Desserts and Deception: A Margot Durand Cozy Mystery Read online

  “No.”

  “Then…” Her thoughts trailed off and she pulled out her phone.

  “Who are you calling?”

  “Tam. Hold on.” She put the call through but her friend didn’t pick up. “Of course. She’s probably got her phone on silent.” Instead, she tapped in a quick text.

  “What are you asking her?”

  “I’m asking her who has keys.”

  “It’s in the report,” he said, scrunching up his nose in thought. “I believe she said herself, George, you, and her lawyer in case of emergencies.”

  “Well, I want to double-check. It’s possible someone had a key made—somehow. Or they are really good at picking a lock, but I just don’t think they would have had time.”

  “You think they got in with a key.”

  “I do.”

  Adam shrugged. “Beats me how.”

  She nodded and did one more once-over of the room. It was still there. The feeling that something was out of place or missing persisted but without being able to put her finger on it, it was pointless to stand around waiting.

  Adam’s phone shattered the silence. He sent her an apologetic look as he slid his finger across the screen. “Eastwood.”

  Back at the bakery, Margot slumped into her desk chair. It had been an incredibly long, confusing, and emotional day. Thankfully, when she stepped into the shop, the smells of sweets and the cooling air of the fans worked to calm her frayed nerves.

  “Mrs. Durand?” a voice said from her door.

  She looked up at her new assistant, a bit of flour covering his white apron but looking no worse for wear.

  “Hey, Dexter. I’m so sorry for leaving so abruptly today.”

  He grinned, holding up his hands. “Not at all what I was going to say. I actually was going to ask if you wanted me to take care of tomorrow’s baking on my own?”

  His offer took her by surprise. He was a good baker, she’d seen enough in the last few days to know that she trusted his expertise, but she wasn’t ready to let him take over completely. And certainly not as a temporary helper.

  “Thanks for the offer. I really appreciate it—”

  “But no thanks?” he said with a smile.

  She reciprocated with a smile of her own. “It has nothing to do with your talent, just so we’re clear. But I’ll be in in the morning.”

  “Sure, just wanted to offer.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that someday.”

  He grinned and nodded. “I hope that you do.”

  “Feel free to head out. I’ll close up.”

  He nodded and started to untie his apron as he left her office doorway. She checked her email quickly, replying to a few actionable notes, and then closed down her computer. She’d do a double-check of her inventory and then close up.

  The silence of the bakery sobered her thoughts. She missed her days here. She hadn’t seen Bentley nearly all week and, after getting used to seeing him almost every day, that was a big change in her schedule. She missed it. Missed the baking.

  Right then she knew she couldn't go home yet. She would make something—anything—to give her hands something to do. She had a feeling it would help to calm her nerves and focus her thoughts.

  Pulling out the ingredients she’d need, she set to work making her famous religieuse, which was two layers of choux pastry filled with white cream and topped with a dark chocolate icing and piped vanilla cream, emphasizing the look of the nun’s habit for which the pastry was named. They were her favorite things to make and she tended to only make them weekly due to her detail-oriented focus and their time-consuming nature, but tonight seemed as good as any to splurge. She would freeze them and sell them at a discount the next day, but it would be worth it.

  As she worked, her thoughts wandered back to Tamera’s shop. What was out of place? It was driving her mad.

  Her phone rang just as she was filling the pastry with cream. Pushing her hair back with the back of her hand, she rushed to where her phone was plugged into the outlet and used a knuckle to tap the answer and then speaker buttons.

  “Margie?”

  “Hey, Adam,” she said, brushing the same unruly hair back again.

  “You didn’t go home yet, did you?”

  When they had parted ways from the boutique, Adam had been heading to meet up with the M.E. about the body found in the park and she’d come to the shop.

  “No, not yet. I'm here at the shop.”

  “Good. Wait for me to come get you.”

  She frowned. “Why? I’ve got Tamera’s car.”

  “I’ll escort you home. I’m sure you want to know what I found out at the M.E.’s office.”

