Croissants and Corruption: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Page 7

  Margot cringed, but didn't let that enter her voice. At least that explained how the police had Taylor’s fingerprints on file. “She didn’t do this, Rae. She’s innocent and the law will prove that.” I’ll prove that.

  Finally, after half an hour, Renee finally agreed not to fly out. She only relented after Margot reminded her that there was nothing she could do—yet. They would wait it out and see what was going on. When they knew more, then she’d come.

  “That was pretty bad,” Taylor said, slumping onto the couch.

  Margot shook her head. “Do you know Lorenzo Bianchi?”

  Was it her imagination or did Taylor pale?

  “No. Who’s that?”

  Was her niece lying to her?

  “He’s—” A knock on the door interrupted her explanation and she opened it to find Adam, Chinese carryout in both hands and a smile on his face.

  “Thought you ladies might like some lunch.”

  She smiled, glancing back to Taylor. Her niece looked at Adam warily, no doubt wondering at first if he’d been there to take her back to captivity.

  “Come on in.”

  He did and, as soon as the food was opened, Taylor took her plate to her room and shut the door.

  “How are you doing?” Adam asked, using chopsticks to pick out a piece of broccoli.

  Margot massaged her temples. “I’ve been better.”

  “And Taylor?”

  “I don't know.” She looked up at Adam. “Have you learned anything more?”

  His gaze narrowed. “You’re not asking me to share information of an active case are you?”

  She allowed a weary smile to answer him.

  “The only thing I can say at this point is that I’m struggling to find a connection between Taylor and Marco. No texts, calls, nothing. It’s… It doesn’t make any sense. As much as I’d initially thought the crime was one of passion, the facts aren’t adding up.”

  So it was premeditated?

  “Why would my niece—who knows no one here in town—murder some random man in a premeditated manner? Come on, Adam. This doesn’t make any sense”

  “And yet her fingerprints were on the knife from Ant—” He slammed his mouth shut.

  Antonio’s. Of course!

  “Look, forget I said anything. Just keep her out of trouble and if you hear anything, you come to me. You hear me, Margot?”

  “Sure, if I—” Her phone rang and she check the caller ID. She recognized the number of the night school professor. “Sorry, I’ve got to take his.”

  He nodded and she slipped into the kitchen.

  “Hello, this is Margot Durand.”

  “Hello, Ms. Durand, this is Frank Crestwood. I had a call from you.”

  “Yes, I just had a quick question regarding your accounting class.” She cringed, hoping that Adam wasn’t listening in. She pushed further into the kitchen.

  “Oh, are you interested in a class? We have one scheduled for the summer, but it doesn't start for a few more weeks.”

  “Um, no, actually. I was interested in knowing who your best student is.”

  He hesitated. “My best…student?”

  “Yes, my friend Eve is in that class and she’d mentioned the name of your best student. I have a project I need a little accounting help on, nothing major of course, and I thought it would be nice to give someone a chance while they’re still in school. I own the Parisian Pâtisserie.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, in that case hands down it’s Victor Karvo. Great guy. Very promising.”

  “Not Lorenzo Bianchi?”

  “Lorenzo—” The man broke into a fit of laugher. “I’m sorry. That was unprofessional.” Margot rolled her eyes. “He’s…trying his best. But I wouldn’t lump him in with the best. Would you like me to give you Victor’s contact information?”

  Rather than raise suspicion, she accepted the information and hung up. So either Eve was in on the scheme and recommending Lorenzo had been part of the whole conspiracy…or, what was more likely, is that she over heard Frank talking about his best student and gotten the wrong name.

  If Lorenzo wasn’t doing well in class then why had he agreed to—

  “Did I hear you say Lorenzo Bianchi?”

  Margo froze, her stomach clenching.

  “Eavesdropping?” she said, spinning around. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Don’t change the subject, Margot. What was that call about?”

  She merely smiled. “Coffee?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, the taut fabric of his light blue button-down stretching. “Don’t do this, Margot.”

