Murder is a Piece of Cake (A Baker Street Mystery Book 2)

My next stop was the New Bison Police Station. In addition to housing the New Bison police force, the lighthouse-themed building was also where Jackson Abernathy moved his office after he took over as mayor.

I parked, and we got out and went into the building. I’d called earlier to make sure the mayor was available.

The mayor’s office was an ode to 1980s décor. Mauve carpet and mauve flowered wallpaper. The most impressive part of the office was the view. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows covered by plastic vertical blinds. Any one of the Golden Girls would have been quite comfortable.

We knocked and were admitted into the purple paradise.

Mayor Abernathy waved an arm toward two guest chairs with wooden arms and legs. “Please, take a seat.”

Jackson Abernathy’s office location may have changed from the first time I visited him in an old building downtown, but one thing remained the same. There were papers strewn all over the desk, folders piled on every flat surface, including the floor, and a wastebasket overflowing with paper.

I moved a pile of folders from one chair so Hannah could sit and placed them on the edge of the desk before repeating the steps for my own chair.

After we were seated, Abernathy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “Now, how can I help you?”

“The workers have finished the renovations at Baby Cakes. I believe the underwriter completed his final walk-through, so—”

“Yes. Yes.” He sat up, opened a drawer, and pulled out an envelope. “The final check from New Bison Casualty and Life. I’m glad Jacob is out of the hospital so I can focus on the insurance side of the business and don’t have to help out with the underwriting.” He passed the envelope across the desk. “Although, I still need to swing by and do a final walk-through. Take pictures. You know.” He waved a hand.

“Thank you. I’m sure having the underwriter back has made things a lot easier.”

“Yes. Now that I’m the mayor, I have a lot more responsibilities. I can barely keep up with my speaking engagements and committee meetings, and I’ll be working on my reelection campaign in a few months, although I don’t expect that it’ll be much of a contest.” He smiled. “I just don’t have time to run my dad’s insurance company and my own business of breeding and showing dogs.” He shook his head. “There just aren’t enough hours in the day.”

Hannah grunted, turned her head to the side, and mumbled something that sounded like, “The big blowhard.”

“What was that?” Mayor Abernathy asked.

Based on the flush that rose up his neck, I knew he’d heard her just fine.

“The breeding is the reason that I’m here,” I said. “I wanted to ask—”

“Don’t tell me you’ve finally decided to offload that mastiff. I knew it was just a matter of time. That’s a mighty big dog for a little lady. Mastiffs are powerful and stubborn and need a firm hand. Well, I’ve been thinking about downsizing the breeding business. I just don’t have the time to show dogs like I used to, but I’d be happy to take him off your hands. A champion stud dog like that will make money without much effort.” He paused but then quickly added, “Of course, he has to be handled properly. You can’t treat a stud dog like a common pet. I knew it was just a matter of time before you saw that for yourself and came to your senses.” He smiled and reached into his jacket and pulled out a checkbook. “I’m sure we can come to a reasonable agreement regarding the terms.”

“I’m not here to sell Baby.”

“What?” He stared with his pen poised over the check. “Your message said you wanted to discuss Baby.”

“I do want to discuss Baby, but I don’t want to sell him. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

He stared for a few moments and then ripped the check from his checkbook and tore it into pieces. When he was done, he put the pieces into the trash and then leaned back in his chair and waited.

“He’s been acting . . . different lately. I was wondering—”

“Different how?”

“He’s not eating much and doesn’t want to play. He just lays around and . . . well, he mopes.”

“Mopes?” He rolled the word around on his lips. “Mopes? How does a dog mope?”

“He, well, he just doesn’t seem interested in food or treats or playing. It’s not like him.”

“Did you take him to the vet?”

“Yes. Michael checked him out and he says there’s nothing medically wrong with him. In fact, that’s where he is today, having blood work done.”

Abernathy squinted at me. “If there’s nothing physically wrong with him, then I don’t understand the problem.”

“He’s not himself. I was hoping—”

“Not himself? He’s a dog, not a person. If he’s not sick, and he’s eating and drinking, then I don’t see what the problem is.”

“The problem is I think he may be sick . . . emotionally. I think he’s lovesick.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew I’d made a mistake in sharing.

There was a slight pause, and then Jackson Abernathy let out a roar of laughter. He laughed long and loud until tears fell from his eyes. Whenever he tried to stop, he would glance at me or Hannah and start up again.

The scowl on Hannah’s face and the way she clutched her handbag told me that if Abernathy didn’t gain control of himself, she was going to wallop him with that purse.

“Mayor Abernathy, please,” I said. “This isn’t a laughing matter.”

He laughed a bit longer and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his eyes. “Oh my goodness. I can’t tell you the last time that I’ve laughed like that.”

Hannah mumbled something, but the only words I could make out were, “Crazed hyena.”

“Mayor, I kept a record of Baby’s eating for the past week.” I put the folder that I’d brought in with me on top of his desk.

