Candy Shop Mystery - Goody Goody Gunshots Part 10

I was almost back to Divinity when I spotted Coach Hendrix's truck idling outside the Stop-N-Go, a large cloud of smoke pouring from its exhaust into the chilly morning air. In spite of my caution around Elizabeth, I thought it was time somebody asked the man a few questions.

Without giving myself time to think twice, I jerked the wheel and pulled into the parking lot. I parked next to his truck and got out of the car to wait. He came out a few minutes later carrying a large coffee and an apple fritter.

His step faltered when he saw me. The hesitation was so slight I would have missed it if I hadn't been watching for it, but n.o.body could have missed the sour expression on his face. "What the h.e.l.l do you want, Shaw?"

I wondered if he was this obnoxious with everyone, or if I was just special. "I need to ask you a couple of questions," I told him.

"Yeah? Well it's going to have to wait. I'm late for work."

His dismissal infuriated me even more. I took two steps and planted myself in front of the truck door. He could move me if he wanted to, but he'd have to manhandle me to do it. "This is important, Kerry. It'll only take a minute."

He looked as if he might explode, but it only took him a few seconds to reach the same conclusion I had and to realize that, at least for now, I had the upper hand. He'd never dare get physical in front of witnesses.

"All right," he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of surrender. "What's on your mind?"

It occurred to me that I ought to be nervous, but I must have been too angry. My nephews had been terrified last night. I'd been terrified. And here he stood, cool as a cuc.u.mber and not even slightly concerned. "There was a dark-colored SUV near your truck outside the recreation center last night. The driver of that SUV followed me when I left," I told him, hoping he'd show some sign of decency. "Brody and Caleb were with me."

"Followed you?" Hendrix laughed through his nose. "Why would anybody want to do that?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

"How would I know?"

"Because you were talking to the driver just before he came after me."

He laughed again and shook his head in disbelief. "You're some piece of work, Shaw. I'm telling you, I don't know what you're talking about. Now get out of my way."

"Who was the guy with the limp?"

"What guy?"

His calm infuriated me. "The one who vandalized your truck. The one we saw get into an SUV just before you came outside. And the same one who was murdered just a few days later."

"You're the only one I saw anywhere near my truck that night."

"I didn't touch your truck, and you know it." A man walking across the parking lot turned at the sound of my voice, and I realized that I was almost shouting. I lowered my voice before I spoke again. "I don't know what's going on with you, but if you're involved in something dangerous, you'd better not bring it anywhere near the boys on the team."

Hendrix laughed under his breath. "What's this? A threat?"

"Consider it a friendly warning," I snarled. "Do whatever you want on your own time, but keep it away from those kids."

Without waiting for a response, I got back into the Jetta and drove off. It wasn't until I'd put a couple of blocks behind me that I realized I was shaking like a leaf.

I couldn't help but wonder if Hendrix had sent the driver after us to frighten me. I was almost convinced he had, and the possibility made my blood boil. But as Jawarski had pointed out, I couldn't prove a d.a.m.n thing. All I had were my suspicions.

Still shaking, I pulled into the parking lot next to Divinity a few minutes after ten. I could have crawled into bed right then and there and slept the whole day away, but I had too much to do. Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away, and I needed to make several batches of Aunt Grace's gourmet lollipops. They weren't difficult to make, but I still occasionally had trouble getting the air bubbles out of my poured sugar confections, so they took concentration-a quality in short supply lately.

Most of the fear I'd felt last night had dissipated with the rising sun, but a tight knot remained lodged just beneath my heart. I'd have been happy to keep Max by my side all day, but the health department frowned on dog hair in the kitchen, and there was still too much snow on the back porch to chain him up back there. I left him upstairs in the apartment with strict instructions not to chew anything and made myself go to work. If the temperature warmed up as the day wore on, I could always bring him down later.

I put on coffee, then checked the mosaic for the display window to make sure the edible glue was dry. It had been an ambitious project, and I felt ridiculously pleased with the results. Deciding that I'd ask Karen to help me set it up in the window when she got to work, I moved on to the next task: gourmet lollipops for the upcoming holiday.

After making sure I had the recipe I wanted, I started gathering the ingredients I'd need that morning. I pulled a bag of candy corn from the cupboard and checked a piece with my thumbnail to make sure it was fresh. In spite of the fact that the company that makes it sells 35 million pounds of candy corn a year, I've always considered it an unappreciated and overlooked candy. I'm not sure why, either.

Candy corn, has a long, proud history more than a hundred years old, and I think anything that has stood the test of time for that long should be given its due. I'm sure George Renninger, the inventor of candy corn back in the 1880s, would agree with me. It seems commonplace to us now, but George's tricolor design was actually considered revolutionary when the candy first hit the market, and the public went nuts for it.