  “You sure know how to entice a girl.”

  His full-bodied laugh sent a smile across her lips. “You know it. Be there in fifteen minutes?”

  She looked over at the counter and grimaced. “Make it twenty and you have a deal.”

  “Got it.” He hung up without preamble, but she was used to that. Julian had done the same thing.

  Part of her felt bad for the feelings that were ever so slowly beginning to emerge toward Adam. It had been years since her husband had passed away, but that didn’t mean that she could just pick up and move on. And what would Julian think of her and Adam? They weren’t anything more than friends now…but was there something else there? Could there be? She was fairly certain Adam wanted there to be.

  Sighing, she went back to working on her pastries and was soon drawn back to the boutique. As she switched out her pastry bag for the light purple icing she would use to add a small bouquet of flowers to the front of the nun-like pastry, she stopped, hand in midair.

  Flowers. Purple flowers. That was it!

  Piping on the rest of the flowers at lightning speed, she left one religieuse on the counter for Adam and put the rest in the industrial-sized freezer. Then she rushed to her phone and fired off a text to Tamera.

  Waiting impatiently for the reply, she went about cleaning up the kitchen and getting everything ready for the next morning. She was just finishing up when she heard the ding of her phone.

  Tamera’s text confirmed what she’d remembered.

  “Oh, I was hoping you’d been baking,” Adam said as he stepped through the back door into the kitchen and made a beeline to the religieuse. “These are my favorite!”

  “You say that about every one of my pastries.”

  He gave her an impish grin. “Can’t I like more than one?”

  She laughed but grew serious. “Adam, I finally realized what was off in the boutique.”

  He paused mid-bite, his eyes growing wide. “Waa?” he mumbled around the pastry.

  “I almost didn’t see it because it had been changed, but then it was all so clear when I was piping on the frosting and—”

  “Hold up,” Adam said, licking that very same frosting from his lips. “What in the world are you talking about, Margot?”

  Blushing, she realized she hadn’t explained herself well at all. “Sorry. So, I remembered there used to be a painting of a foxglove field hanging on the wall right next to where the body lay. It didn’t stand out to me—or Tamera—because that exhibit isn’t curated by Tam, she lets the artist do it. But I know the foxglove painting was there when I checked on the shop a few days before Tam came back because I remember thinking I might purchase it for the shop.”

  “It’s not there now.”

  “No.” Margot thought back to their trip to the store that day. “It was replaced by a sunset picture of the Potomac. It’s lovely, but not the picture that was there before.”

  “So the killer took the painting?”

  Margot hesitated. This was where she stepped into speculation rather than fact. “I’m not sure, but the painting was of foxglove—”

  “The poison that killed Mark Jennings.”

  “Yes.”

  “And the killer didn’t want to tip us off?” Adam said, though she knew he wasn’t serious.

  “What
if the killer was the artist?”

  “What would make you say that?”

  “I don’t know him well, but I did meet the artist, Mr. Jerold Bascom, at his opening. Everyone along Main Street came by to support him. He told a few stories about his works and I remember one of them being the large foxglove field behind his home.”

  “So this man has access to foxglove.”

  “Yes, but at the same time, why risk removing the painting? Unless you had one to replace it with and a valid reason to replace it? Jerold could have used the poison, seen the painting, and replaced it just in case it tipped anyone off to him. Since Tam doesn’t keep tabs on what he has in the shop, no one would really notice it had been changed.”

  “It seems too circumstantial for my liking.”

  “Right,” Margot said, walking toward her phone, “but I’ve got an idea.”

  “Uh-oh,” Adam said, humor lacing his voice.

  “See?” she said, holding out her phone for him to see. “That’s him there. And, if I can take this to Barbara at the Library, she can confirm that it was him who was looking into the whole Victor Carow thing.”

  “That still is a long way from proving anything.”

  “I know,” Margot said, feeling her shoulders drop. “But it’s the only lead we have.”