  “I’m not doing anything other than offering you coffee.” She smiled sweetly but saw the distrust behind Adam’s eyes.

  She knew the risks involved, but weren’t they worth it if that meant she would free her niece? No matter what she uncovered, she would turn it all over to Adam anyway—she just had to have enough to give him. Not hints of conjecture and speculation.

  No. She would need hard facts, which meant she needed to start rocking the boat.

  Chapter 10

  The next morning found Margot delivering a stack of cookie boxes to the senior center. It was still early and she’d negotiated for Rosie and Taylor to run the shop that morning with a promise that she would be back that afternoon to take over.

  Bentley made a bee-line for her the minute she stepped inside, but the rest of the senior residents who’d been caught in the midst of a ping pong tournament also swarmed her but for a different reason.

  When the boxes were taken and she was left alone, Bentley all but carried her to a corner.

  “Well,” he said, leaning in toward her. “How did it go? What did she say? Do you think she’s in on it?” His inquisitive nature made her laugh, but she could also see traces of the former prosecutor in him. How had she not known he was a lawyer before?

  “I went to the mayor’s office,” she said, glancing around as if this were a top secret meeting in the senior center of all places. “Eve definitely has nothing to do with it.”

  She explained what she’d found out from her friend and the subsequent call with the professor.

  “See? She recommended him for the simple fact that she’d heard—mistakenly—he was the best in the class.”

  “Hearsay,” Bentley murmured.

  “Don't you dare lawyer me.” She squared her shoulders at the older man. “I know and trust Eve. You’re not the only one with gut feelings.”

  He raised a hand as if to wave off her comment. “It’s too coincidental.”

  “I’d go to the beginning of all of this. Who said it was a good idea to hire a kid who was in night classes anyway?”

  “Kim Penberthy.”

  “Kim,” Margot repeated, frowning. “What in the world is Kim doing with her hand in senior center politics?”

  “Kim’s got her hands in a lot of things.” Bentley shrugged. “Speak of the devil.”

  Margot followed his gaze to the door where Kim Penberthy had just walked in. She gave a once-over of the room then waved to someone on the other side. When she walked past, she halted when she saw Margot.

  “Fancy seeing you here.” She looked between Margot and Bentley. “What’s that, three times in one week?” She let out a fake laugh.

  “It is a small town,” Margot pointed out.

  “Why are you here?” she said, narrowing her gaze and looking between them.

  “Dropped off some cookies.”

  “Here to see me.” They spoke at the same time and Kim raised her eyebrows.

  “Dropped off cookies,” Margot said, pointing to the nearly empty boxes on the table near the ping-pong tournament group. “Then came to talk to Bentley.”

  “I see.” Kim’s tone turned cool. Then with another fake smile, she strutted away, her four-inch heels cutting a leather-clad path through the room toward a group of the more stylish senior center visitors.

  “Women’s group,” Bentley explained.

 
“Strange. I had no idea she was connected here.”

  “I think she golfs with Sharon at the Passaeo Club once a month. Wives of past mayors or something.” Bentley turned his attention back to Margot and away from the group of women who kept shooting them strange glances. “Probably heard we were getting a committee together and wanted her hand in yet another thing in this town. As if her husband didn’t try and run enough of it.”

  “Bentley,” Margot reprimanded.

  “Eh, I’ve never liked politics.” He rolled his eyes. “But back to this Lorenzo kid—”

  “I’ll look into it, okay?”

  Bentley’s pale blue eyes met hers. “Hey, you take care of that niece of yours, all right? I’ll see what I can find out about him.”

  She was about to disagree but with the look on his face and the reality that there wasn’t enough time in the day, she nodded in agreement.

  “Keep me posted.”

  “You betcha.” He grinned, wagging his eyebrows.