After determining that the candy was fresh, I opened a new supply of lollipop sticks, found sugar, corn syrup, and the flavor oils I wanted. It took me a few minutes to find the plastic bags I'd need to wrap the pops in the supply cupboard, and I made a mental note to reorganize the supplies when I had a free hour or two.

Karen and Liberty came in as I was pulling the molds I wanted from a bottom cupboard. They were both flushed with the cold and laughing about something. Something vaguely uncomfortable darted through me, followed immediately by the thought that I might be jealous of Karen's easy friendship with Liberty. But that was ridiculous. Why would I begrudge Karen a friend? It's not as if she and I hung out together away from the shop, and I certainly didn't want to get buddy-buddy with Liberty.

Whether or not it made sense, I realized that in the last few days I'd started feeling like a third wheel in my own shop. Maybe I should make more of an effort with Liberty. And maybe trying to worm my way into their friendship would make me feel worse.

They chattered between themselves while Karen stomped snow from her boots and peeled the scarf from around her neck and Liberty rubbed her arms for warmth. After a while, Liberty seemed to realize I was in the room. "Good morning," she said as she headed for the coffee. "Want me to pour you a cup?"

I shook my head and lifted the mug already in front of me. "I'm fine. You two both seem to be in good moods. Any special reason?"

"Are you kidding?" Liberty gaped at me as if I'd asked something unspeakably stupid. "Have you been outside this morning?"

"I was out earlier," I said. "Caleb and Brody spent the night with me, so I drove them to school."

Liberty filled two more mugs and handed one to Karen. "How was practice?"

I hesitated for a moment over my answer. Her question was innocent enough, but the answer was complicated. I still felt reluctant to confide in someone I barely knew, especially someone who'd already admitted she knew Kerry Hendrix. But I had no reason to believe they were friends, and she was doing well at her job. Karen liked her, so it looked as if she might be around for a while. Uncomfortable as I was discussing all the strange goings-on with a stranger, I was even more uncomfortable with the idea of censoring every conversation.

"Practice was fine," I said. "Kerry and I avoided each other like the plague."

Karen laughed. "Well, that's probably for the best. At least the team didn't have to deal with all the tension between the two of you."

"Yeah." I picked up the molds I'd selected and started lining them on the counter so I could fill them later. "It's what happened after practice that put a damper on the evening."

Liberty's gaze jumped to my face over the rim of her mug. "Why? What happened?"

I told them briefly about the night before. Karen's expression grew more worried as I spoke. Liberty's grew more animated.

"Are you sure it was the same vehicle?" Karen asked when I'd finished talking.

"I wasn't," I admitted, "but Caleb was absolutely certain of it. He pointed out a broken light and swears the SUV that picked up our John Doe the other night had the same light missing."

"No kidding?" Liberty carried her mug to the table and settled in. "Maybe they weren't actually following you. Maybe they were just on the way home and happened to be going the same way."

I shook my head. "Not the route I took. I'm convinced the driver was following us. I just don't know why."

"Maybe you should ask Kerry," she said. "If he was talking to the driver, he probably knows him."

"He claims he doesn't know what I'm talking about, but I know that's not true. I saw him sitting in his truck."

Liberty shrugged. "Well, he's always been kind of a jerk. I have to admit that."

I turned back to look at her. "I thought you said you didn't know him."

"I didn't, but I knew who he was. Everybody did." She sipped her coffee cautiously to test the temperature. "The girls were crazy about him, and the guys all looked up to him. You know the type."

Yeah, I did. I didn't like the guy, that was for sure. But being a jerk didn't automatically mean that he was involved in anything illegal. He'd been the victim of vandalism, I reminded myself, and that was his only connection to the dead man. Even a horse's a.s.s like Kerry wouldn't murder somebody for scratching his truck. At least, I hoped not.

Chapter 18.

I was about to turn back to the candy when I saw Marshall Ames coming into the store. He held a cardboard drink tray with two cups of coffee in one hand, a white pastry bag in the other, and he was grinning like a kid who'd just brought home a treasure. He spotted me at once, and his grin broadened. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Do you have time for a quick break?"

Questions about Kerry and the SUV were swirling through my head, but Liberty and Karen had gone back to work, and curiosity about the reasons for Marshall's visit got the best of me. "Sure," I told him. "Come on back."

Marshall followed me into the small room that we used for an office and waited while I swept a stack of filing from the heavy wooden chair I keep in there for the occasional visitor. Most of the time it also does duty as a filing cabinet.

As soon as we were settled in our seats, Marshall laid out his miniature picnic and gestured grandly. "Et voila, madame. I hope you like the huckleberry m.u.f.fins from Parsons Bakery. I would have brought dessert from Gigi, but stopping by was a spur-of-the-moment decision."