  Adam nodded. “All right. Let’s go talk to Barbara and see what she says. Then maybe we can do some research of our own.”

  Feeling bolstered by Adam’s encouragement, she nodded and reached for her purse. “All right, Watson. Let’s go.”

  “Nope,” he said, narrowing his gaze at her.

  “What?” she said.

  “We both know that I’m Sherlock in this duo.”

  Chapter 13

  When they reached the library, Barbara had already gone home but Adam was able to flash his badge and convince Wilhelmina to give them her address. She opened the door, leaning heavily on her crutches, and looked surprised.

  “What are you doing here, Margot?”

  “Ma’am,” Adam said, pulling out his credentials again. “I’m Detective Adam Eastwood with the police department. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Barbara’s eyebrows rose and she glanced at Margot again. “And she’s here….”

  “Because she’s helping me with the investigation.”

  Margot pressed her lips together, trying hard not to smile knowing that admission had to cost him.

  “Oh, I see.” Her expression brightened immediately. “That’s lovely for you, Margot! Come on in.”

  Barbara directed them to a small sitting area and landed with a grunt in an old recliner. Then she said, “How can I help you?”

  Margot noticed, again with a barely concealed smile, that Barbara directed her attention fully toward her. “Um, well, remember when I came by the other day and asked about the man who you’d helped research Victor Carow?”

  “Oh yes, I remember.” Barbara’s smile widened.

  “I was wondering if you recognized the man you saw in this photo.” Without indicating anyone specifically to Barbara, she handed over her phone.

  The woman used her fingers to zoom in on the screen and peered very closely through everyone’s photo. “Oh, you look lovely here. Turquoise really is your color, Margot.”

  Adam shot her a look that clearly said, Can we speed this up? But Margot merely smiled.

  “Why thank you, Barbara.” She was enjoying this too much.

  “Well, I looked through the whole photo to be sure, but that’s him.”

  Margot’s heart beat more rapidly. “Which one?”

  “The tall guy standing on the end there. He was the one who came in and who I helped. Nice man, but quiet.”

  “You’re sure?” Margot silently berated herself for not having asked about the man’s age. The major difference between Jerold and George was their major age difference, but Barbara wouldn’t have known to clarify.

  “Positive.”

  Margot met Adam’s gaze and he nodded once, letting her know that he realized what this meant. After he took the lead, asking Barbara a few more questions, they excused themselves and headed back to Adam’s car.

  “She pointed him out. It’s him—Jerold Bascom.”

  Adam nodded. “While she was looking, I shot off a text to a friend in D.C. He’s doing some research on Mr. Bascom and should get back to me any minute now.”

  “I just can’t believe Mr. Bascom would do something like this.” Margot clicked her seatbelt and Adam pulled into traffic. “Where are we going?”

  “My place,” Adam said, his eyes on the road. It was nearing five o’clock and traffic was picking up. Though ‘traffic’ in North Bank hardly constituted that much worry. Still, the streets would clog soon and she was sure that, rather than going back across town to the police station, Adam’s house would make a good staging ground for whatever they planned next.

  Pulling into his garage, they entered through the doorway that led into the laundry room and then the kitchen. A loud bark preceded scratching claws and then the impossibly large body of Adam’s Great Dane, Clint.

  “Hey, Clinty boy,” Margot said, bending down. With one solid lick to the cheek, she jerked back with a laugh. “Well, that’s a hello.”

  “He’s got good taste in women,” Adam said, wagging his eyebrows at her.

  She laughed again and shook her head. “Well, if he was the real Clint Eastwood…”

  “I know, I know,” Adam said, holding up his hands. “He just happens to have two too many feet, eh? Hold on, let me take him out back.”

  The duo disappeared out the back sliding door and Margot made herself at home on Adam’s large couch. She’d been in his home a few times, mostly for large BBQs he hosted due to the size of his back yard, but now she looked at it through a different lens. Through Adam her friend—maybe more than friend—lens.

