “Would that change you hiring him?” He looked hopeful.

  “Adam, why are you insistent on me hiring Dexter?”

  Adam let out a deep breath. “He told you he knew me, right?”

  “Yes, he mentioned he knew you when he was younger.”

  “Well…” Adam swallowed. Was he uncomfortable? “I actually took care of him for a while. While his mom was…unavailable.”

  “Unavailable?”

  Adam cringed again. “Drugs. She was in rehab.”

  Margot’s whole notion of Adam shifted in that moment. He had long since been her friend and before that he’d been a friend of her husband, Julian’s, but now he was more. A guardian. Almost a parent.

  “Really.” It was a statement more than a question.

  He risked a glance at her. “What? What’s going on in that sharp mind of yours, Margot Durand? You have me worried.”

  She smiled. “I’m just picturing you as a…guardian. That’s really commendable of you.”

  “Now don’t go putting me on a pedestal. He needed a place to stay and I had a spare bedroom. It was kind of like what you did for Taylor, just a little longer.”

  “How long?”

  He took in a breath. “Two years.”

  “Two—!” She cut herself off, the exclamation clearly making Adam uncomfortable. Though he was the town’s only detective and could take over a case with bravado, Adam was the furthest thing from a man who wanted attention drawn to his good deeds.

  “It was the right thing to do.”

  “I believe that.”

  Silence rested between them but Margot’s mind filled in pictures of Adam as a guardian. It was a pleasant picture.

  “So…” He drew the word out. “Dex.”

  “All right,” she laughed, shaking her head, “I’ll hire him.”

  “Yes!” he said, sounding way too excited.

  “But on a trial basis. He needs to prove himself to me first.”

  “Naturally. You know, when he was younger—” Adam’s story was cut off by his phone. He pressed a button on his steering wheel and the sound crackled through the car speakers. “Eastwood here.”

  “Well howdy, Detective E,” a booming voice said. Margot leaned back, as if to get away from the loudness of the voice, and Adam pressed another button. “It’s Martin the M.E.” The man laughed on the other end of the line but thankfully his voice was quieter now.

  “He says that every time he calls me,” Adam whispered to Margot. She grinned and pressed her lips together when the man spoke again.

  “You got someone there with you?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Durand from the bakery.”

  “Oh, great! I’ve been meaning to stop by, Margot. Wife’s got a birthday coming up and—”

  “Did you have something for me, Martin?” Adam interrupted.

  “Yup, sure
do. But I can call back…” His meaning was clear.

  “I think it’ll be all right for Margot to hear.”

  “Sure enough,” Martin said. “I’ve got the tox screen results back on that fellow.”

  Margot’s hopes soared. Would they reveal some way to clear George?

  “Go ahead,” Adam said.

  “Looks like it was a lethal dose of Digoxin.”

  “Really,” Adam said, pondering the results.

  “But there was something else.”

  “Go ahead, Martin.”

  “Looks like there were trace amounts of insulin in the syringe. We wouldn’t have seen it in the blood work but I of course sent off everything we found to The Big Guys.”

  “He always calls them that,” Adam whispered, eliciting another laugh from Margot.

  “So the syringe previously had insulin in it. Had it been used before?”

  “Nope. My best guess here is that the culprit emptied out a diabetic syringe and filled it with a homemade killing remedy.”

  “Homemade?” Margot clamped her mouth shut. She hadn’t meant to interfere but her curiosity had gotten away from her.

  “Yes sir—er, ma’am. Digoxin is found in foxglove.”

  “Like the flower?”

  “The very same.”

  Adam nodded as if he’d already known this.

  “Anything else, Martin?”

  “Not yet. I’ll call when I know more.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure thing, boss. Bye, Margot.”

  He hung up and the car fell into silence again. A diabetic syringe filled with a homemade poison made from flowers found all over George’s neighborhood—and even his front yard. Things were looking worse and worse for her friend’s husband.

  Chapter 8

  Dexter was waiting at the door when Margot arrived at the shop early the next day. Startled, she took a step back when he emerged from the shadows.

  “Sorry to scare you,” he said with an infectious grin. “I just believe in being on time.”

  “Or early,” she said, unlocking the door and typing in her code for the alarm system. “Welcome to your first day at the bakery.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.”