I smiled, slightly uneasy now that I was alone with him. I've known Marshall since we were kids, but we'd never really been friends. I was too much of a tomboy, and he was too much of a nerd for us to find common ground back in school. We'd met up again about a year ago, and I'd been surprised by the changes in him. He didn't seem like such a nerd now, and that's what bothered me. When I looked at him, I didn't see nerdy little Marshall. I saw Marshall with the broad shoulders and narrow waist. Marshall who'd turned out kind of hot.

"So what's all this?" I asked.

He shrugged and nudged his gla.s.ses up on his nose. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay after the other night. Finding a dead man isn't an everyday occurrence."

"I've been fine," I a.s.sured him. "Unfortunately, this isn't the first dead body I've seen."

"That's true. It's not." Marshall reached for a m.u.f.fin and gave me an odd look. "I'd almost forgotten that you're almost an old hand at this. Maybe you should have brought me m.u.f.fins."

I laughed and felt myself relax. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it. I guess I've had too many things on my mind."

"You sound busy." Marshall peeled back the wrapper and took a large, appreciative bite. "Anything you need to talk about? I'm a good listener."

I started to respond with a simple "No," but I thought of all the times Karen had lectured me about opening up to people and decided to fight my instincts. "It's nothing major," I said, "just a lot of little things all at once. There's the murder, of course, and we're training a new clerk."

"I noticed. She looks familiar. Is she from around here?"

"She used to be. Her name's Liberty Parker, and she just moved back a few weeks ago."

He tilted his head to one side, then shook it slowly. "I'm sure I've seen her before, but the name doesn't ring a bell. Is she working out okay?"

"I think she'll be fine. It just takes time."

Marshall nodded understanding. He knew about the trials of dealing with employees and planning work shifts and paying taxes, and it felt good to talk with someone who understood how trying each of those things could be. "How long has she been working here?"

"Just a couple of days," I said, pulling back the wrapper from my m.u.f.fin and breaking the m.u.f.fin in half.

"She'll probably be reliable enough," Marshall said. "Once you get her trained, you'll be glad you have her."

"I'm sure I will. I'm just edgy, I think. Things have been kind of weird around here for the past week."

"Why? What's been going on?"

I realized that I'd never told him about the incident at Hammond Junction, so I filled him in quickly and said, "It's been driving me crazy, trying to figure out what really happened that night. And n.o.body wants to admit they knew the dead man, but I'm sure he had business with someone here in Paradise." I broke off with a rueful grin. "I'm positive someone tried to kill him that night. I just can't figure out how they missed and why they let him get away."

Marshall had listened to my story with an ever-deepening scowl. "You're sure that what you heard were gunshots?"

I nodded. "I'm positive. I watched him crumple to the ground like a sack of potatoes. I could have sworn he'd been shot but, like I said, there was no sign of him or of any blood when we got back there."

"And all this happened when?"

"Last Tuesday. The sixth."

"So that means that he was in town then."

"Yeah. I think he's been in town for a while. Have you heard anything?"

"Me?" Marshall seemed surprised by the question, but the surprise didn't seem entirely genuine. He laughed and shook his head. "Sorry. n.o.body tells me anything, and I'm okay with that. The less involved I am in the guy's murder, the happier I'll be."

I probably should have felt the same way, but I didn't. "I saw him one other time before the murder," I told Marshall. "Outside the recreation center after practice."

Marshall c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Practice?"

"I've been roped into being the a.s.sistant coach for the Miners, one of the Youth League teams. I don't know how long that will last, though. Coach Hendrix hasn't exactly become a fan of mine."

"You're working with Kerry?"

Kerry? I eyed Marshall warily. "You know him?"

"He's been in the restaurant a few times," Marshall said. "He's got quite a temper."

"Terrific," I said with a grimace. "That's good to know, since he's not exactly thrilled to have me hanging around. I saw the dead guy messing around with Hendrix's truck one night and tried to stop him, but Hendrix is convinced I'm the vandal."

Marshall looked outraged. "He said that?"

"He not only said it, he filed a complaint with the police."

"I knew I didn't like that guy." Marshall frowned so hard his forehead rutted. "What was the dead guy doing with the jerk's truck?"

"I don't know, but I'm convinced there's some kind of connection between the two of them. There's also a third person involved-someone who drives an SUV."

Marshall laughed without humor. He tossed his m.u.f.fin wrapper into the trash and leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "That could be almost anybody in this town."

"Yeah, but this is a dark-colored SUV with a broken running light on the side. I've seen that SUV twice now: once when the vandal got into it after messing with Hendrix's truck, and again Monday night."

Marshall sat up slowly, his eyes locked on mine. "You probably don't want my advice, but if I were you, I'd steer clear of this whole thing. It sounds dangerous. h.e.l.l, it is dangerous. One person is already dead."