“Baloney.” He pushed the folder aside and brushed against one of the many piles on his desk. The pile toppled like an avalanche in the Swiss Alps, burying my folder.

This isn’t working. I heard the Admiral’s voice in my head. Counter-attack. It was time to regroup and try a different tactic. I took a deep breath, plastered a big smile on my face, and twirled the ends of my hair with my finger. I leaned forward. “Mr. Abernathy . . . Jackson, I hate to admit it, but you’re right.” I giggled. “I don’t know anything about dogs.” I swallowed hard to avoid puking. “That’s why I came to you. I know you’re an expert when it comes to dogs and especially English mastiffs. I was just hoping that you could help me.” Gaah!

Hannah shot me a look out of the side of her eye that indicated she had questions about my sanity. I avoided returning her gaze. Frankly, I had the same questions. The only person who didn’t think I’d suddenly lost what wits I had was Jackson Abernathy.

Abernathy’s chest expanded. His shoulders went back, and his face lit up like he’d just learned that Santa Claus was indeed real. “I do have many years of experience with dogs. English mastiffs are smart but very stubborn dogs.”

He launched into a long monologue on the history of the breed, their proper care and feeding, and an outdated view on dog training that made me cringe. It’s hard to maintain a smile while you’re mentally zoned out; however, I had honed my skills over many years dating sailors who thought naval artillery was the most fascinating topic on earth. Jackson Abernathy paused for a breath, and I was prepared to make my escape when there was a knock on the door.

Abernathy frowned. “Who can that be?” He pushed a button on his desk. “Holly, I’m in the middle of a conference and can’t be disturbed.”

The door swung open and Trooper Bob waltzed in, followed by a girl who looked about fifteen. She had long red hair and freckles.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mayor,” Holly said. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t even let me announce him.”

Trooper Bob glared at me. “What’re you doing here?”

“That’s none of your business,” Mayor Abernathy said, jumping from his seat. “You have no right to barge in here. I’m in conference.”

Trooper Bob tapped his shield. “This gives me the right to barge wherever I need to. I’m investigating a homicide, and I want to talk to you about the argument you had with Clayton Davenport. Now, we can do this here, or I can take you over to my office. Your call.”

Oh boy. Mayor Abernathy argued with Clayton Davenport? When did that happen? With any luck, Trooper Bob will forget that I’m here.

All of the blood drained from Jackson Abernathy’s face.

Trooper Bob held the door open and swept his arm, indicating the path I was to take. “Miss Montgomery.”

I should have known he wouldn’t forget. Darn!

Hannah and I stood. I stared at the pile of papers and folders on the mayor’s desk. I rummaged for a few moments until Trooper Bob yelled, “Stop stalling or I’ll arrest you for interfering in a police investigation.”

I grabbed the first folder I saw and tucked it under my arm. Then, I pivoted, clicked my heels, gave a perfect salute, and marched out of the office.

Hannah followed, and as soon as she cleared the door, I turned to give Trooper Bob a scathing response, but I should have saved my energy. He slammed the door in my face.

“Why, that low-down dirty male chauvinist son of a goatherder,” Hannah said.

I turned to the mayor’s young secretary to apologize but was surprised when she winked. “Which one?”

Hannah folded her arms across her chest. “Take your pick.”

I stared at the door to the mayor’s office. “I would pay a fortune to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.”

“I’ve got a few friends coming over this weekend,” Holly said, smiling. “How about one of those Chocolate Soul Cakes?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Ah . . . sure.”

She put her hand up to her lips and shushed us. Then, she pressed a button on the intercom.

Trooper Bob said, “I have a witness who heard you and Clayton Davenport arguing. Do you want to tell me what that was about?”

“It was a personal matter.”

“I’m investigating a murder. There are no personal matters when it comes to murder.”

“You can’t honestly believe that I killed him? I’m the mayor.”

“That and three dollars will get you a bottle of water from that overpriced vending machine in your lobby. I want to know what you and Clayton Davenport were arguing about.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“This is a murder investigation,” Trooper Bob said, his voice booming. “Everything’s my business.”

“I don’t have to answer. I’m the mayor. My conversations are . . . privileged. Someone in my position has a number of conversations that could be detrimental if the general public were to catch wind of them.”

Abernathy was lying. I didn’t need to see his face to know it. His voice was shaky, and he stammered so much that I was sure Trooper Bob, like a shark, could smell blood in the water.

“Mr. Mayor, you can tell me here, in the privacy of your office, in which case if I determine that your information isn’t relevant to my investigation, then it stays here. Or I can haul you downtown in handcuffs and hold you in a cell for twenty-four hours for obstructing a police investigation, withholding information, and any other charges I can think of.”

Abernathy gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

I could almost hear the soundtrack from Jaws. Dada . . . dada.

“Wouldn’t I?” Trooper Bob asked.

There was a long pause. I imagined Trooper Bob circling the mayor as the beat increased. Dada . . . dada . . . dada.

“It was nothing. Just a . . . a . . . misunderstanding.”

“Maybe you should let me be the judge of what’s important and what isn’t.”