  He had several pictures of himself with his brother and parents on the mantle over an oft-used fireplace. Across from her, tall bookshelves were lined with everything from cheap paperbacks to large law tomes. If she remembered correctly, he had started off as a law student before changing focus. Now she wanted to hear more about that story and more from his past.

  But her mind jerked back to the present when Adam’s phone, abandoned on the kitchen counter when he went to take Clint out, started ringing. She bolted up from the couch and grabbed it just as Adam came in the door. The two nearly collided but he managed to catch her before she ran headlong into him while simultaneously answering the phone as if nothing had happened. He was smooth, she’d admit that.

  Clint bounded up to her, looking to give another slobbery kiss, but he settled on a good, behind-the-ears scratching instead. She tried her best not to listen in on Adam’s conversation, but it was nearly impossible since he was standing right next to her. As if sensing her dilemma, he beckoned her over to a barstool at the counter and pulled the phone away from his ear, tapping the speaker button.

  “Can you say that again, Gary?”

  “You got it, man,” a man said, his accent immediately placing him from Maryland. “I ran the details on the name you sent me. Seems your guy has some very interesting ties to Victor Carow.”

  Margot almost gasped out loud but managed to cover her shock with a hand over her mouth. Her eyes met Adam’s, but he looked back down at the phone as if to help himself focus.

  “Go on,” he said.

  “I contacted a friend over at the DEA—”

  Margot mentally filled in the initials: Drug Enforcement Administration.

  “And he says that this Jerold guy is on a watch list or two.”

  “Why is that?” Adam’s forehead showed his intense concentration. Margot wondered if he was kicking himself for not knowing that a man on some DEA watch list was living in his jurisdiction.

  “Jerold Bascom is the grandfather of Thomas Bascom.”

  “Thomas,” Adam said, “I recognize that name.”

  “I thought you might from
your time up here. He’s a low level player in the Victor Carow operation. No one that would especially draw your attention, but that’s not surprising.”

  “Why is that?” Adam took the words right out of Margot’s thoughts.

  “Because he’s not the important guy. Honestly, he’s nothing. A dealer, but he’s got no inside information. Nothing that would make you take notice—except for his family tie to Jerold Bascom.”

  Now Margot was confused. How would a simple drug dealer—though she feared that no drug dealer was truly simple—get wrapped up in a murder of this magnitude? Had he needed to prove something to his boss? Or had he been a fall guy? Or had he even been involved?

  “The real interesting part becomes clear when you do a little family history.” Gary chuckled. “I feel like a regular historian.”

  “Must be nice,” Adam said, “but get to the point.”

  “Okay, okay, hold your horses.”

  Margot glanced at Adam. She knew he wasn’t an impatient man, but he was a man on a mission. He had a murder to solve and she could see that the stress, and lack of sleep, were taking their toll.

  “Jerold Bascom, though not related in any way to Carow’s drug ring as far as we can tell, did go to high school with none other than Archie Shaw.”

  Margot had no idea what significance that held, but Adam stood up from where he’d been bent over the phone and ran a hand through his hair. And, likely for her benefit, he said, “Victor Carow’s grandfather.”

  “Ding-ding-ding, you’ve got it.”

  “So, what…” Adam started pacing now. “Jerold took the hit on Mark Jennings so that he could help his grandson? Bring him up in the ranks? What’s DEA saying?”

  “They’ve got a guy on the inside of Carow’s ring and he says that a deal was made. Jennings for Thomas.”

  Margot stumbled back a step, hardly believing what she heard. Jerold Bascom had agreed to murder a man who had turned witness so that he could save his grandson. It was almost impossible to believe. Then again, she barely knew Jerold. The little conversation they’d held had centered around his artwork and that was it. He wasn’t like the other retirees or those at the senior center who made a point to stop by the bakery and get to know her. He didn’t go to any of the town’s gatherings, as far as she had seen, and he wasn’t active outside of putting his paintings up in Tamera’s shop.