  Margot headed back to the bakery, mind on the cases. She snorted into the quiet interior of the car. Cases? Since when had she labeled herself a detective? Then again, that was what they were. One, a case of murder involving her niece. Two, a case of missing money supposedly stolen from the senior center building fund. Three, the case of whether or not Lorenzo was a good kid or a calculated thief. Then again, was her overly suspicious, retired lawyer friend to blame for the second and third cases? Was there even an issue there? Without seeing their books, she wasn’t sure what she could do.

  Walking into the shop, she heard a little yelp and, thankful that they had no customers, dashed to the back of the shop where her niece was nearly on the floor, a huge sack of flour toppled on its side. Mercifully, it was unopened, but still her heart did a little leap at the sight.

  “Thank goodness you’re back. Rosie here is no help and I’m just weak apparently.”

  Rosie grinned at this. “I told that youngster I ain’t getting down there, risking my back going out again. Uh uh. No way, no how.”

  “Of course not, Rosie.” Margot shook her head and donned an apron. “You really can’t get this up on the counter?” She looked at Taylor skeptically.

  “What?” Taylor said, shrugging. “I don’t lift weights or anything.”

  Bending down, she helped the girl lift the flour up onto the counter. It landed with a thud and a poof of white dust.

  “Whew. I’m out.” Taylor dusted off her hands and removed her apron.

  Margot had promised that Taylor could go home when she came back, but now worry seeped into that decision.

  “Wait, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Taylor leaned forward. “You are! I can see it in your eyes. Come on, Aunt Marg, I’m exhausted. We were here at three-thirty!”

  “Late mornin’ for you, eh, girl?” Rosie observed.

  Margot grinned at her friend and fellow worker. She knew when Margot usually showed up.

  “I’ll take her home,” Rosie said.

  “You drive?” Taylor asked.

  “Taylor!” Margot reprimanded but Rosie was already laughing.

  “Better than you, girl. Come on.” As she walked past, Rosie put her hand on Margot’s arm. “Don’t worry. The Lord’s in charge. I’ll see that she gets home, but He’ll see that she’s safe.”

  With her friend’s reassurance, she nodded and grabbed Taylor in a hug. “Stay at my place, okay?”

  “I will,” she said, meeting Margot’s gaze. Hopefully it was the truth.

  Margot had just finished prepping everything for the morning, affording her and Taylor an extra hour of sleep, when her gaze snagged on the oversized bag of flour. It had taken her and Taylor to lift the fifty-pound bag up onto the counter. Only fifty-pounds but that was a lot to the nineteen-year old. It would be a lot to most women.

  Her mind started whirring. If she remembered what Adam had said correctly, then Marco had been stabbed at the bridge and then gone over the railing. The tall railing. Was it even physically possible for Taylor to hoist a grown man, let alone one who looked like working out was more than a hobby, over the railing? It didn’t seem possible.

  She finished her preparations and closed the shop, exiting out the back door instead of the front this time. The day had turned from warm to chilly, clouds coming in from over the ocean just beyond the peninsula across the river. She wrapped her arms around herself as she walked down the path that led to Miller’s Bridge again.

  Even from the distance, when the bridge came into view, her doubts were rooted more firmly. There was no way her niece could have gotten a grown man over the railing—which would be at least chest-height to her—after stabbing him. She’d said it herself, she didn't lift weights and she couldn’t have lifted him.

  Then again, could adrenaline account for that extra strength? But then, wouldn’t there have been blood all over Taylor? Where would she have washed it off? Where had those clothes gone? Wouldn’t she have incurred bruises from her encounter with Marco on the bridge? It was unlikely she—or anyone—could have stabbed him without a fight.

  She stepped over a crack in the cobble stone path, pausing to look out to the river over the low stonewall. This was a place of history but now all it reminded her of was murder. And now fear that she might not be able to prove Taylor’s innocence.

  Then again, it wasn’t up to her, was it?

  A gust of wind brushed past her just as the bushes at the side of the pathway rustled. Likely a squirrel looking for—

  A dark figure rushed from the bushes toward her, covered from head to foot in dark clothing. It barreled straight into her, sending her stumbling backwards with the force. When her calves hit the low rock wall, she tipped back with a scream escaping her lungs.