Dada. Dada. Dada.

Abernathy folded like a house of cards. “Clayton Davenport had papers that . . . well, if they were released, might be embarrassing. They were from years ago.”

“What papers?” Trooper Bob asked.

The soundtrack reached its crescendo just as the shark leapt from the water, mouth wide, ready to take a huge bite out of his prey. Dadadadadada.

“He found out I was dismissed from the military, and he threatened to make it public. It might have ruined my political career. I pleaded with him, but he just laughed . . . laughed.” Abernathy sniffed. “I didn’t kill Davenport, but if you want to know who did, maybe you should question that baker over at Baby Cakes. He has a crush on Sheriff Johnson. Or it could be that Candy Rivers . . . Candy Hurston . . . whatever her name is. She was furious about losing her shop to Rivers’s first wife . . . ah, current wife . . . whatever. Marjorie. Either of them could have killed Davenport.”

“I’ll get to them in due time.”

“Well, there are lots of other people who had a real reason to want Clayton Davenport dead. Even that airhead, Maddy Montgomery. She was about to lose her bakery. Davenport goaded her into betting her bakery in the Spring Festival baking competition. Everyone in town knows she can’t bake anything other than Octavia’s Chocolate Soul Cake, and Davenport got the committee to agree that recipes that won in the past weren’t eligible for resubmission. There’s no way she could have won on her own, and Davenport knew it. How come you’re not badgering her?”

“Why, that weasel,” I whispered.

“Is he crying?” Hannah asked.

“Who said that?” Abernathy asked.

We heard footsteps but didn’t have time to get out.

Holly turned off the intercom just as Trooper Bob opened the door.

“What are you two still doing here?” he asked.

I turned to Holly. “So, that was one chocolate cake and two dozen thumbprint cookies, right?”

Holly tapped her pen for a few seconds. “You better make it four dozen thumbprint cookies. You can never have enough of those.”

I glanced up. “I’m just taking a catering order.” I turned back to Holly. “It’ll be ready. All I need is the address.”

She handed me a scrap of paper where she’d written her address. Then, she turned to Trooper Bob and smiled. “Sorry, Dad. I’m afraid it’s all my fault. I saw Miss Montgomery here, and I just couldn’t resist getting one of her delicious Chocolate Soul Cakes for my party this weekend.”

I glanced from Holly to Trooper Bob. “Dad?”

She nodded. “Work study. It was either here or the police station.” She rolled her eyes. “This is definitely better than that.”

Trooper Bob frowned. “Perhaps I need to see you two out to your car.” Trooper Bob took me and Hannah by our arms and marched us outside. I barely had time to grab my folder from the desk before he propelled me out the door.

Once we were outside in the parking lot, he turned and leaned down so that he was only inches from my face. “Miss Montgomery, I take a very dim view of nosy busybodies who think they’re some kind of Nancy Drew wannabe and interfere in an active police investigation. Especially when they may just be a prime suspect in a murder.”

When I was young, I loved reading Nancy Drew. As an adult, I hated the association. “Trooper Bob, I am not interfering. And I resent—”

“Save it. Just stay out of my way, or you’ll regret it.” He glared and then spun around and marched back toward the building.

I searched my mind for a scathing remark I could hurl back at him, but he was moving fast and was almost back at the building. “And by the way, Nancy Drew had a perfect record when it came to solving mysteries,” I yelled at his retreating back.

“That’ll have him shaking in his boots,” Hannah said.

I unlocked the doors to the car, and we got inside. I tucked the paper with Holly’s address on it into my folder and tossed it on the back seat.

Hannah’s anger at being kicked out of the mayor’s office and marched out to the parking lot had fueled her wrath, and she had muttered a few half-hearted threats at Trooper Bob as he practically dragged us to the car. Once she was inside and buckled in, her anger drained out like the air inside of a balloon. After a few moments, she turned to me. “That’s one nasty policeman.”

“Is that all you have to say? We’ve learned a lot of information and are well on our way to figuring out who killed Clayton Davenport.”

“What was all that drivel you spewed at that idiot Abernathy?”

It took a few beats for me to figure out what she was talking about. When I did, I chuckled. “It was sickening, wasn’t it? I used to be able to fawn and play dumb at the drop of a hat, but I’m out of practice.”

“Hmm. I thought you were about to go into your Butterfly McQueen impersonation from Gone With the Wind. ‘I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ babies, Miss Scarlett.’ ” She said it in a high-pitched Southern drawl. “Ugh.”

I laughed. “I can’t believe he fell for it.”

“Hmm. I can. That man’s dumber than a box of rocks. He’s a complete idiot.”

“Maybe he is . . .” Twenty minutes ago, I would have agreed with her. But now, I wasn’t so sure. In a short period of time, Jackson Abernathy had wiggled out of Trooper Bob’s net and cast a line of suspicion at Leroy, me, and Candy in one fell swoop. He might not be as dumb as I’d first thought. No, Jackson Abernathy wasn’t a complete idiot. But the question remained: Was he a murderer?