  Then she fell over the side.

  Chapter 11

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Adam said. His deep hazel eyes held such compassion, but she was angry more than anything else.

  “I’m fine. Just mad at myself.” Margot pushed a wet strand of hair out of her eyes.

  He frowned. “What? Why?”

  “How did I not see them coming? And my favorite pair of Ralph Lauren flats are gone.”

  Adam actually laughed at that, but sobered quickly. “I’ll buy you another pair. I promise. But do you feel up to telling me what happened?”

  Margot shuddered, pulling the blanket more tightly around her wet shoulders and thinking back to the terrifying moment when she’d fallen over the side of the cliff down toward the water. Thankfully, her brain jumped into action and she’d righted herself in the fall in time for the water to accept her pointed feet with a minimal splash and thankfully no rocks.

  She’d been lucky, so said the man who’d heard her scream and found the river access ladder. He’d helped her up when she’d surfaced, no worse for wear aside from being cold and missing her favorite shoes.

  She explained she was taking a walk—for the moment leaving out her assumptions that had led to the walk—and had suddenly been shoved over the side of the low rock wall by a fast-moving mass in black. She recounted what she could remember. Black hoody. Black knit facemask. Black track pants.

  “Anything stand out to you? Logos? Skin color? Height? Build?”

  She closed her eyes to walk herself through what she’d seen. “At first I’d assumed they were large, but I think the clothing was actually baggy. When they hit me, it felt more like…I don't know, something bony wrapped in softness.”

  She opened her eyes at Adam’s chuckle. “Want to explain that one?”

  “I can’t. I mean… Whoever it was came at me like a freight train and carried enough steam to push me over the ledge, but they weren’t exactly bulky. Just strong.”

  Adam took notes in his small notebook. “See anything defining?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “There was no skin showing. They even had gloves on. And everything was black.”

  “Right.” He capped his pen and looked up at her. “Now
want to tell me why in the world you were out here by yourself?”

  She saw the concern in his gaze and it snagged at something in her heart. Something untouched in a long time. The feeling that came from someone caring—really caring—about you. It was a good feeling, but also a confusing one coming from Adam.

  “I…” She swallowed, knowing that it was best to get it all out in the open. “Today in the shop, one of my fifty-pound bags of flour needed to be hoisted up onto the counter. I came in to find Rosie giving Taylor a hard time about not being able to lift it. I had to help her. It was only fifty pounds, Adam. How in the world would a nineteen year old girl who can’t lift a fifty-pound bag of flour get a muscled twenty-something man over that railing?” Margot pointed to the bridge for affect.

  Adam’s eyebrows rose. “Adrenaline—”

  “You’re really going to blame this all on adrenaline? And then what about the blood? Where is it? And where are her bloody clothes? It just doesn't add up. Can’t you see that?”

  Adam took in a sharp breath then placed his hand on her arm, guiding her a few feet away from where techs were going over the area combing for any clues as to who could have pushed Margot.

  “Don’t you think I’ve thought of all of these things, Marg?” His expression was so serious, she faltered for a reply. “And don’t you think I’m working my hardest to get to the bottom of this to clear your niece?” Even as he said it, he looked around to make sure no one was listening.

  “I—”

  “No.” He placed a finger on her lips to silence her. “I believe she’s innocent, but I am searching for justice above all. But you’ve got to let me do my job and I can’t do that if I’m worried that you’re out there tracing down leads and placing yourself in danger.”

  “I'm not in dang—”

  “What do you call being shoved into the Potomac?”

  She opened her mouth then closed it.

  “Please, Margot.” Adam’s eyes bored into hers. “Be careful.”

  Part of her snatched at the reality that he wasn’t telling her to butt out, only to be careful, but the other part saw the haunted look in his eyes. It was probably the same look she’d given Julian when he left for cases. The one that said I care too much to have you get hurt.